Tag: poetry

Trinkets

I’m returning the jewels
loaned to me

Settling
for smaller trinkets…

…a teddy bear
a paper parasol…

I know it’s been a while
but I haven’t forgotten

It’s harder these days
relying on others

Accommodations unnerve
so I stay away…

…a silver ring
a hat for Teddy…

It’s enough really
I haven’t much to spend

but your faith in me
means a lot

and warmed by our connection
I’m willing to invest…

I don’t need diamonds or pearls
just trinkets to remind me…

(Image my own)

Tongue Tied

Two-tongued –
speaking both heart and mind –
complex languages, whose nuance
I’ve never quite mastered,
yet am conversant in.

It’s a constant learning
to nail enunciation –
linguistics a tiresome topic

The mind,
a guttural language,
leans toward equation and absolutes –
hard consonants and long vowels

While heart-speak rolls
off the tongue in softer,
cooing syllables –
elongated tones and
whimsical passages.

I’d happily demonstrate
the extent of my proficiency
but the two-tongues
are currently contradictory,
the clamour of their discord
drowning out the peace
requisite for translation.

(Tongue Tied first appeared here October 2018. Image my own)

Could It Be?

Walking away is the only solution
I’ve ever excelled at, and yet,
absence does not obliterate
that which dwells within

I can pretend that I have nothing
to offer, but life and circumstance
require more: challenge me
to exhume remaining potential

Am I up to the task?

There is flattery in being looked up to,
the feeling that someone needs me –
but that is akin to temptation –
an ego play…

Could it be that wisdom acquired
has merit only when shared,
that we are all here to do our part,
that we are meant to engage?

Will I find a flow, rediscover
a synchronicity, reignite
a passion, and belong again?
Dare I hope?

(I first wrote this poem, two and half years into a debilitating illness that kept me bed bound. This version is edited, and I chose to share it now as a reminder not to give up. The answer to the questions posed is a resounding “Yes!” Image my own)

Intangibles

Mother followed all the trends –
Scarsdale and grapefruit diets,
minis and maxis,
platforms and pumps –
reaching for an ideal
my child’s mind
could not comprehend

Father dreamt of a voice makeover
had flown his ancestral roots
in search of…what?
I did not know

I learned that men
were to be pleased,
and compassion
was a woman’s role
and it was folly to hazard
confrontation when alcohol
was in the mix,

Intangible as life was
I deduced that secrets –
the avoidance of scandal –
rendered women ineffective

and by the very circumstance
of my birth, I was tainted,
weighted by shame
destined to endure
pain as love
invested in
my worthlessness

Except life is evolution
and rage emerges
from oppression
and conviction
smashes the impotence
of ideals, embraces
the abstracts
of fluidities,

and merging out of shame
I see that struggle
is opportunity

and that rewriting legacies
is an honourable goal
and I do have power
in any given moment…

only wish
I had known it
sooner.

(Art my own)

Life is Like This

Biting, the sun’s brilliance,
nestled in a cornflower blue sky –
competition for mustard gold,
tangerine orange, and chartreuse –
leaves shimmering this Autumn morn

The vividness of colours too sharp
for just awakened eyes – begs retreat.
I contemplate this vision, think:
life is like this –
too beautiful, at times for words;
glorious perfection.

In a blink, the sky changes
white clouds forming a backdrop,
Autumn wind tossing the tree about,
branches dipping, pull apart,
and the harmony of the last moment
is gone, and I think:

Life is like this –
turning without notice,
what once was balance, suddenly lost,
and we are left spinning.
I can hear it now – wind rushing
against the windowpane, taunting:
Change! Change is coming!

I know what it speaks is true, for
life is like this: ever fluctuating, and
the reminder is bittersweet,
my heart, reluctant to let go of Summer
knows it’s okay: it’s just the way of life.

(A rewrite of a rewrite. Image my own)