Tag: poetry

Worst Betrayal

Gentlest morning, and I touch
this quiet smile, lightly,
trust joy, us…

Sister shares a sad word,
where he enjoyed her honour
over me – been with, drank…

A language so strong that
dare can, in evening,
sounding old, never forget.

(Words courtesy of Magnetic Poetry online.)

Black Madonna, Revisited

Remember that Autumn,
we drove up to Campbell River,
like teenagers, skipping out of class –
a cackle of women, spiritually forming?

Felt as if we had bided our time, willing
this union to occur – high on anticipation,
giddy that our routine femininity had
been strewn across the barricades
of our socially contrived existence.

We were like lesbian lovers, unafraid
to explore our crevices, our souls
hungering for release…

We were researchers, reinventing masks
adopted in formative years, stretching
our capacity to believe…

awakened by the crones amongst us,
sisters united, standing in the the flood
of our collective herstory, shedding
the padding of our religious upbringing,
teetering on the brink of a lost divinity.

Weavers, once paralyzed by the guck
of patriarchal dictates, fear of ascension
retreating, we broke free, immersed in
Goddess splendour, felt the ecstasy
of true abandonment, were wild women
unrestrained, catalysts for change.

How is it that the passion faded so abruptly –
that motherhood and responsibility, and
the rigours of competing in daily life stripped
away the afterglow, smacked me back into
this rigid self-definition, prayerful, thankful,
yet lacking the empowerment of the island?

Have I stored her somewhere; is there even
a space within me capable of housing such
expansiveness, open to wading once again
in the waters of a lunar deity, wiling to sacrifice
superficiality for the compassionate mystery
of the Black Madonna haunting my memory?

( Black Madonna first appeared here in November of 2016.  I resubmit her (edited)  Art mine)

Cancer. Support.

Cancer.
The fear reverberates, ping-pongs
through our community –
seniors with hope,
fresh start
desire
after years of toil, children, woes
we congregate, create –
new family,
future,
plans rise
yet, we know, existence is
unpredictable, key
in another’s
hands – God
drives, we
follow, fulfill, crave redemption,
or at the very least,
a few year’s rest,
pleasure
unchecked
before the ‘C’ word is unleashed
and hearts throb with sorrow,
band together,
support.

(Written for Dark Side Of The Moon’s Cinquain Poetry Challenge.  This is a Cinq-Cinquain.  Check here to try out this form. Image from personal collection.)

Choose a Mood

Metal moans
and brake lines squeal
as rubber comes to a crawl –
tie-up on the highway.

Roadside wildflowers flourish,
attract birds and bees alike –
a butterfly floats by, nonchalant.

Tempers flare, impatience inches,
horns no deterrence for maddening halt.

Let me be the butterfly, I pray,
carefree in the midst of such fray.

Levitating

Suits meet, banter about deals,
conspiratorial heads bent, deep
throaty laughs, confidence reeking.

I glide by, imperceptibly, am a whisper
on the window of their intensity.

Families congregate on front lawns,
squeals of delight trailing blurs,
adult murmurs lost in shrill echoes.

I float on by, an ethereal witness,
no more than the wisp of a cloud.

Only a dog, unleashed, catches
a whiff of something inexplicable,
gives chase, nips at nothingness.

I am elusive, lacking substance,
he retreats bewildered, interest lost.

Am I somehow flawed,  I wonder
aloud to the gathering of females
draped across my bed, intrigued

Have landed now, solidly connected
to this other-abled reality, grounded.

Intimate discussions of life’s mystery
peaks interest, all want to learn to fly,
beg me to demonstrate, inspired to try.

Detachment is the secret, I reveal;
just launch yourself and release.

Instincts grasp to offer support,
arms reaching out in assistance,
roots hindering their deliverance.

Alone, I swirl above reeling minds
dissolve into the mist, am free.

(It’s poetics night at dVerse and our host, Gina, asks us to consider our poetic hum – what duality we lead.  For three years, I lived an isolated, bedridden existence, while the rest of the world hummed along (pun intended).  It was fertile ground for writing.  The poem, Levitating, was written 3 years ago, and immediately came to mind when I read the prompt.)

 

Message In a Bottle 2

Risk-taking equates with freedom, 
an affirmation from my iced tea’s cap
manna, I decide – message welcome
encouragement in life choices apt.

An affirmation from my iced tea’s cap
I overlook the mass produced twist
encouragement in life choices apt
consumerism’s ploy I can’t resist.

I overlook the mass produced twist
sensibility to magic will succumb
consumerism’s ploy I can’t resist
Risk-taking equates with freedom

Sensibility to magic will succumb
empowered by assembly-line crap
risk-taking equates with freedom
inspired, my spirit does readily adapt.

Inspired, my spirit does readily adapt
sensibility to magic will succumb
even a message from a bottle cap
enough to risk in favour of freedom.

(This month dVerse poets are examining the Pantoum, a form I am finding difficult to follow, but willing to keep trying. I have rewritten the original Magic In a Bottle  to fit this form.)