Division, the determining factor
in their relationship –
who can understand
the dynamics of blood ties?
Cracked images suggest
a camaraderie, at least
once upon a time, and who
recalls the cause of the rift?
Fixated on the anger
distance a monument
to the breach, till one dies
and the absence is cemented
(Image my own)
Is it naiveté
this nurturing impulse?
I am a product of genetics
a force dictating flaws
Railing against depression
trending towards light
I exert positivity
borrow bravery
Am odd, I agree
but what is real?
Addiction affects us all
violates progress
My loyalty, intrinsically
tied to abuse, know only chaos.
(Image my own)
No big box here
our shops line up
in historic rows
Our fragance
eau-de-ferme
earthen fresh
Our spires reminders
that values are simple
and life blessed.
(Photo mine)
We wait at the station, Mother and I,
one final stop for her – painless she prays;
I busied at bedside – prolonged goodbye –
memories and regrets filling our days.
“We live too long,” she wearily proclaims
“Why must suffering linger till the end?”
I plea and bargain, call angelic names,
yet the will to survive refuses to bend.
The urgency builds as my time dwindles;
must I leave her in this compromised state?
She rallies and stands on wobbly spindles
dismisses fears – has accepted her fate.
Some destinations are clearly defined –
Death is a train whose schedule’s unkind.
(The Last Train first appeared January 2019. Image my own)
Mother said: “Look after your sister!”
What she meant was: Take this burden
off my shoulders; I am no longer able to cope.
Father said: “Do as I say, not as I do!”
What he meant was: I don’t have the wherewithal
to deal with my own problems, so don’t bring me yours.
Sister said: “Be a good auntie!”
What she meant was: I am too young to be a mother,
and you are much more responsible, so take care
of my consequences.
So I ran away to build my own life:
met a man and married, bought a house,
had children, and dreamed of a future
that would erase the past… but
Husband said: “If you really loved me,
you’d lose weight, be less effusive, control
your temper, and be more supportive of my choices.”
What he meant was: I’m going to grind you so far
into the ground and then I’m going to cheat and cheat
and you’ll have nothing left inside to do anything about it.
And without a word, I left.
What I meant was: I am a real person
with needs of my own, and despite my faults
or limitations, I deserve better.
(This is an edited version of an older poem by the same name, December 2018. Image my own)
Resting, I pray for peace
but it is temporary
guilt intervenes
What if I withdraw
commit to solitude
keep my tongue?
I need angel guidance
this mothering heart
infectious, requires wisdom
My past is soiled
I am stinking, tainted
Can forgiveness help?
Pick me up,
give me strength
I am lacking courage
Teach me moderation
modesty to guide my words
I only want to help…
But this vile thirst
this self-deprecation
reigns me in
What value have I
in a world stricken by need
my offering mere morsels?
I pray for peace
I pray for grace
Forgiveness offers a hand.
(Image my own).
There is light in unknowns –
at least I project it there –
caught between the current
ashen landscape and the achings
of a solitary childhood…
I like to think faith guides me
but she is muted like the gardens
of my dreams, more ethereal
than palpable and I need concrete
have waited too long for that train
of certainty to carry me away…
course it never comes, there is no easy
just a slow, steady plodding: a pace
that age has settled on; so I turn
to inner landscapes, imagination
remembering colour…and yes, light.
(Image my own creation)
The river will not be pushed
nor outrun – still I try
shattered pieces of my efforts
littering her banks…
Illness teaches that I cannot
flow with or keep up, but…
openness counts…the river
brings and she takes away
I am witness, beneficiary,
a voice, for her bounty, her power
Life is the river. It brings opportunity-
I partake or not; it moves on.
No use building walls; better to stand
at the edge with heart and mind willing.
Nuances of nostalgia –
jagged edges
succumbing
to unsuspecting cubes
nourishment
moving and opening
I distract
We grapple
under construction
Meaning percolates
This is life
these bits and pieces
of a resurrection
dragons and time machines
ticket stubs
scattered.
(Originally titled, Weaving Bits and Pieces, this was a found poem – the product of collective responses to a prompt. Image my own.)
Once believed
not in circles
but in spirals
Life’s dance
continual movement
marking progress
Time’s measure
mocks such optimism
regret unavoidable
Excuses aplenty
none assuaging ambition
incomplete inevitable
Can I stop this spinning
rescue the untidy threads
weave an acceptable ending?
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 