How delicate
these threads
that bind us –
frail filaments,
whispery darts
of affection –
How willfully
we ignore connection,
ignore ensuing pain…
individuality usurping
love’s needs –
a harsh lesson.
(Inspired by the featured image and written for the daily prompts:
Fandango: lesson; Ragtag Community: dart; Daily Addictions: frail.)
Insults and mockery
and off the cuff remarks
all marks of authenticity
merely plain talking larks
so says the republican
in the president’s defence –
we are just oversensitive
those who take offence.
When was it disclosed,
I ask the figure on the screen,
that authenticity is ascribed
to spewing things obscene?
Now I am not American,
so neither right nor left,
still I cannot help but object
when justification is so bereft.
Authenticity, I cry out
implies honesty and trust,
building a self that is hospitable –
openness and compassion a must.
To equate such a concept
with this poor excuse of a man
has really pushed the boundaries;
I’m ready for a Trumpian ban.
(Today’s prompts are as follows: Â Fandango’s word of the day: Â object; Ragtag Community:Â hospitable; and Daily Addictions is disclose. Â I am not usually political but hearing Trump’s recent comments described as authentic got me going – apparently. Photo is from my personal collection – reminds me of an angry forest spirit.)
More black than red,
blood gathers in the tube
puncturing the crux
of left elbow –
a drip, drip of saline
curtails effects of dehydration,
while the newly infused
Gravol spreads – a calm
settling nausea; I sigh
Tests indicate an invader –
infection toppling an already
fragile system, cannot afford
the onslaught..
Hours later, I lie watching
as a storm rages outside –
the sweltering heat
having peaked,
now clashing with
cooler air advancing
Partner tracks the weather
patterns on apps, alerts
me of approaching systems
but I don’t need technology
am feeling resonance with
nature’s thunderous fracas.
(Today’s prompts are as follows: Â Fandango’s One Word Challenge is curtail,
Ragtag Community’s offering is trace, and Daily Addictions is afford.)
Photo is from personal collection. Â With the help of wonder drugs, I am at home recuperating.)
Let’s resurrect the fireworks
pretend we’re young again
we laugh to hide the sorrow
the ludicrousness of it all
reliability applicable only
to sentiments, little else
post surgeries, chronic
illness and radiation’s turn
fireworks are for the young,
we agree returning to our screens.
(We’ll blame this poem on the prompts of the day: Â Fandango’s: fireworks, Ragtag Communities: resurrect, and Daily Addictions: reliable.)
Viewed from the shelter
of Fog Harbour’s luxury,
Pier 39, a serene snapshot
vessels tethered silently
waiting, a single gull
bobbing nonchalantly by
sea-inspired dishes satiate
appetites, as we ponder
the legacy of Alcatraz
watch the ferries line up,
load up and slip away –
robotic whale-like rhythm
on a far dock, a gigantic
mass of darkened bodies
indiscernible from this height
the pungency of their odour
and discordant bray of roars
unavailable from our perch
afterwards, we will join
the serried rank of onlookers
attempt to determine who
is gawking at whom –
the oily swarm of lazy flesh
or the camera-toting fans
fulfilling our contract
as tourists, memorializing
San Francisco’s wonder.
(Daily Addictions prompt is gigantic, Fandango’s word of the day: contract , Ragtag Community has offered serried. Â Image is from personal collection: Â Pier 39, Fisherman’s Wharf, SF)
Suspect
these sentiments,
gnarled and ungrateful,
only serve to tip the scale
in favour of cynicism
have, therefore,
decided on self-
imposed quarantine;
will be keeping thoughts
to myself, thank you.
Suffice to say
that having confronted
multiple betrayals,
and insurmountable
heartache, all pointing
vile accusations
at a lack of discernment,
and questionable self-worth,
I am currently not imbibing
romantic dribble –
Oh, dear! I’ve said too much.
(Inspired by the daily promptings of: Fandango (suspect), Ragtag Community (scale), Daily Addictions (intimidate), and Sammi Cox’ Weekend Writing Prompt (quarantine).
Image produced by yours truly.)
A simple shoebox, repurposed
with plastered images of dreams –
paper affirmations of aspirations –
shelved and forgotten, its contents
snapshots, faded and torn, remnants
of another time, a different future –
captured when potential was prime
and possibility untainted by illness
this one was retirement – a supposed
celebration – but note how the colour
has drained, the cracks obliterating
pride of accomplishment; and notice
how this one crumbles to the touch –
the fragments dissipating even as
my life has dissipated, the image
lost before memory resurfaces, so
much loss when circumstance dictates
direction, overpowers will, and plans
like snowflakes, vanish in the heat
of reality – pain and insult burning
but wait – this one looks promising –
the edges only slightly torn, the image
discernible – could it be that there is
hope yet – a future author I might be?
That’s the thing about times to come,
we fill them with imaginings, and pray,
our hope, like balloons set free in a sea
of unforeseen challenges, and seldom
does the end result reflect projected
plotting, and yet, there is power in
the dreaming, and so I’ll replace the old
with new photographs to store away.
(Originally penned for National Poetry month, I am repurposing this poem here for Daily Addictions prompt: generate, Fandango’s: captured, and Ragtag Community’s: reduce.)
Ice
cream,
an indulgence
inspired by summer’s
heat – cool mouthfuls
creamy sweetness melting
ecstasy – torture for those
whose systems cannot cope
lactose intolerance condemning
sideline drooling – until
manufacturers develop
alternatives –
coconut bliss
and soya
so good –
kudos
to
non-dairy treats.
(Thank you to Fandango for kudos, Daily Addictions for cope, and Ragtag Daily prompt for indulgence.)
Crumbs seductively line
Corian countertops –
abundance for flies,
I understand
It’s a trap!
I’d warn, but
buzz is not a language
familiar to my tongue
temper unsuited
to accommodating pests –
we navigate an end
to the ensuing discomfort
fly doomed,
my senses rattled
effort now exerted
to vanquish crumbs.
(Inspired by the daily prompts of Fandango (temper), Daily Addictions (Abundant), and Ragtag (navigate). Thanks for stopping by.)
He like to walk across desktops,
bright eyes filled with challenge,
a shock of unkempt blond tuffs
lending a distinctly menacing air.
Had him for three classes a day,
and plentiful as my patience could be,
I must say, I was stretched –
searching for a suitable approach
He was all brawn, you see,
and I, nearing fifty, body frail,
was ill-equipped to deal with blows,
and besides, his ostentatious behaviour
netted me plenty of sympathy,
his classmate no more impressed
than I, my colleagues deeming him
incorrigible – surely, a lost cause.
And yet, I saw in him a wayward self,
glimpses of such anger and pain
as I had known in youth, and I
appealed to my own longing
assigned him helping tasks,
befriended the notorious lad,
inviting another side, appealing
to a scarred vulnerability
Stellar progress we made –
he passing every class, aiming
to remedy his days, and then
we let our guards down
Neither of us prepared for
the downside of success –
he, mired in unworthiness
slipped back into old ways
drank himself into a stupor,
arrived at school wielding
a pellet gun, waving his weapon
at unsuspecting peers, stirring
mass mayhem, and as they
took him away in handcuffs,
he called my name, “I love you”
echoing through the stunned halls.
(Written for Fandango’s Word of the Day: ostentatious, Ragtag Communities: stellar, and Daily Addictions: plentiful.
The boy depicted did manage to complete his school year, with the help of school administration and lessons provided by yours truly. Â After high school, he went into social work, a field I think he will thrive in, given his background. Â There is always more to the story, and there is always hope.)
One Woman's Quest 