Commit doubting
Unaware of agendas,
inferiority driven
tainted by dependency
Seeking familiarity –
anxiety in togetherness –
a stranger to pridefulness
Shouldn’t love be comfortable
at least, at the outset?
I am spontaneous,
I tell myself,
rely on Fate’s presence
no need to discern
Might as well send out an invite:
This heart is unlocked;
abuse welcome here!
(Image my creation)
The proverbial can has exploded –
transparency of our deceit now lies
like swarms of glass snakes writhing
at our feet – litany of hissing truths
Bent on keeping innocence alive,
I strategically attempt avoidance,
point to wealth, abundance, nurture
focus … the onslaught continues.
Slivers of slime, maggot-like hoards
mobilize – a sea of protestation,
I, overwhelmed by filth and disgust
encroaching on my sanity, helpless.
Familiarity colours the devastation –
have witnessed it before, watched
as my mother bit into the same
serpent-defiled apple…turned away.
There are no barriers to block out
the vile beasts, no refuge for broken
souls, whose lives, twisted in denial,
have mercilessly fallen to betrayal.
(Fallen From Grace was written in January, 2016. Image my own)
(This is an edited version of an earlier poem from 2016. Image my own)
Cherubic and reeking
grief’s pallor heavy
he comes to me
Of course, he does
I am schooled in compassion
seldom flinch at raw pain
I attend to the wounds
listen; reassure
but I am weary
My own sorrow unattended
loss and betrayal an inner bleed
know I have only so much to give
But he is not alone,
there is another
a mere child…
Cherubic and reeking
grief’s pallor heavy
he comes to me
Of course he does
and I will sign on to stay…
schooled in the art of compassion.
(The stories that come to us in the dreamtime, often celebrate anniversaries. Years ago, I was in a cycle of abusive relationships, culminating with the one represented in the poem. We met on New Year’s Eve. My son, then early teens, remarked to me that I always chose relationships that asked a lot of me but seldom gave in return. While I laughed it off in the moment, his words remained with me, especially as this man also betrayed me with another. It was the turning point I needed to do some real soul-searching.)
Image my own.
Pythagorus surmised
a theorem of patterns
defining life’s mysteries
Despite my abhorrence
for numbers, I concur that
there is order to the unknown
Guided by compassion
I walk that intrepid riddle
seek the enlightened path.
( Image my own.)
Daddy yelled
and Mommy cried
and new dresses appeared.
A pattern
my young heart
vowed to break.
Chose a man,
reticent in nature,
pursued a career.
Then babies came
and I stayed home
and he withheld cash.
Pendulum swings
left to right – money
holds the key to powers.
Patterns, it seems,
twist and morph,
leave me impoverished.
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.)
I wrestle with sleep –
need overpowered by unease,
senses on high alert,
as if a child
trying to intuit
the degree of volatility
in father’s drunken slur
what will it take
to find rest,
to reassure
the littles
that the tyrant is gone
and life will unfold
as it will
without the stress
of constant monitoring.
Adolescence holds lessons,
I failed to absorb, the leap
into adulthood premature.
Have a son of my own now,
wish to guide him to solace,
help him to settle into a place
where the sky is prominent,
teach him to live without
walls, proud and confident
but I fear the price is too steep
that he will not manage the cost,
recognize that the legacy lives on
that he too has been thrust into
adulthood, a product of his mother’s
failure – an example poorly set.
Tie myself to instability,
conditioned to believe
that sensibility fluctuating
with insanity is acceptable.
Insert responsibility
to compensate for
immaturity, am idle
unemployable, would
pack up and move
my ass out of this
stagnation, except
anger is brewing
as turmoil intensifies
and how far can one
really go to escape
such legacies, knowing
I will only return
to the same, better
to stay and face
the devil himself.
(Image: www.viral.us)
You think she’d learn –
collects boyfriends like
other girls amass makeup;
always thrilling at the start
the objectified male’s influence
sticking; believes in commitment
while inwardly protesting
ego creates a scene,
manifests conflict
needs to break away –
heart having leaped
prematurely.
You think she’d learn –
past courtships have
established that infatuation
is the exception: not a trail worth
targeting; where is common sense?
she will not listen, loves the sound
of ‘boyfriend’, is dedicated to desires
of the flesh, blind to problems
balls and chains provoke;
impulse is a good teacher,
she never heeds.
You think she’d learn –
clean slate is not achievable
dramas of the past superimposed
had one too many arse-ended
engagements – needs to minimize
this yearning for affection,
wake up, smash the drive
that invokes mayhem
settle for the institution
of loneliness.
(Image: onehdwallpaper.com)
One Woman's Quest 