Not Taking It

We climbed so high
this mountain of man
made obstacles –

I remember the rage,
no more than 9 –
how helpless it felt

a girl in a man’s world
but I climbed anyway,
we climbed anyway

and, instead of a hand up
we get this? Patriarchy
be damned! Your days are
numbered. Mark my words.

(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter. Image mine)

Colourless Expressions

Consciousness commands
a shift of focus –
tired of the clash of colours
stimulation overload –
my muse is leaning towards
the nuance of black and white

A study of shadows
and shading
and how light
arouses the soul

Speak to me in subtleties
she whispers
in tones suggestive
of hidden depths;
I am listening

And so I submerge myself
clear the palette of vibrant hues
and take up the lowly pencil
seek the promise
in colourless world.

(Colourless Expressions first appeared here August, 2020. Art mine)

Child Defines Self

Too many bodies
encroach on peace;
I lack boundaries,
the self-worth
required to assert
needs – dwell
in basements,
mind cluttered,
external noise
obliterating me

Backdoor provides
escape, backyard,
back gate…
…freedom
I disappear
into the quiet
of the wild:
wooded sanctuary,
flowing water,
watchful eyes
of birds overhead

Here, I define self.

(Image my own)

Gambler

The gambler puts in fifty-cents
expects hundreds in return;

a simple flick of the wrist
and abundance will be his.

I feel like a slot machine:
paying dues for minimal input.

Tells himself there is more
to be had, if luck runs his way;

walks away from the richness
of family, joy of friendships –

Id’ be a slot machine for him
if love equated with money

Dreams of possibilities beyond
his daily reach, a fast track plan:

fortune is calling, palm itching
just one more roll of the die –

The die has been cast here;
no longer willing to gamble.

One more momentous win,
a promise to share the wealth;

what more could any woman want
from a man – half an empty dream?

Took a chance, myself once,
thought he was my windfall…

guess, in the end, all gamblers lose.

(Originally penned Gambler in July, 2016. Image my own)

Washed Ashore

Was willing to settle
even before casting off

anchorless, with no compass
to guide me, nor oar to steer

left fate to the currents
a vessel adrift; naïve

trusted those with power
to rescue me, unaware

of the target vulnerability
made of me, that sharks

like to circle wayward
boats, certain of a catch

no wonder, when finally
I came ashore, wrecked

I had lost faith in love,
turned hope to cynicism

had failed to register
the dangers of sailing

into uncharted waters –
the necessity of navigational

resources, and a life jacket,
the knowledge to stay afloat

and safe, in a sea where
discernment saves hearts.

(Washed Ashore first appeared here July 2018. Image my own)