How is it the sky knows
the heart’s secrets?
My blood simmers
infernal this pain
A stream of clouds
lit by a fiery horizon
reflects what words
cannot express
How is it the sky knows?
How is it the sky knows
the heart’s secrets?
My blood simmers
infernal this pain
A stream of clouds
lit by a fiery horizon
reflects what words
cannot express
How is it the sky knows?
These thought processes…
I am inside out, shredded…
on so many levels
out of sync…
hear my own words
nothing but hot air
making me so dizzy
that I’m becoming afraid
of heights….
phobic, actually
Breathe,
I remember somewhere
between gulps of helium
and the hammering
in my head…
breathe…
Platitudes have no place
in this moment
in the inside out
emotionally raw now
So, I’ll quit the words
breathe until I find ground
again….
then repeat.
(Inspired by the prompt of Reena’s Exploration challenge which can found here. Image my own.)
Fierce the gathering
clouds laden, heavy – my heart
echoing the storm.
(For Ronovan Writes Haiku challenge: fierce & storm)
Tides recede,
puddled remnants
of once oceanic flooding –
emotions overpowering –
threats now quelled.
I breathe,
lose myself in visions
of gold and promising greens,
yesterday’s heat a numbing haze
obscuring tomorrow’s obstacles.
This rage –
this storm,
waves crashing
against walls
impenetrable
I am ice,
unforgiving,
unrepentant,
wounded
thrashing
against a beast
unwittingly
played by you
We freeze.
I’ve come undone;
you are battered.
It is irreparable
absolute
until one of us
shifts, and fear
surges, unleashing
tears
and transformation.
The initial spoonful –
salted caramel cool –
consoles bitten tongue,
slides down burning throat:
appeasement for churning gut.
Each spoonful savoured
sweetness countering bile,
dark chocolate shavings
as bittersweet as the emotion
being pushed down, buried
Bruised by conflict,
words ineffectual,
ice cream an unworthy
compensation, cravings
turn to salty reprieve.
sometimes
when I write
I eat – it’s my way
of stopping
the emotions
from spewing
all over the page
sometimes
when I eat
and my emotions
are numbed
momentarily
my inspiration
dries up
pardon me
if I appear
a little neurotic
but I need
to find a solution
for this eating
writing problem
Every woman needs a man,
her mother told her, to make
her complete. To submit,
she realizes, too late, soul
traded for high-rise living,
big city dreams numbing
inner losses; she eats to
appease an inner sorrow,
a second-rate childhood,
afraid of being a burden,
loathe to create a stir,
conditioned complacency:
appeasing, pleasing, follows
plans, avoids decisions, never
really knows where she is going.
Can she fault the man, schooled
to provide – the alpha male taking
ownership/ charge? His child
lives here too, feeds on impulses,
craves attention, overcompensates
for fears of lacking with bravado;
cannot understand why she never
asserts her self, alternately reads
acceptance and disapproval, frets –
an eternally unsettled gnawing gut.
They stumble over one another, seek
separation in small quarters, discuss
repairmen, schedules – nothing;
avoid deeper issues like the fact
that they are both suffocating, near
jumping off the ledge of their high
faluting existence, into the snarl
of traffic that immobilizes them.
The noise of city living has negated
their ability to listen, the distractions
altered them; the distance between
is too far to bridge in a single sigh,
and she, no longer submissive,
has joined him, and checked out.