Father demanded first slice of pie
doled out with high brow perfection
anything less unacceptable
Crumbly bits unleashed a tirade
the shame of incompetence
crushing the reluctant server
Oppressed as we were
we children plotted,
sought a suitable revenge
He got his just dessert
cherry with a subtle trace –
scent of satisfaction.
(Note: no parents were killed in the writing of this poem. Image my own.)
Righteousness
speaks not of
Divine intent
Indigenous suffer
ungodly loss from
Christian hands
A Muslim community
mourns the brutality
of sanctimonious wrath
Hate is the invention
of mortal minds –
Divine love is a river
that flows for all.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Abandoned, this heart –
old walls scarred but solid
Lest you look upon me with pity,
remember – roses grow here
planted at the peak of love’s hold
vibrant despite the ensuing thorns.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own.)
Art of listening, best taught
by the family pooch –
ears attuned to nuances
carefully weeding through
human gibberish
for words that resonate –
treat, dinner, walk, cuddles…
Eyes inviting compassion
conveying depth beyond understanding
and when tone turns impatient
little paws retreat, as if words are blows
If only I could learn to listen
hear the workings of your mind
inquisitive, compelling – imagine
what I might learn….
(Best Listener first appeared here, August 2020. Image my own)
Quest for independence
born of familial dysfunction
led me down a path of dissent
Compromise, I believed
was toxic, swore against
the brutality of submission
Need no one,
depend on no one
have nothing to lose
Overlooked the joy
of interdependence –
an alien concept
Chose a lonely path,
a straggler destined
never to belong…
(Image my own)
Armed with righteous conformity
the zealots rang my bell
Came calling on a cleaning day,
in that remote country hell
Spotted me before I did them
my attention on wringing the mop
No choice but to answer
and before I could ask them to stop
Carefully scripted narrative
tumbled from pious lips
Bemused, I noted neither blink
as I, stark naked, stood hands on hips.
(Image my own)
Plant me in the country
under city lights I melt
I need open skies
where nature thrives
I am tourmaline
un-mined
urban blight
danger beyond repair
plant me in the country
my soul is buried there.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
Corporations claim to be green
bent as they are on profitability
Contrived, the marketing schemes
colour added to mask the perils
No amount of dye can alter
the truth for our world faces
the midnight hour, time
for preservation waning.
(For Reena’s Xploration Challenge: featured image. Also for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: midnight.)
Curious by nature
and driven by hope
we push forward
Spring ourselves
from mud-mired traps
of psychological undoings
Focus on a horizon
where sunrises
and sunsets
offer glimpses of glory
Optimist and pessimist
alike, daring to believe
that the beckoning future
bears equal promise.
(Image my own)
Tectonic, the force
required to move
this wall of shame
Erasable, the missives
I write to defend my worth –
pencil strokes that only mock
Unsustainable, the hope
that life should ever receive
my efforts as more than folly.
(Art my own)
One Woman's Quest 