Lachrymose

A dear soul slipped from life’s grasp this week, leaving a hole in many hearts. Diana’s words, here, say so much more than I could have, still raw with grief.

Diana's avatarThe Wandering Armadillo

so frail now

your fingertips in mine

supported gently

parchment paper skin

venous rivers slow, tepid within

..

as the sand slowly sifts

i squeeze

i try to halt the final grains, yet

this maudlin hourglass only drains

to somber clock tick

sentry gated soldiered seconds fall

the war is over

all is lost

that is all

..

a last dawn

this last day

as curtains part

your light slips away

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Present

I am losing ground,

disinterest piling up,
suffocating – I moan

childish communication
enraged, and humiliated,
hurt; my opinion more

impulse than acceptable
relatives bitch, correct,
dethrone me – an outsider
sidling in, like a politician

mingling, lingering, attacked
why am I so dependent
on this oddball interaction?

celebration is just a formality
and my enthusiasm misplaced

but at least, I am present.

The Tarnished Sun

I loved him with the passion
of a child – he was the sun
and I the golden calf – a mutual
worship, trust and respect.

His words were my sustenance,
mother’s lap busy with a baby,
older sisters reluctant to embrace
a half-sister and unasked for dad.

Reassured by his promises,
bolstered by his protectiveness
I felt his loyalty, committed to
reciprocating, so when he turned

on mother – his tongue a cruel
master – I faulted her too,
guessed she must be lower
than the exalted – he and I –

but as the tirades escalated
and the promises fell empty,
the tarnish began to show,
and I shifted allegiance –

intervened against maniacal
outbursts, tried to interject
sensibility, dissuade drunken
frays, the ferocity of his heat

no long warming, crushed
our family’s equilibrium –
he disappeared to soon
into the safety of death

left me reeling in the dark,
trying to decipher the codes
of his torment, the betrayal of
a father who was once my sun.

 

Politically Incorrect

Attending awards ceremonies
calls for muzzled comportment,
fail to appreciate the adulation
of one over many, tend to believe
these things are tainted, overblown

but this is just the ramblings of
a self-defacing personality, opinions
unacceptable in most circles, and
certainly amongst those whose scoff
at such remarks, view me as common

those who sniff at the asses of the noted
and noteworthy, as if proximity equates
with greatness, ignoring the fact that
success is achieved through hard work
and cooperation, trampling the ‘littles’

in their scramble for accolades –
it’s disparaging – am I alone in feeling
as if I’m watching an out of control
train, headed for derailment, an event
sure to elicit fame – at such a cost?

(The Daily Post prompt is tend.  ))

Watercolour

Introducing
colour to water
offering it up
to blank pages
learning less is better
and gentle strokes
elicit blossoming results

Introducing
colour to water
breathing life into
blank spaces
offering gentleness
to blossoming creativity
reveling in the delight.

(This poem was penned for the Story Circle’s Network
e-poetry group in response to February’s prompt – treasured
moments.”

 

Mesquite

Tenacious are we,
will not be derailed
by rock-hard inflexibility
nor disintegrating foundations

we endure, require little
in the way of adulation
or support, self-sufficient
warriors, timeless

we adhere to a call
of evolution, indestructible,
sustained by a productivity
and a steadfast will.

(Inspired by this photo taken at Coon’s Bluff, Tonto National Forest, Arizona.)

Investment Talk

It’s all about investment, really
life, I mean – make a deposit,
withdraw – hope that in the end
the gain is worth more than
the cost – a healthy balance.

Have been running deficits,
too focused on serving others,
practicing the art of giveaways –
incentives to capture attention
(affection too, if I’m honest.)

I’m every marketer’s dream –
impulsive, in the moment,
disbelieve that time is money –
illness having dumped time
on my lap in massive dollops

I’d say energy equates with
income, begets funds – all
redundant now, overdrawn
as I am, no safety deposit
securing balanced health.

Mother Bee

She sprinkles her commentary
with spikes of criticism
like a bee intent on finding honey
but stinging instead
strikes hard at the heart of the matter
manages to counter my aspirations
all attempts to swat away her words
are weak – she is my mother
and my sentiments are clouded
her jabs bite, inflame
and despite my apparent maturity
reduce me to childish panic.