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)
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)
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)
Rear-ended
by proverbial truck
Unexpectedly, I claim
denying accountability
Sure, I took chances
crossed the line
Rebelliously ignored
limits, road signs
Driven by compassion
open-doored willingness
Saw the danger too late
swerving only mitigated damage
Humiliated by the impact
reckless ego smarting.
(image my own)
You misconceive the calling,
says bird in bush –
troubled times
call for comfort
not derailment
of humanity –
petty, bickering
without soul –
I may be bird-brained
but human sense
has the consistency
of overripe fruit.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
The eight of cups –
an octopus balancing
multi-tasks; I juggle
fog, attempt
to calibrate logistics
but instincts
are dull-edged,
my tentacles lacking
suction – will slither
back into hiding.
(Tuesday, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Sky gallery –
anything but banal –
recalls innocence
Geese attempt
an instinctual dance
(few will actually migrate)
Cheers this aging mind,
also prone to redundant acts –
sexagenarian fun.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
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)
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.)
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.)
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)