Tag: DVerse

Trees Are Meant to Branch

Our roots are spreading,
the umbrella of our tree broadening –
Muslims now amongst our beloveds

a progression, nurtured by
a Divine plan – trees are meant
to branch – hearts’ capacity unlimited

an outcome that evolved – not because
of that day when the impact reverberated
across borders, dislodging fears – but despite it

Praise goes to youth, whose willingness
to embrace possibility beyond stereotypes,
beyond hatred, opened doors, enticed

this hometown gal, and a backward father
to set aside prejudice (ignorance, really), and invite
the light of love to transform darkened passages.

brave souls, willing to defy the legacy
of downed towers, the lies of politicians –
carving out a path for an enlightened future.

(Written for dVerse, who on the anniversary of 9/11 challenged us to go back to a previous poem penned on this date and write a new one, based on one line.  I revisited  Renovating the Psyche from 9/11/2016 and chose the line:  “roots spreading outwards, Muslims now amongst our beloveds.” )

Advertisement

Monday Tourists

Rain-drenched
roads kick up
blinding mist,
Eight hours –
construction,
accidents,
snarly traffic
ignoring
neon:
Adjust speed for weather

We arrive
at five –
multi-lanes
jammed –
Quick!
Wrong lane!
Merge right!
Weary commuters –
tourists
a rush-hour pain –
graciously acquiesce.

Welcome
to Ottawa.

(Inspired by today’s road trip and written for dVerse’s quadrille: quick, and Ragtag Community’s: grace)

Monstrosity

This actor,
this ego
demanding
submissive idolatry

Humanity is distracted –
controversy, like celebrity,
vying for social attention.

Opposition barks
obediently in response
to dick-waving antics

their questions only
inciting more rage –

he is inaccessible
gloating,
publicity-sapping

ignores the plight
of dreamers,
of marginalized

human rights
inopportune
for his pocket-
lining agenda

Heroic action
is called for –

there is strength
in quiet amassing
of information

the harvesting
of underhanded
self-serving
motivations

this monstrosity
must be de-throned
before democracy
is completely defiled.

(It’s open link night at dVerse, and I have compiled this poem from the prompts of Fandango (question), Ragtag Community (bark), and Daily Addictions (controversy).  Oh, and maybe I’m feeling a little riled by the gong show coming out of Washington.)

Defeated, I Turn Away

Back rested against post,
the figure guards the median –
poised with cardboard sign,
a simple plea for help.

Positions himself amid
gridlocked targets – usually,
I look away, disquieted,
but today I do not, wondering

what I could possibly give
this man that would lift him
from his plight –
surely others have tried,
and, yet, here he is
day after day
the same –

and
I am struck
with realization –
that we are not
all that different
he and I

both trapped in unhealthy
patterns, having adopted
personas that once served –
but now weigh heavily
with the stench of permanence

Does he not know it’s all
an illusion – a game we play
wherein we are the pawn?

I don’t know it either –
turn away, defeated.

(Frank is hosting at dVerse tonight and the jive is frustration and heartbreak.)

Good Afternoon?

Rumi’s dawn breezes – once sage advice – now taunt me.  I am loathe to greet the day, not that I despise its arrival, rather that waking has become laborious since the onset of chronic illness.  Daughter of a military man, I am conditioned to rise before the sun, have a lifetime of such anecdotes to my credit, however; while the brain is still willing, the body groans, and aches wail with renewed emphasis as the numbing cocoon of sleep loosens.  Hours dwindle from the first inkling of consciousness till muscles comply with movement, and I am lucky if I’m actually able to utter ‘Good Morning”.

Rays, like razors, slice,
invade sleep’s cocoon – absent
winged emergence.

(Mish is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight with the prompt of morning.  I have also worked in the promptings of Fandango (loathe), Ragtag Community (labour), and Daily Addictions (sage).  Thank you all for your inspiration.)

Cracked Eggs

I have eggs,
she cooed,
here in my basket –
care to have a peek?

Considered his response
carefully, not wanting to
count this chicken, even as
the plot was hatching.

Hesitation,
she scolded,
only ever loses.

Yes, he concurred,
but if I act too early
all you’ll get is a worm.

(Twisted Adages is the theme for Tuesday night poetics at dVerse.  Thanks to our host Jilly for the inspiration.)

Mother

Mother
to a child – barely
able to tie shoes

watching,
listening,
ever-present

through fields,
trees, at
water’s edge

provided shelter,
grounding –
whispered cautions

child grew,
left her side –
pursued dreams

until life
overwhelming –
an adult returns

“Mother?” she cries.

“Here,” Earth responds.

(It’s quadrille night at dVerse, and Kim is hosting with the prompt earth.)

Sacred Fire

Set the stones
with reverence
for the directions
for the spirits
for the elders –
stories,
like sacred threads,
weave legacy,

Bodies decline,
but spirit is fire –
built with sacred intent,
sparks become flames;
fire has ears
hears our prayers
transforms
the message –
praises
for the gods,
inspiring peace.

(Sacred Fire is dedicated to my mentor and friend, Emmagene, who taught me the importance of ritual and ceremony.  I am linking up to 50 Word Thursday, dVerse Open Link, Fandango’s inspire, Ragtag community’s elder, and Daily Addictions’ decline.)

 

Protesting is Pointless

Go ahead, spin
your yarns –
convince me
not to persecute

Can you not see
my skin is naught
but tin; I am metal
inside and out

You are looking for
sympathy – requires
a being with a heart –
I am no such fool.

Hush your mournful
pleas, quit dragging
on me; I’ve no time
for nonsense, child.

(Today at dVerse, Mish has challenged to write from the perspective of either the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, or the Tin Man.  Using the daily prompts of Fandango (being), Ragtag Community (yarn), Manic Mondays (hush),  and Daily addictions (persecute), this portrait of the Tin Man emerged.  If he sounds presidential here, it is purely coincidental. Image is from my personal collection, and seemed appropriate.)