poem – Page 45 – One Woman's Quest

Present, If Not Accounted For

Invisible
marginalized –
components
of self
devalued
by marketing trends

still sentient enough to need:
acknowledgment
recognition
acceptance
respect

kindness
never overrated.

Vultures Come

Vultures come
sharpen talons and beaks
tear at necrotic flesh
pick this carcass clean

I need a committee
to rid me of parasitic past
trauma’s cadaver
weighing me down.

(Linking up to Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day. A macabre bird and poem to fit the season. Image from personal collection)

Faulty Vision

Cupped hands gather tears
dreams once clear now misted, gone –
nostalgic ideals.

(Written for RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: water/ smoke. Also for Reena’s Exploration challenge – image featured.)

Unexpected

Expectations safely stowed
pursed alongside judgment,
I am bent on finding an outlet
for already disgruntled disposition.

Encounter inexperience
fumbling responsibility –
an overwhelmed innocent
lacking in accountability

I offer a suggestion,
to roll up my sleeves
and before I know it
compassion’s employed

This was not my intention –
I am ill-equipped for such
a commitment, surely
I am of no practical use.

Yet, here I am, engaged
expectations tossed
in favour of service –
please don’t judge.

Prevailing Might

The world, I’d say,
is struggling to endure –
upheaval the new norm
old protocols redundant –
insane the political thrum.
Surely hope has remained,
a constant flickering might.

Dance in Denial

Autumn dons a mask,
regales the changing season,
ignores Winter’s threat –
and I too, dance, brightly clad,
deny the nearness of death.

Mallard

In Mallard’s wake woe –
with clipped wings, I watch and yearn
for Winter sojourn.
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day, and RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: wake/wail)

Bent, Worn, Alive

Bent –
life’s tribulations weighty
do not confuse this folding
with weakness, I am

worn –
tested resilience
nourishes creativity
I am muse rich,

alive –
alone my story
an illustration,
my life art.

Spooning

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”

Source: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot

I line my spoons on the counter –
measures of the day’s reserves

one spoon for morning tea
with a side of emails read

a shower requires two or three
with a guarantee of needed rest

I’ll linger horizontal – added care
when an outing is in the plans

the thrill of venturing, and delight
of conversation shared wipes

the counter clean – I’ll crash
and crave for one spoon more

enough to get me into bed
pray tomorrow’s count the same.

(For Reena’s Exploration challenge, in which she challenges us to use one of the given lines of poetry. Spooning is the term used for those of us with chronic illness who have limited energy. Myalgic Encephalomyelitis is characterized by exhaustion after exertions. My day starts with depleted energy, and I work from there.)

Manic Moments

…and some days
we stand up
topple the furnishings
of corporate order
decry politics
and etiquettes
and rage,
rage,
inner light
exploding
in a shattering
ball of fire
blinding
purifying
setting souls free
setting us free

…and then
it’s over –
in a blink
and our desk mate
still sleeps the slumber of automaton
clicks a mouse in rhythm with photocopier

we sigh
and re-conform.