Crow

I am crow
perched high
observant
obscure

I am crow
loudly proclaiming
righteously incensed
a warning

I am crow
one-eyed, head-cocked
mystery, confronting
pompous pretense

I am crow
foolishly singular
ignorantly insulting
I eat myself.

(Image mine)

Time Out

My to-do lists have grown appendages
are teaming up in a huddle
plotting their next play

Wait a minute, Guys! I plead
the afternoon sun has caught me
at just the right angle,
and my chair,
with a mind of its own,
is reclining…

Can’t we save the game day antics
for another time…

(Image my own)

Stolen Identity

The woman currently abiding
within this costumed realm
is merely a lethargic version
of the once vital but oppressed
Miss, whose identification
was stolen by means of
unsolicited adversity.

The focus of this recanting
is to invite a perspective
that not only restores, but
aids in the teaching of other
shadow-selves, that to reassert
original nature is more than fair.

(A quirky rant for Reena’s Xploration challenge: a stolen identity ; and Eugi’s weekly prompt: shadows. Art my own)

Martyr’s Lament

I wake before dawn,
drive through blinding snowstorms,
if lost, alter course – without faltering –
even set out on foot when driving
becomes impossible, navigating
treacherous snow and ice, for you

So you can get where you need to be
So you can succeed
I risk it all for you

I keep you by my side
so that you will be safe
so that I can ensure your arrival

But, I grow weary, and my body
won’t go on, and all I ask for
is that we rest awhile,
so that I can catch my breath

And in that instance, you are gone –
no hesitation in your step, no looking back –
and when you finally stop to wait for me
it is too late…

A barrier has grown between us:
like an eight-foot, chain-link fence
separating me from protecting you

And you look at me with that glare
of exasperation that says:
“I should have done it on my own.”

Wait! Wait, I say.
This wall may seem insurmountable
but I can do it. I can do it; give me time.
I’ll just climb to the top.
It’ll be easy; you’ll see!

Don’t walk away! Give me one more chance
to prove my love. I do it all for you.

(Martyr’s Lament first appeared here in November, 2014.
This version is a rewrite. Image my own.)

Survival of the Wittiest

Father demanded first slice of pie
doled out with high brow perfection
anything less unacceptable

Crumbly bits unleashed a tirade
the shame of incompetence
crushing the reluctant server

Oppressed as we were
we children plotted,
sought a suitable revenge

He got his just dessert
cherry with a subtle trace –
scent of satisfaction.

(Note: no parents were killed in the writing of this poem. Image my own.)

Religious Calling

Armed with righteous conformity
the zealots rang my bell

Came calling on a cleaning day,
in that remote country hell

Spotted me before I did them
my attention on wringing the mop

No choice but to answer
and before I could ask them to stop

Carefully scripted narrative
tumbled from pious lips

Bemused, I noted neither blink
as I, stark naked, stood hands on hips.

(Image my own)