Pot-bellied,
am I:
misshapen by age
and gravity – more
rot than plump ripe pear –
still, a vessel for love –
grandmotherly
vase.
(Image from personal collection)
Pot-bellied,
am I:
misshapen by age
and gravity – more
rot than plump ripe pear –
still, a vessel for love –
grandmotherly
vase.
(Image from personal collection)
Men prefer a reserved lady,
Mother was quick to admonish,
ashamed of my hot temper,
the tear in mud-soaked stockings
the call that came from the boy’s mother.
But I was born with a fervid passion,
a sense of justice igniting a fire within –
Women need to stand up,
I lectured her, to declare our rights –
a concept that fell on closed ears.
She’d continue to take father’s abuse,
apologize for under-salted broth,
or too thick gravy, for lingering
too long in conversation at the market,
or letting us kids dare to raise our voices.
And I’d continue to clock any boy
who dared to say that girls can’t….
Neither of us able to reverse
the inequity we suffered.
(For Ragtag Community’s challenge: fervid; and Fandango’s, reverse.) Image from personal collection.
Brought you my pain –
swaddled like a baby,
a tiny fledgling
not yet ready to fly –
craved nurturing –
missed the hawkish glint,
the vicious drool –
all remnants of sanity
now shredded.
Imitate Nature,
the guru said,
observe and learn.
Geese, I notice,
are loud, messy,
and communal.
Move slowly
without shame,
protest likewise.
Not sure I aspire
to goose-like behavior,
but balance would be good.
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day.)
Frayed and overwhelmed,
senses bombarded beyond
coping – seek comfort
in the quiet knowing, and
loving support of kinship.
(For RonovanWrites Haiku Challenge: Â coping & support)
Public displays seldom tell-all,
Vanity figures performance called for –
a ruse to make the hordes pander.
Clearly fault lies with us, audience
fuelling rhetoric, lapping up the hate.
Give politicians their due, they deliver
souped-up enemies to satisfy our tastes.
(For Reena’s Exploration challenge, where the prompt is the line: Public figures make us hate their enemies.)
Image from personal collection.
Must have been the heat –
lazy August sun reaching
through Willow sway –
or maybe the laughter
bubbling up from brook –
had me so ensorcelled
I swear I saw the veil slip,
beheld faery beings –
a second of enchantment
then gone…
Be as trees, reaching
canopy of harmony,
gratitude implied.
(For RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: Â gratitude / harmony. Â Photo from personal collection.)
Late August nights cool
burnt dry hues
will soon transform –
symphony of colour
There is sorrow
in Summer’s end;
Autumn’s icy breath
Winter’s warning.
Silent as the Great Blue,
Autumn hues creep
shifting the landscape
altering my mood.
Do feathers quiver
at the ensuing chill,
or is it merely human
this seasonal affect?
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day)