Begging, this story,
brimming over
bursting out
I suck in,
hesitate
ending preset
message elusive
crushed beneath
weight of subjectivity.
Begging, this story,
brimming over
bursting out
I suck in,
hesitate
ending preset
message elusive
crushed beneath
weight of subjectivity.
Does the caterpillar question,
eek out the significance of each
puzzling piece, self-impose standards,
before submitting to transformation?
Why then, must I tear at each segment,
consume myself with riddles,
delete pieces of the whole,
in order to fit a mould?
Am I not just part of some divine
journey, tied to a destiny in which
I, too shall find the metaphorical wings
to soar – and why, then, should I question?
(Written for Willow Poetry’s Challenge: Â What Do You See? Â Featured image is the prompt.)
Web-sexy this world –
information my empire,
a starry squadron,
file phaser system –
want off though,
could, without asking
(I visit the online Magnetic Poetry on Fridays.)
Lured by azure waters,
the promise of carefree days,
I cruise ocean’s waters,
dream myself exotic.
Grey clouds loom, mock
this pretence – waves swell
crash, blacken horizon –
delusion loosing ground.
What force is this,
drags me into aphotic depths,
insists I swim in darkness?
Have I not proven tenacity,
claimed a place amongst the willing?
It is not light, I seek – too sinful
for redemption – just the solace
of familiar grey….
Body falters,
mind the same,
but spirit dances,
lithe as a flame.
Dank, this current state,
mildew and rotten fruit,
the stench of redundancy –
crave the petrichor of hope,
the aroma of fresh soil
singing praises of rebirth.
Dark this passage,
blustery the winds
that rattle the glass,
cold seeping through cracks,
light receding.

Life, we are sold,
should be parties
and castles – dreams
without limits –
disingenuous campaign
Truth lies somewhere
in-between –
elusive, yet enticing –
I would exit this isolation
shake the starkness
for but a glimpse.
(Images supplied by Reena’s Exploration challenge. Â Also inspired by Ragtag Community’s prompt: blustery, and Fandango’s: disingenuous.)
Am not the woman my children once called Mother –
can see the disappointment in their anger-blotched
expressions, feel the constraint in their voices –
distance between us tugs on my heart, plays with
my conscience, as if illness is choice – a contrived
plot to rob them of their expectations –
hope they can forgive me before it’s too late;
hope they can forgive themselves.
Outward facing –
contrived effort –
composure checked,
face appropriately presented.
I turn away –
internal chaos clouding –
lacking resources
for social banter
Wolves taunt me –
predatory monsters
shaming me into retreat –
defences down.
Wade back into superficial,
desperation seeking solace –
hide the flooding within.
I bleed champagne poetry,
am softer than brother bug –
almost corduroy –
born to father, dark,
to glass women,
we surround them,
bring liquid fevers, haunt
bluegrass rhythm growler.
How would you fool eternity?
(Such are the offerings of Magnetic Poetry online.)