aging · life · poetry · writing

Silent, Age

Youth flaunts her truth
serious in convictions –
that eternity exists
that words carry worth

Folly naturally succeeds
break down – inevitable
the opportunity to learn –
silent, age considers action.

(Image mine)

childhood · culture · poetry · writing

A Convertible Summer

Summer of ’67
British invasion
Canada claiming 100 –
Dad arrives home
in a powder puff
blue convertible.

Back seat sisters
long hair flapping
bellowing along
with 8-track tunes:
Loving Spoonful
“Do you believe in magic?”

I, barely nine
idolizing a sister
sixteen – a model
with go-go boots
and hippie style

Cottaged at Sauble
muscle cars prowling
oiled bodies lounging
and all eyes lit
on sister, and I
wondering at the draw
made castles in the sand.

Surfing the waves
avoiding the baby
whose brash cries
and quick, chubby legs
keep Mom distracted,
I am observer of the life
Neil Diamond is promising:
“Girl, you’ll be a woman soon.”

Ah, to be 9, in summertime
few the cares, and ideas
like popcorn, burst and pop,
forgotten in each watery plunge
still content to be a child.

(A Convertible Summer first appeared here in June of 2018.  I submit this edited version for Eugi’s Causerie Weekly challenge:  summer.  Image my own.)

 

 

adversity · aging · change · health · ME/ CFS · poetry · writing

Even Trees Fall

Majesty is a tree
quiet strength
and vulnerability

no more sheltered
from acts of nature
than I – none

impenetrable,
although youth
believes it –

days when strength
equates with rigidity,
resistant arrogance

A right fighter, was I,
iron will, in control –
never measuring up

such foolish nonsense –
destructive, no doubt,
took illness to educate

recognize courage in
withdrawal, merits
of inviting understanding

physical limitations
birth potential –
gracious acceptance

surrender of struggle
open, vulnerable,
rooted, like a tree.

adversity · culture · poetry · Rants

Cryptic

Is the writing on the wall so cryptic –
graphic images depicting rage,
flames of dissonance,
young men bleeding at their own hands
compassion incapacitated.

A sad awakening for a society fixated
on rights and privileges, dominating
culture to the exclusion of nurturing
humanity, preserving lives.

How can we continue to closet
our children’s pain – their vitality
oozing – hopelessly abandoned
by morality’s shelter?

It is the wall, not the spatters
of blood upon it,
which needs amending –
adolescent minds too tender
to wade through the cryptic messages
of priorities so divided.

Love · poetry · relationships

Tender Hearts Fall

Here’s a boy, tender
and raw, heart exposed
awkward innocence
blocking his intention

Here’s a man, eyes fiery
coals, hands coarse ,
face leather,  smoky
words coaxing affection

Here’s a girl, book smart
heart uncertain, romance
a fluttery desire, caught
between the two, torn

The boy averts his eyes
fears she’ll see the raging
in his loins, read obsession
in his longing, reject him

The man takes her hand,
softly traces the outline
of her face; slow, seductive,
draws her into his mystery

She is a two-headed lamb,
ponders the breadth of
the boy’s shoulders, knows
his future is a straight line

Hormones rage at man’s
touch, the way his eyes
devour her, the magical
nuances in his voice

Two paths, she thinks,
two diverging outcomes;
the boy holds himself erect
feels his fate is decided

the man lays his head
in her lap, thick waves
of black thrilling her
skin – a dead-end street

Is it pride that makes
the boy look away, she
wonders, or am I not
good enough – tainted?

She turns to the older
man, smiles, pull him
to her and surrenders,
darkness a familiar place.

(Image:  mixtapetherapy.wordpress.com)

culture · disability · dreams · education · poetry

Always a Teacher

Set me on the open road,
encourage me to cross borders;
I am hungry for knowledge,
to hear a higher calling.

Cannot tolerate chained-to-
chairs education, imposed
immobility, socratic hierarchy
demanding conformity

spoon-fed compliance –
am too much my father’s
daughter, born rebellious
unable to mold myself
to prescribed slots

would rather initiate
discussion, engage, listen –
let shoes emote, tell their
story, develop compassion

never felt more than a visitor
in institutions, marks adequate
but brain absent, spirit numbed –
more punishment for delinquency
than awakening..

How can we convey the future,
instill optimism in prospects,
when the language of education
is secondary to how students
communicate in real-time?

Minds are energetic, curiosity
a given, youth crave elevation,
opportunity, measure themselves
against a system defined by rows.

How can I cross this barrier
of disability, open the dialogue
to ignite passions, propel learning
to open road scenarios, encourage
minds to cross borders?

(Image: www.abc.net.au)