Sister was a hurricane –
destruction her path
Tried to calm, encourage
but her core was damaged
Try to reach her now,
across death’s abyss
understand before
her legacy swallows me.
Sister was a hurricane –
destruction her path
Tried to calm, encourage
but her core was damaged
Try to reach her now,
across death’s abyss
understand before
her legacy swallows me.
Snapdragons transport me
back to Father’s gardens –
the pleasure of pinching
delicate floral lips
Forbidden, was I
tiny feet banished from
tiers of ordered colours –
how he worshipped those rows
Hours spent on knees,
as if in prayer… attention
lavished on nurturing growth
while I shrivelled on sidelines
Longed to dig beside him,
sully my hands and share
his passion, ignorant of
an inner drive to weed
Felt only walls of separation
the coldness of perfection,
so in my wilful way,
I rebelled against taboos
On tiptoe, stepped between
the bobbing arrangements
marred the well-tended soil
and pinched the snapdragons.
(Snapdragons first appeared here in March, 2018. Edited for this edition. Art my own)
A nine-year-old skips
along the centre line
of an abandoned street
imagination empowered
by sunshine blue skies
Till the low rumble
of aircraft startles her
and she runs for cover
praying to an absent God
to take her now, young
heart too bruised to carry on.
A fifteen-year-old huddles
in a dank underground corner
already violated by a war
she did not ask for,
shamed by her body’s betrayal
praying for a death more forgiving
A mother holds her baby close
tremors such an indelible part of life now
grasps for a God she once believed in
sees the vacancy in adolescent eyes
the joylessness of her weeping child
prays for a way out of this hell.
Searching for the alchemy
to transform this chaos –
Do they understand depravity,
those who dwell in exurbs,
blinded by their own opulence?
Children are dying, pawns
in a political sham – I know
we’re tired, but now is not
the time to sleep.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image mine)
Look at us building fences
pretending we have differences
Do we not hunger the same
hunt in the same places?
Do we not strive with equal intent
build our nests with the same ferocity?
Forgo passion for survival?
Let us stop pretending
Let down these walls
admit to our vulnerabilities
align our purposes, and
fight a more fearsome foe.
(Fences first appeared here in March, 2018. Image my own)
Like Atlas, I bear
the world’s weight
call it responsibility –
a painful delusion
requiring walls
Life has its own rhythm –
light and dark,
joyous and sorrowful –
orchestration outside
of my domain
Love, however,
is limitless
in its capacity –
open-hearted acceptance
protection in itself.
Trading one focus
for another
permits appreciation –
I vow to assert love
and forgo control.
Absent solar motivation
I contemplate grey
for grey’s sake…
How despite the dullness
grey does offer a valid backdrop
for white’s delicate presence
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
I’ve been a grumpy lion
lashing out in pain –
punctured shell smarting
by an objectionable barb.
I am a prideful feline,
with a formidable roar –
an offensive defence
intended to intimidate.
Even so, you ventured near
and in a single act of good,
disarmed my furious outrage,
calmed this bellowing beast.
Like a mouse, you quietly –
with understated grace –
gestured with such kindness,
I withdrew all complaint.
You restored my faith in beauty,
revived a nostalgic sense of bliss,
offered possibilities: sweet and
unexpected; soothed my soul
An not, I have noted, without
self-sacrifice on your part –
I am not so egocentric
to have missed the cross you bear.
Your gentle demeanour prevailing
over my abhorrent rant,
is a worth a million thank you’s
to a wounded-heart cat, like me.
(Image my own. This poem first appeared here February, 2015)
Division, the determining factor
in their relationship –
who can understand
the dynamics of blood ties?
Cracked images suggest
a camaraderie, at least
once upon a time, and who
recalls the cause of the rift?
Fixated on the anger
distance a monument
to the breach, till one dies
and the absence is cemented
(Image my own)
Dare I look for self
in cloud formations, as if
true essence dwells there?
Naturally, I search outward
afraid to find nothing within.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)