culture · current affairs · poetry · writing

Write Me an Ending

Ego fiercely defends
status quo, perceives
movement as predator

Soul craves peace,
provoked by the illusion
division the public glide

How do we manage
when progress, stripped bare
displaces understanding?

Alone, I cycle through
these observations
encounter jammed passages

Dismayed by deviancy
messages aimed to exploit
the vulnerable naked and blind.

(For Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt: observation.  Image my own.)

Family · life · Love · poetry · relationships

A Wedding Blessing

(I penned the following poem on the occasion of my son and daughter-in law’s recent wedding celebration.  To read more about the ceremony, visit :  “Blessing of Interracial Union” )

A son is sweetness and strength and mystery;
here is my son – a gentle soul, kind-hearted
and generous – wasn’t he just a boy, only four
asking his father for work so he could buy me
a pair of earrings: Suns, he said, like you, Mom.

How did that boy, once so caring that he’d save
his treats to share with older sisters, sisters
who would turn around and snub him – he
never seemed to care, accepted it with a shrug
tried again – how is it he is now a man, married?

Always the loyal friend, is he, with an ear for
the downtrodden, offering a hand; I’ve watched
him struggle for independence, study hard,
labour tirelessly, he is a man of vision, a man
with a heart big enough to hold all his dreams.

I want it all, he once told me, eyes focused
on a future only he could see – I read joy
in his countenance, felt pride swelling, knew
this day would come, knew the moment he
first spoke the name Warsan he’d found love.

Warsan, truly good news, precious as the sunrise
her spirit bright, her smile contagious, she is
brilliance, and thoughtfulness, and I could not
have chosen better: a child I can love as my own
a woman our family embraces with open arms

What wisdom can I offer these two, joined
together in love, driven by a commitment
to one another, to family, to shared vision?
Be your best selves, I want to say, approach
anger with tenderness, and pain with warmth

Hold fast to one another in a world that will
challenge you, and know that I will be there
behind you, a rock to your storm, and that
others who have gathered here will do the same
And know, above all, that we celebrate you

Marriage is a vessel, a beginning, an opportunity
It is a bowl in which to place your dreams and hopes
it is a coming together of values, histories, a blending
Let it always be your soft place to land – today
is a new beginning; may this blessing continue.

adversity · dreams · poetry · spirituality

Eagle Speaks

Eagle walks amongst us,
wings and chest puffed out
exhibiting wounded pride.

He is parched, dry-throated;
fear has clouded his vision,
grounded his glorious flight.

He shudders at indifference,
sidesteps throngs busily rapt
in personal agenda, forgetful.

Once regal, once revered, he
is reeling from the fall, seeks
a compassionate ear, finds me

in the Dreamtime, moulting
feathers clinging to ebony
legs; I try to brush him away

detach from his misery, but
cannot shake the power of
his symbolism, the promise

of his majesty; disconcerted,
through the veil of sleep, I
try to find reason, connect

push through the crowd of
disillusionment, and seek the
refreshment he craves, what

little I have to offer this
golden representative of
a nation momentarily lost.

culture · dreams · life · media · poetry · Rants

Turn Off That Screen!

It’s a crapshoot –
self-aggrandized,
charity-loving,
ostentatious celebrities
polluting developing minds
masking panic;

collective agreements
re-violating, prodding
drive elaborate schemes
to improve our living status
personas discomforting
to future generations;

what entertainment –
bait and switch tactics
proclaiming worthy causes
grand venues depicting happy
disguising uncertainty
loss of societal innocence
overshadowed.

(Image: media-values.blogspot.com)

 

disability · dreams · health · life · poetry

Irony

Used to be a teacher –
socially respectable –
graded papers, set
lesson plans, passed.

Now, locked out, I am
tossed like dirty laundry
heaped atop the sullied
citizen pile – a dirty,

tangled mess in need
of cleansing – those
indistinguishably ill
usurpers of public money.

Once, knew definitively
the standards set by
ministry guidelines,
curriculum based goals

now, am dispossessed,
mind lost, unable to focus
on details, angered by
trivialities, a nonentity.

How I miss the certainty
of rubrics, daily routines
set by hours of sweat –
sweet organization.

I am the student now,
submerged in this disarray
of emotional churning
unsolicited learning

environment in which
achievement is seldom
honored – no A’s awarded
for surviving life tests.

(Image: nutleywatch.com)

dreams · Family · life · memoir · poetry · Uncategorized · women's issues

A 60’s Childhood

Formative years were more destruct
than construct; contradictions riddled

the foundation of our familial structure:
one man tyrannized five females while

in the news, women marched for equality;
called the likes of him a male chauvinist.

Aunt drove a forklift truck, looked like a man,
chalked one up for women’s liberation, didn’t

talk about her sexuality; shadow of illegality
hovering around her – no one dared to ask.

At nine, I questioned the fairness of being
born a girl in a man’s world, felt impassioned

by feminist cries, yet feared my mom would
leave the nest, abandon baking, domestics;

leave us to fend for ourselves – the warm waft
of fresh-baked goods greeting us each day, gone.

Watched my sisters flaunt their womanly ways
for virile young men who flocked to see bikini

clad bodies, ripe and tanned by the sun – who
was reducing whom to sex objects? And when

my mother’s family came to visit, why were the
men’s hands so invasive, their tongues equally

misplaced, and was this what women in the streets
were crying out against? I wanted to be free, explore

my future prospects – open road ahead – but Mother
said boys will be boys, and men don’t like smart

women, and better to drop out of school at sixteen,
get a secretarial job, and be ready when your prince

arrives – so I rebelled, cut my hair, flaunted my
intelligence, spoke up about inconsistencies,

such as why is a God a He, and why Aunt didn’t
ever date – did feminist mean celibate? and why

when women were so oppressed and men had
all the power, did my father wish he could be one?

Formative years more destruct than construct;
a deviate imprint tainting normalcy’s prospects.

(Image: retrochick.co.uk)