Nature leaves her fingerprint
on this land; River pushes on,
her perseverance a reminder
that all is flow, and what feels
like an ending, is indeed
just a passage in time:
Carry on.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Tag: poem
Sing Along
Dove’s mournful cry
spotlights Nature’s calling –
Let us find a harmonic note
sing along for conservation,
for preservation, for a strong
tomorrow – find our voices
and join the chorus.
(A New Year’s resolution for the world. Image mine)
Staging
To orchestrate
harmony of the whole
banish dysphoric memories
Salvage unraveled bits,
extinguish sulphur stench
of failed flames
The show is underway:
banish past to backstage,
future is in the audience.
(Image my own)
Making of a Woman
I know that abyss –
swallowed up as I was
punch-drunk on darkness
Bled as I emerged,
each reach a scrape –
there was release too
Revived now, I honour
that passage, recognize
the making of a woman.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknuton. Image my own.)
Miscommunication
Air is laden with toxins
of which we do not speak
You have deemed me evil
and I wear garlic to mock
your vampire ways –
Both missing the essence –
that our souls are indigo –
deep and true, yearning
for a rich connection.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
The Same, But Broken
Fragility blindsides me –
I am a strong woman,
not courageous
but accepting
in face of pain,
grief,
illness.
Fragility is pervasive –
body fibres stretched
and torn, on brink
of brokenness;
mind overwhelmed,
obsesses, unable to organize
or let go…
If only I could let go.
I am weeping and not –
weeping from frustration
of immediate impossibility;
unwilling to weep, for totality
of loss is beyond me.
Outside these walls,
life continues,
regards me with disgust/
indifference/repulsion –
equality ignores the ailing.
And, yet…
in this state of rawness,
stripped of busy-ness,
I am as any other –
Just a soul seeking
a meaningful existence.
(The Same, But Broken first appeared here December, 2014. This edition has been revised. Art my own.)
Birthmark
Shunned for her sin
a young figure
rubs her swelling belly
compulsion driven by fear
Tremors from within
stunt her movement
uncertainty paralyzing
her words…
She is unwed,
repulsive to a society
reeking with ineptitude –
righteousness negating action
Unsuspecting, the baby arrives
emits a scratchy cry –
filling her lungs with hope
and anticipation, trusting
Does not know
in her stark nakedness
that her tragedy is set,
life will not embrace and provide
Poverty has marked her
for a life of hardship –
the pious turn their backs
she is, after all, born of sin.
(Image my own)
Prayer Unanswered
Calm, the morning air,
mind lost in reflection,
mirror-still waters
Raise my eyes skyward,
pray for release, an end
to Mother’s suffering.
Nothing. Death
has its own rhythm –
emotions mud.
(I wrote this poem a year ago, when my Mother was in and out of hospital with heart failure and pneumonia. Now, a year later, she continues to struggle. “We live too long,” she says. “Pray for my release.” Photo: Mom at 94, courtesy of my son.)
Amused
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)
Wounded Feminine
On entering the tunnel, I see her –
pallor a notable shade of ghostly
Tattered, her dress hangs in billowing
folds of transparency; she beckons
No words pass between us, but
her haunting gaze begs audience
So, I bear witness to her tale –
a gruesome re-enactment of her death
Slow and agonizing, her femininity
scalded and tortured till flesh festered
and infection drove her to madness –
no solace offered, no medicine rendered
No more than a child, I now see –
a tragic retelling of innocence turned victim
Do not look away, her spirit commands,
the suffering continues, and I will haunt
Till justice recognizes the crime
and restitution restores balance.
(Reena’s Xploration offered the opening line, and Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – notable– added to the narrative. This apparition appeared to me in that tunnel between waking and sleep, begging that I share her story. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 