Thanks again to Yvette for all the work she does.
Mediation
“Just like your father!”
Words that chill me
to my core, bile
and self-loathing
follow
I abhor ego –
its need
its pandering
its petulance
Would skin
and exile
the beast
but, alas
Self absent
interface
cannot deal with
what remains
So I wrestle
with the father bits
and bolster the tried –
ego negotiation
(Image my own)
Money
Daddy yelled
and Mommy cried
and new dresses appeared
A pattern
my young heart
vowed to break
Chose a man,
reticent in nature,
pursued a career
Then babies came
and I stayed home
and he withheld cash
Pendulum swings
left to right – money
holds the key to power
(Money first appeared here January, 2019. Image my own)
Wailing
Our world spins
in contradictions –
grief prominent
Women and children
facing oppression
Indigenous souls
coming home –
So many dying
courtesy of lies
If there is a song
for our times
it is a wailing.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Art my own)
Shifting to Acceptance
In illness, I am passenger –
no matter how venturous
mind’s reach, the raw truth
is that limitations confine
This is not a sentence
for some perceived crime,
but a re-framing – attitude
shifting to acceptance
Choice becomes thoughtful –
time allows for that now –
and gratitude takes hold
in every corner of “I can”.
(Art my own)
Mental-Pause
Where do the words go
when they slip through the cracks
of my mental filing system?
And where is recognition
when words reappear,
no longer categorized
or referenced –
out of alphabetical order –
not even an inkling of recall
as if our acquaintance
is akin to discovery?
(Mental-pause first appeared here January, 2018. This version edited.
Image my own.)
Eagle and Crow
Eagle arrives
and I am at once
small, insignificant
Breath held
I am stillness
basking in majesty
Till ubiquitous crow
calls his cronies,
chases eagle off
Everything gains perspective.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Seasonal Defiance
Cast my shadow over white banks
assert presence: proud, defiant
Will find beauty in deserted places
and colour in the monochrome
Haunted by a Winter state of mind
resolved to stretch despite chill.
(Image my creation)
No Way In
He fills the home
with sweetness –
serenades their love –
while she picks away
at every gesture,
imagining subterfuge
His floral words
only serve to poke
doubts – she reads
between the lines
of ornamental landmines
He lights candles
to set a mood,
but she is already
planning a funeral –
her wrung out heart
unwilling to fall.
Eight of Cups
The eight of cups –
an octopus balancing
multi-tasks; I juggle
fog, attempt
to calibrate logistics
but instincts
are dull-edged,
my tentacles lacking
suction – will slither
back into hiding.
(Tuesday, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
