Disillusionment

What is the fallout of oppression –
misinformation ignoring collective needs?

Focus on we, as if we is me, and
they are the reason our attempts fail

Assertiveness has no hold
when obligations are cheapened

And time/ history is ignored
for a feel-good moment now. 

How does one decipher the nonsense
weed through the flimsy constructs

And realign with a vision –
powered by love for all?

(Image my own)

Trinkets

I’m returning the jewels
loaned to me

Settling
for smaller trinkets…

…a teddy bear
a paper parasol…

I know it’s been a while
but I haven’t forgotten

It’s harder these days
relying on others

Accommodations unnerve
so I stay away…

…a silver ring
a hat for Teddy…

It’s enough really
I haven’t much to spend

but your faith in me
means a lot

and warmed by our connection
I’m willing to invest…

I don’t need diamonds or pearls
just trinkets to remind me…

(Image my own)

Tongue Tied

Two-tongued –
speaking both heart and mind –
complex languages, whose nuance
I’ve never quite mastered,
yet am conversant in.

It’s a constant learning
to nail enunciation –
linguistics a tiresome topic

The mind,
a guttural language,
leans toward equation and absolutes –
hard consonants and long vowels

While heart-speak rolls
off the tongue in softer,
cooing syllables –
elongated tones and
whimsical passages.

I’d happily demonstrate
the extent of my proficiency
but the two-tongues
are currently contradictory,
the clamour of their discord
drowning out the peace
requisite for translation.

(Tongue Tied first appeared here October 2018. Image my own)

Could It Be?

Walking away is the only solution
I’ve ever excelled at, and yet,
absence does not obliterate
that which dwells within

I can pretend that I have nothing
to offer, but life and circumstance
require more: challenge me
to exhume remaining potential

Am I up to the task?

There is flattery in being looked up to,
the feeling that someone needs me –
but that is akin to temptation –
an ego play…

Could it be that wisdom acquired
has merit only when shared,
that we are all here to do our part,
that we are meant to engage?

Will I find a flow, rediscover
a synchronicity, reignite
a passion, and belong again?
Dare I hope?

(I first wrote this poem, two and half years into a debilitating illness that kept me bed bound. This version is edited, and I chose to share it now as a reminder not to give up. The answer to the questions posed is a resounding “Yes!” Image my own)