Expectations artificial
living in an urban jungle
longing for nature’s calm –
time moves too swiftly
barely register
let alone participate
We are guests in our own
expectation’s dysfunction
licensed for depression
a smorgasbord for abuse
intentions mislaid,
disappointment unavoidable
The ego pretends to be open
but she’s an actress off cue
playing out a sentence –
condemned to basics
praying to escape
this dystopian malfunction.
(Image my own)
Who is at the table
negotiating peace?
A trans man
bares his brave chest
Is his flesh not
our flesh?
Indigineous mothers
cry for lost daughters
Is their plight
not our plight?
Shopkeepers moan
how long can we endure
the inequities
of an indifferent eye?
Child of mine
what future awaits
as I watch our progress
slide, painfully in reverse?
I want to be a beacon
of encouragement
believe that harmony
even exists
But the noise
in the streets
is deafening
truths trampled
The false prophets
the politicians
the blinding pull
of greed
There are none at the table
but anarchy’s decoys.
Wolves no longer hide in the woods
spurred on by the scent of bloodlust,
whiteness of their fangs sharpened
on the righteousness of iconic fear
No, they find no need for subterfuge
emboldened by this weakened state
society’s heartbeat erratic, signalling
a collective rot…the wolves circle.
(Image my own)
Ignore the dead
the ocean of grief
capsizing humanity
Keep bailing on reality
conspiracy lacks an oar
we drown without compassion
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
The divide between
emotional stagnation
and old structures
now crumbling,
is fraught with peril
We are called to rebuild;
re-solidify our foundations
and regenerate a flow
that sustains and harbours
growth through peace.
(Poem first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, September 2018. Image my own)
We knew the children were lost
so why wait for the tsunami
before beginning reparation?
And are irenic efforts with the realm
of probability now that the layers
of denial have been swept away?
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. This one for the victims of Residential Schools. Image my own.)
Is the writing on the wall so cryptic?
Graphic images depict rage
flames of dissonance
young men bleeding at their own hands
compassion incapacitated.
A sad awakening
for a society fixated
on rights and privileges,
dominating culture
excluding the nurture
of humanity,
or preservation of life.
How can we continue
to closet our children’s pain –
their vitality oozing –
hopelessly abandoned
by morality’s shelter?
It is the wall,
not the spatters
of blood upon it,
which needs amending –
adolescent minds too tender
to wade through
the cryptic priorities –
messages divided.
(Cryptic first appeared here May 2018. Edited here. Image my own.)
Everywhere collisions:
Mindless consumerism
tripping up ambitions
defeating progress
Social networking
mutilating communication
disrupting movement
Consciousness obliterated
by blind compliance
intrinsic motivation extinct
Victims splayed,
flayed, bloody,
numb
Values – not possessions – endure
understanding eliminates dominance
integrity ensures power for all.
Mindfulness calms chaos
quenches grasping urgency
restores hope, direction
Purpose harmonized
with communal focus
realizes potential
releases greatness
(Image my own)
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)
Inwardly we glow…
so it’s said
I shudder
ignorance grating
like branches
on my windowpane
Hope is a fox
mesmerizes,
draws me out,
then disappears
If inwardly we glow…
then why am I so cold?
(Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 