Irony

Used to be a teacher –
socially respectable –
graded papers, set
lesson plans, passed.

Now, locked out, I am
tossed like dirty laundry
heaped atop the sullied
citizen pile – a dirty,

tangled mess in need
of cleansing – those
indistinguishably ill
usurpers of public money.

Once, knew definitively
the standards set by
ministry guidelines,
curriculum based goals

now, am dispossessed,
mind lost, unable to focus
on details, angered by
trivialities, a nonentity.

How I miss the certainty
of rubrics, daily routines
set by hours of sweat –
sweet organization.

I am the student now,
submerged in this disarray
of emotional churning
unsolicited learning

environment in which
achievement is seldom
honored – no A’s awarded
for surviving life tests.

(Image: nutleywatch.com)

Divine Spark

The emerald waters of
my crystalline personality
are only a reflection
of an external light.

Lurking below the surface
the murky tears
of self-deprecation
create further illusion.

Dive deeper,
beyond the cold chill
of darkening thoughts
and threatening despair

Weed through the silt
of bottomed out desires
and find an opening –
black and foreboding.

Enter with an open heart
and find the treasure within
rusted from neglect,
unguarded, with open latch.

Brush away the cobwebs
and with respectful caution
lift the dusty lid
and behold the divine spark

My true essence,
Tucked there in the darkness
an eternal flame
vibrant and vital.

Release it for me,
be so kind,
to light this dismal patch
and set my waters aglow again.

So that the emerald waters
of my crystalline personality
will reflect an internal
divine light.

(Reposted from September 2014)

Not My Brother’s Keeper

I cannot bear the responsibility
for my brother’s pain, separated
as he was from my mother, raised
in his own kind of hell, estranged;

could not save him from himself
even if I tied him to me, carried
him by my side, bore his shame,
supported him by finding work.

I would just be trying to resurrect
old dreams, choosing to follow
already trodden paths, repeating
patterns of partnering with failure;

stir up memories of abuse, relive
the discomfort, castigate myself
anew for not asserting propriety,
contemplate revisiting the old.

No, I am not my brother’s keeper;
cannot right what has been lost;
only in looking forward can we
hope to bridge our familial ties.

(Image:  quotesgram.com)

Earthquake

Sudden clarity rocks
my inner landscape;
breakthrough under –

standing that what has
formed my foundation,
as woman, as human,

has been marred by
mixed messages, lack
of healthy boundaries;

sheer absence of self-
preserving beliefs has
contributed to a legacy

of abuse and translated
into guilt, shame and
intolerable self-loathing.

(Image from paddle8.com)

Renovating The Psyche

Pardon the mess, but currently
renovating the psyche, moving
rape to a separate apartment,
trying to make room for God.

Heart is the crux of my home,
space for recreation essential,
my family is growing, roots
spreading outwards, Muslims

now amongst our beloveds.
I need to be present – useful
to communicate without
appearing challenged – hope

the elephant in the room
does not describe me, signs
of burning startling – smoking
is not permitted here – breath

is a requirement; I live here!
Dare I reveal, make a scene?
I’ve made my bed, better to
stay conservative, constrict

airways; don’t need much to
get by: a modest income,
marriage insurance, quiet
appliances, easy navigation.

Post overhaul, I’m hoping for
less complications, more flow,
compartmentalized sanity so
that God will stop questioning.

(Image: http://watersofnoah.blogspot.ca/2012/03/big-rock.html)

Meaning of Life, Anyone?

If I could, I would ask the dead
about the secrets of life, raise
spirits to help me understand
this phenomena of cancer, the
need to find relief in addictions,
the key to successful relations.

Or perhaps It is the youth, set
on creating the next YouTube
sensation, who have insights
I should pay attention to, but
they seem to prefer contrived
reality, ignoring mundane life.

Asking the heads of education
what the guiding principles are
for living a good life seems use-
less; they are too buried beneath
the red tape of bureaucracy, out
of touch with front line teaching.

I might ask new immigrants who
carry with them an accented
authority and certainty about the
meaning of life that I have not
considered – their faith and hope
badges of courage that betray
our lack of social cohesiveness.

I feel compelled to investigate
why this hard-working, caring
soul has sold herself three times
for love and continues to come up
victim; is it an insatiable need
for attention or lack of willingness
to let go of the past and just be?

(Image: btloc.com)

 

Secret Keepers

They always take the back roads,
virginal snow-covered lanes
lined with trees: pastoral views

Unmarked routes, out of sight,
use the innocence of landscape
to blot out their dark intentions

Pristine picture perfect scenes
lull the unsuspecting; breath-
taking vistas; secret keepers

The roads still exist in my dreams
the trees like soldiers, stiff and stark
stripped of their magical allure, now

guard the memories, painted red
with the loss of purity; I had not
guessed the danger of woods

Child mind incapable of conceiving
what wolves roamed in nature
the blood of their victims crimson

stains forever etched in silhouette
the shrillness of their screams
now silent echoes in the night.

(Image:  www.flickr.com)

Purge-a-story

undigested chunks
of memory spew from
depths of unconscious

regurgitated masses
of bloodied solids
mingled with mush

too repulsed to touch
unable to fathom
what force-fed garbage

initiated mind vomit;
churning emotions
physical revulsion

dreams of childhood
mutilated, ravaged
innocence, fragmented

images soaked in blood,
cry for acknowledgment
cannot stop convulsions

maggots exploding
in my brain, sucking
my soul, threatening

darkness, I am falling
backwards, consumed,
frail state of control

lapsing in this cesspool
of filth, remembering
unimaginable abuses.

(Image: http://derekjones.deviantart.com/art/troubled-soul-437229975)

Call It Wisdom

Get back to work! Bravado punches,
but my pick up is shelved – would love
to wheel out of here and take flight –
and interview skills are ungrounded,
fear I will let fly unfiltered gibberish.

Go for it! Boisterousness cajoles –
but boldness is dangerous, and pushy
only puts up walls; shifting gears might
be an option, but the road ahead’s a steep
decline, and I have to carefully find footing.

You have to try! Good-heartedness offers,
but the path and I are both handicapped,
movement needs support, and my focus
is failing – am more tortoise than hare –
regressing into this pedestrian existence.

You can’t just give up! Impatience scowls,
but not only is the party of energetics with
its social antics out of my reach – nuances
included – but to be honest, I am no longer
interested in being a part. Call it wisdom.

(Image: http://www.astrolog.org)

Regression

Fear drives me backwards, spinning
childhood tales, plunging into frigid
waters of isolation, desolation; falling

into the unknown; a mission to heal
the ruptures, out of season, past and
present colliding, frozen in time –

I am in need of extraction, need to
believe in flight of eagles – innocence’s
idol – need to initiate possibility; find

a match to melt icy deception – so
much betrayal – my sun is going down;
I stand at the water’s edge, ready to

launch; innocence and ignorance
co-conspirators of my youth; am
fighting an immature battle, out of

sync, hesitant, prefer avoidance to
combativeness, played one too many
addict’s game, felt the brunt of relapse

am powerless, emotionally responsible,
bear the burden of care, unable to release
control, swallowed by childhood’s chasm.

(Image from: www.egilpaulsen.com)