Hardly Justice

An innocent sip
too late
awareness dawns –
spiked!
Nausea rolls in
room spins
assailant offers
a hand, a ride,
the regal miss
shakes her head
wobbles, hand
held out warns
to no avail –
vomit sprays
victorious spew
depraved perp’s
plot thwarted.

(Unfortunately based on a true story. Even though she and her friends watched each other’s drinks, the bartender was in on the ploy. Thank God my daughter escaped further harm. Women shouldn’t have to worry about this on a night out.

Written for dVerse pub where De Jackson is hosting with the prompt ‘spike’. Also linking up with Ragtag Community – spray; and Fandango – regal.)

The Key

Found a key
stashed away
forgotten

origin unknown
purpose equally
mysterious

an inkling
seeping regret –
too late

realization
dawns –
I’m the keeper

and the treasure –
hold the power,
except

No one told me.

Gave it all away

Found a key
stashed away
lock long broken.

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(This poem was inspired by the image Hélène supplied for her What Do You See? challenge.  The poem was having difficulty forming itself, but when I saw Reena’s image for her Exploration Challenge, the pieces fell together.  Thank you both for prodding my muse.)

No More Than a Sparrow

No more than a sparrow, am I
numbered among the ordinary;
brightly I sing, though inwardly shy
of people and shadows I am wary.

Numbered among the ordinary
I flit about virtually unseen –
of people and shadows I am wary,
head down I carry out my routine.

I flit about virtually unseen,
require little to make me content;
head down I carry out my routine
forage between furrow and cement.

Require little to make me content,
brightly I sing though inwardly shy,
forage between furrow and cement,
no more than a sparrow, am I.

(dVerse’s form of the month is the Pantoum.  Image is from my own collection.)

 

He’s Gone

In darkened room
I lie, willing blackness
to obliterate blackness.

A scream, unearthed
from dankness
shatters the silence,
echoes off heartless walls,

shock waves reverberate
relentless torment

seventeen years…
committed, no…
dedicated

ripped away

leaving me

nothing

I fall, spiral
reel out of control

breaking down

tomorrow,
the children will return
the house will fill again,
and I will pick up
these shards,
piece together
some semblance
of normalcy,
and begin
to rebuild

in the dark.

(Written for dVerse pub, where Lillian is hosting with a challenge to focus on time:  “To everything there is a season…”)

 

March Madness

Winds picked up yesterday, gathering grey.  Cold seeped in through the windowsills, and we set the furnace on high.  Forecast for today is just above zero, even though we are in a tropical zone.  Oh well, I decide, a nice spicy soup will warm our innards.

Seems my body mirrors the weather: health declining, forcing me to bedrest frequently.  Have slept most the morning.  In between, I check emails, the blog, and we speculate about what will happen next with Mother Nature.  Soon, it will be time to venture home – a both welcome and sorrowful thought.

Confused winds blow cold,
winter reversing itself –
piquant soup simmers.

(It’s haibun night at the dVerse pub, hosted by Merril who challenges us to write about March Madness.  I am also linking up to Ragtag Community’s prompt: speculate and Fandango’s: health.)