How long the soil
housed tiny souls, pleas ignored –
crimes leave footprints
Plant a rose for each child
blood red to mark evil’s path.
(Image my own. Poem borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson)
How long the soil
housed tiny souls, pleas ignored –
crimes leave footprints
Plant a rose for each child
blood red to mark evil’s path.
(Image my own. Poem borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson)
Whoa now!
Don’t settle too quickly
Opportunity is about to knock
What’s that you say?
You’re not ready.
All this work you’ve been doing
all these seeds you’ve been planting
Really? You’re not ready.
Too late
the door is open
and you will have to contend
with possibility, and I warn you,
it will not arrive alone
For success is certain
to stir adolescent reaction –
inappropriate entitlement
Oh, you say you’ll keep it simple
but emotions are organic
and the tea is spilling –
complexity a given
So, stop with the excuses
Breathe and pace yourself
This is your moment
Embrace it accordingly.
(Image my own)
New perspective sorely needed
current one rubbing raw
How can I cope with change
when life fields me no support?
The Hangman leers
his upside-down frown
mocking self- pity
I sense a barrage
of platitudes
headed my way.
(Image my own)
Islands define us –
attempts to stave off
a ruthless invader
Heritage dictates
reclusive behaviour
shame driving pain
Finding comfort
in solitude, uncertain
if I’ll ever vacate again.
(Tuesday I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
Open to healing –
create a space for inspiration
delve into the subconscious
Enter with pure intentions
ignore limited capabilities –
no offerings are meager –
Embrace new starts
with faith in ability –
be spurred into action
Self holds the answers
creative expression is key –
no expertise required.
(Open to Healing first appeared here in August, 2015.
Edited for this post. Art my own)
Burn the love letters
watch as each quaint lie curls
sham interrupted –
betrayal’s intricacy
scatters amongst the embers.
(Image my own)
Absolutes are not to be believed
conditions multifarious, fluctuating
consider the messenger
weigh the message
Have faith in outcomes
unknowable, in resources
within, follow progression
not digression
Wisdom knows the way.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Petals:
I’ve counted them
pressed them
preserved them
Drops
of sentiment
prescient
pretenders
Trivial
pursuits of passion
gaming for love
childish ploys
Petals
fickle as the seasons
elusive as joy
too soon expended.
(For Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: petals. Image my own.)
It’s just a moth, I offered
that blue moon night
rattling windows
chafing nerves
We’d chosen exile –
sister and I – refuge
from family demons,
not ours to claim
Innocence borrows
responsibility – I bore
it like a badge;
she shattered
Could not discriminate
darkness from her own
inner light – sought
to end the fury
I’ll carry us both,
I murmured, too young
to recognize the magnitude –
altruism destined to fail.
She’s buried now
beneath the madness
her mind the moth
slamming against my pain.
(Image my own.)
Countless, the times
I’ve spoken out of place –
words spilling unfiltered –
grading myself harshly
in the aftermath –
Yet a pauciloquent tongue
would leave me drowning
thoughts stirring
in a stagnant pool –
perhaps I’ll strive
for moderation.
(Image my own)