Solitude, I dream
of expansive landscapes,
crave your panoramic
silence, thrill to the ideal
of your boundless sanctity
Solitude, you wrap me
in separateness, strip away
my cardboard walls, tear
at the corners of my instability;
no refuge from the stillness
Solitude, I am smothered
by your starkness, by my
starkness, cries of madness
reverberating through vast
canyons of aloneness.
(Image: serendipityteam.wordpress.com)
(Note: I am revisiting old posts, trashing the unimpressive, and where possible, editing. This is an edited version of an earlier poem. Visit the original here.)
Pervasive fragility
blindsides – reduced
to stretched and torn
fibers – I teeter, mind
obsessed, overwhelmed
I am weeping…and not,
frustrated by impossibility
unwilling to face loss –
cannot let go – life passes
regards me with disgust/
indifference/ repulsion,
I am dispensable, invalid
raw, enraged, strength
obliterated, courage gone,
just a soul, stripped of life
craving meaningful existence.
Bureaucratic automatons
privy to personal dilemmas
fuss over delegated tasks –
vessels sans initiative –
policy makers overriding
common sense,
common decency
paper pushers passing
verdicts condemning
downtrodden, unable to fight
whose day-to-day living –
questionable at best –
lacks the necessary survival
guide – procedural forms
dehumanize suffering,
cubby-holed egos void
support, icily authoritative
dystopia is no future construct
no fantastical presupposing
for those trapped in the maniacal
system of disability claims.
(Image: threatquality.com)
Dressed in our finest personas
we submit to public scrutiny,
polish our performances, risk
criticism to achieve the prize
Practice behind the scenes
preparing lists and scripts,
questioning qualifications,
comparisons deflating egos
Yet we succumb to pressure
step into the spotlight, react
emotions and insecurities
demolishing golden intentions
We scramble for our lines,
to maintain integrity, curse
our folly, our vulnerability
slaves to external editors
Competition eradicates value
of black and white resumes
survival of the fittest presides
we race to stay in the running
traces of authenticity discarded
like unwanted footage, spliced
realities catering to contrived
standards:Â a social experiment.
(Image:Â http://www.pinterest.com)
Nestled in with childhood truths –
second-hand, missing perspective –
nursing a creeping creativity:
insignificant clarity expanding
measurably, hurried.
Once social, now retreating
papered over failure, have fallen
frigid waves infiltrating, overtaking
chronically pained, over and over
contemplating flight, freedom
voiceless, expressionless, flat
even revelation muted, unmoving
boundaries, discussed, protective
currently crumbling…underestimated
the struggle, the pervasiveness
have considered a military approach
strident restrictions to nullify passions
but I am a weaver, open to uncovering
blessings in failure, employed in soaring,
grounded, yet questing, unsettled
disease is not a repellent for the mind,
objects conjure movement, creatures
undoubtedly defensive, renewal motivated
I am dank, moist, lacking burning passion
in this explosive personal nest.
He caved eventually
gave in to her nagging
left his wife, his children,
mistook her naked willingness
for love, a signal of commitment –
it was not – she would not package
her feelings into a domestic box
had no intentions of ever after
clothed her vulnerability in sex
as treacherous as Eve’s serpent
she seduced him, and once ensnared
spit him out with venomous joy
watched him squirm with regrets
his life shattered, heart ravaged
unable to break away, even as
she courted her next victim
twisting her bladed hold on him
he remained, convinced
he somehow deserved this –
had penance to pay, vowed to
make it up to her, could not
shake the depth of his desire
sacrificed himself wittingly
to her insatiable blood lust.
When selling a car, advertise
particulars – make, economy,
road worthiness – appeal
to labouring egos, mindful
of overheads, override objections
with promises of emotional gains,
everyone knows the vehicle
makes the man – corner lust –
it’s the money-maker.
Selling produce is all about
visuals:Â market fresh- picked
(sanitize green harvest, mode
of transport, or exorbitant
gains) – organize stands
with optimum appeal,
everyone knows processed foods
lack nutrients – targetting health
conscious is the bottomline.
Selling self requires adaptability
experience counts, of course,
better to project confidence
than to stumble over failures,
project willingness to learn,
brush over personal rights
everyone knows that conformity
trumps self-love ; sealing the deal
is the name of the game.
(Image from 2social.ca)
No point hanging onto past –
education is not preparation
when illness decides to drop in
neither Algebra, nor Social Science
offers clues for solving the equation:
Life minus ability equals:Â what?
Curriculum based on harsh realities
would instruct how to tie up loose ends,
gather what’s important, remain calm
while filling prescriptions and countless
paperwork; and how to fight for validation
when funding is fraud adverse and society
would as soon forget than support; and
how to continue to battle when good times
are confined to snapshots:Â other people’s
hopeful beginnings and celebrations; and
how to push on when in the lotto of life
disability is the winning card – no certainty
of aging, vacation days no longer apply;
and how does one grieve appropriately
when no one wants to hear, project fear
and misunderstanding; cannot fathom
the depth of the daily battle – need a
curriculum of their own in compassion.
(Image: www.everydayfamily.com)
Have landed –
actually, volunteered for –
a supporting role
intended fun, but
comedy eluded,
am fighting for a life
fearful choreography
exacting a cathartic script
haywire admission of fault
my memory fails
positions me, in brief
spurts, faltering
co-performers push
encourage, emanate
loving commitment
buy into mania
my cause: avoidance
beyond distraction
I miss crucial lines
am unlatched
trailing off
self-punish
repeated regression
amends scripted
such a production
ignoring undefined
hunger, knowledge
contracted,
blossoming role
forgettable
like Shakespeare
manufacturing
good-hearted bits
staging a performance
detailing elements
turning points
obligated to a
co-dependent audience
willing to settle
no acts define scenes
no exit for escape
stage door revolves
and I’ve landed –
no, volunteered for
a secondary role.
(Image from pinterest.com)
One Woman's Quest 