Met a bear who proclaimed himself to be a man; knew the instant I spotted him – lumbering gait approaching – that he was an animal, feared for my safety, would have retreated
stayed at my mother’s side – sheltered in familiarity – were I not so fixated on his blatant woundedness. Sympathy blinding sensibility, i listened, hypnotized
by the whiteness of his exposed skin – wanted to believe the veracity of his tales of conversion – could visualize him sitting in church, imagine the
horror of the congregants melting, as I was, into acceptance, drinking in his words, hearts soaring at his professed abstinence from sins
of the flesh; none of immune to fairy-tale endings; faith above all. Left the sanctity of mother’s fold; followed him to his wooded lair;
read humility into his minimalist housing, swept away his cobwebs and my dreams, determined to find fulfillment in domesticity.
The forest has it own story to tell – nature does not lie – a beast does not its essence forget, in time his true temperament emerged, and I, lost
withered into a crumpled ball, a wisp of a character, weakened, disheartened; could not bend myself to become either bear
nor Goldilocks; could not tame his insatiable grumblings nor abide long winters confined; discovered too late the folly
of my girlish fantasies, learned that sympathy did not beget love, and denying instincts did not alter the fact that a bear is not a man.
(Poem first appeared here April 2016. Couldn’t resist the accompanying image – photoshopped by yours truly)
Essence is essence and flat as I might feel shadow reveals otherwise; such is the mystery of life
Orange is my essence – the promise of sunshine and creativity, and… I envy blue its expansiveness
Constrained as I am by conformity – this silver-framed existence a settling
But shadows don’t settle they stretch and bend and exclaim rebellion savagely defending essence.
(Slanted Orange was written in 2022 as a collaborative effort with a local photographer. The efforts of our poetry group are published in a book called the Minimalist Eye. Click here to see the whole collection as well as the photographs that inspired each poem. I’ve used my own art for this post.)
“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.” – William Blake
Weathered the would that frames this perception, once painted with optimism, long worn.
How bright the ideals of youth, now blurred, colours stripped, raw intention bared –
Life mocks these aged perspectives old structures fail, light dims with neglect
Still the heart beats solid, hope like putty sticking to the sills, solidifying half-truths.
How deluded am I, trapped within walls defined by out of focus panes, separated
From a reality that would behold me fragmented or whole, and who will ever know
Have not the wherewithal to strip back old mindsets, repaint the trimmings
Am content to dwell behind screens of my own making, distorted but secure.
(I came across this poem, and was stricken by how applicable it is to our world today. Hope my reading does it justice.)
I am so tired of waiting, Aren’t you, For the world to become good And beautiful and kind? Let us take a knife And cut the world in two – And see what worms are eating at the rind.
One Woman's Quest 