Greeting the Goddess

Wrapped in the chains of expectation
And the intractable whims of others,
A lost wanderer struggling through
The morass of my daily existence,
I’ve squandered opportunities
To drink of glory, of victory,
Talents relegated to obscurity,
Forced to conform by my own insecurities.

It is time to say goodbye
To my indigenous doubts,
The string of demons that visits
Only to dampen my spirits
And fill my eyes with elaborate deceptions
Meant to further impede my faltering footsteps.
No longer will I tremble
In the face of the rituals of despair.
I will live my life with intention,
Significance placed on the journey ahead,
Not the immensity of the mountain I must climb.
I will keep on until I plant my sacred flag on the summit,
Embracing the goddess that dwells within my soul.


~~~ This poem was written in response to several prompts...the prompt from Carry On Tuesday this week was "Time to say goodbye."  I also used this week's words from The Sunday Whirl and Three Word Wednesday.

Blood Diamond

Her carefully measured words
Are always monitored
For any hint of rebellion,
Her dependence on him
Crucial to his master plans.
The ring on her left hand
A mark of his ownership;
Her life,
Her body,
Her blood,
All his for the taking,
Sacrificed on his altar of cruelty.
A rumpled bed,
A sullen glance,
A dinner served five minutes late,
All reasons show why  
A woman needs to kept in line
By whatever means necessary.
Tonight, however,
She will reap
Her carefully measured revenge,
And the blood sacrificed
Won’t be hers.

Looking for the Key

Moving along in the draft
With the countless other seekers
On their own journeys,
Attempting to locate the proper key
To get where we think
We need to go in life,
A meandering road
Lined with obstacles
And locked doors,
Unsure which key is right for us,
Unsure of which door
Is the one that leads to serenity,
Not realizing until well into our quest
That the key we choose
Is not as important
As the lessons learned along the way.

Lilac Memories

The April breeze 

Jostles the tender blooms, 

Carrying the fragrant 

Remnant of a memory,  

Perfume lessening 

The sting of our last goodbye. 

A Modern Take on Fairy Tales

I quit believing in fairy tales long ago.
These stories carry a promise of happiness
But baffle us when reality negates fantasy.

There are no glass slippers for these feet,
No magical delivery of an elegant gown
Spun from starlight by a fairy godmother.
I’ve never wandered the dark hallways
That lead to enchanted towers
Or alone through a haunted wood,
Basket of goodies in hand,
Anxiously listening for signs
Of a wolf stalking my footsteps.
An evil elf will never test my limits
In a sadistic guessing game.
Prince Charming and his meaningless gestures
Hold no substance behind the façade,
And kissing too many frogs
Only results in a trip to the free clinic.
I’ve never even seen a spinning wheel,
Much less pricked my finger on the spindle.
Singing in the forest to a gentle menagerie?
Housekeeping for seven short miners?
I don’t think so.

The drama in my life comes
From much more mundane sources,
My previous disappointments
Leaving an inherent lack of faith
And no drive to repeat an unhappy ending.

Still, sometimes, a random smile
Or an unexpectedly tender glance
Reminds me of my lost innocence,
Makes me wish upon my star
That someday, someone
Will make me believe again.


Note: This is my 200th posting here at Write Wing Conspiracy...can hardly believe it!

Woman of Clay

Inspired by In Bed The Kiss - Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, 1892

He closes his eyes to reality,
Lost in his private passion,
Paying no mind to
The feigned ecstasy
Of yet another trivial connection.
She plays her role well,
Always the consummate actress,
The well-disguised deviant.
She is moldable and compliant,
Anything he needs her to be
With miniscule consequences,
As long as the price is right.

Aging Gracefully?

It’s a conspiracy, I tell you.   

It all started 

With a few crinkles 

Around the eyes 

(Laugh lines?  Do I look like I’m laughing?) 

They must have decided 

They liked the scenery 

And stuck around.

And they invited friends.  

Great.  

Then the occasional ache

In my weary bones,  

Growing more and more frequent, 

Until the creaks and groans 

Became my morning mantra 

When rising to face the day,

Every day.  

Great.  

And the hormones, 

The hormones,  

Oh my God, the hormones!

I’m too hot.

I’m too cold. 

I’m too hot.

I’m too cold. 

I need a new thermostat!  

And those mood swings 

Have me looking 

Not to my doctor 

But an exorcist 

For assistance. 

Great.  

Oh, that cruel joke of gravity, 

Converting body parts 

From perky to plummeting?  

Not funny.  

Not cool.   

Mother Nature and Father Time, 

The banes of my existence, 

I demand a map, 

A schedule, 

Something to help me navigate 

This minefield of aging gracefully.  

You’ll be right on that, right?  

Great.

Fortified

I assume a defensive posture
Behind the stone walls
Of this fortress,
My labor of self-preservation.

A nearly fatal injury
Has left me wary and suspicious,
Unsure if I can risk
Exposing the weaknesses
In my armor,
The fragile heart
Masked by bravado
And deceptive confidence.

My elastic memories
Snap me back into the pain
But can’t quite cancel
The glowing embers of hope
That tempt me to tempt fate again.

I hear temptation at the door
Encouraging me to gamble
With my weakened emotions,
While I still don’t know
If the other side of that door
Hides a savior or saboteur.

What the Creatively-Challenged Poet Thinks

The words lie dormant in my brain
Uncooperative and stubborn
Leaving my confidence in ruins
Page after page of false starts crossed out
Rewritten only to be crossed out once more
Waiting for a spark to foster the creative impulse
About to surrender to the obstacles in my mind
When angelic whispers show me the shining path
That leads to the birth of a poem.

Illusions of Control

I put forth to the world
A carefully constructed
Illusion of control
While my path teeters
On the edge of a razor,
Any change in balance
Plummeting me
Into flesh-ripping disaster.

Hard to Resist

Temptation,

A jolt that beckons

Toward the forbidden,

A fleeting surge of impulse 

Detached from the consequences.

Calamity Jane

I’ve watched her lumber through her life

Wrapped in a bubble of denial,

Catastrophe nipping at her heels.

She takes no responsibility for her actions,

Fully expecting us to swoop in

To clean up her messes

And rescue her from disaster…again.

This time, when she crashes

Headlong into yet another wreck,

She’s on her own.

The Climb of the Misfits

Reaching the mountaintop
Was quite the task
For two misfit souls
Brought together
By freak coincidence.
Preventing the inevitable
Downhill slide is
Something else entirely,
A dangerous endeavor
That often results in
Slivered spirits.

A Disturbing Memory

I always liked my men edgy

And he was no exception,

Moody and sullen,

With a smile that could erase

Any misgivings from my mind.

I can’t remember exactly

What I did or what I said

That turned his tender touch brutal,

But in the space of a heartbeat

His clenched right hand

Left more than just my trust

Bloodied on the floor.

Epistle to the Gods of Poetry

O ye gods of poetry,
Shine your literary light
Upon this cursed scribe.
I pray you remove me
From your naughty list
of the trite and clichéd.
I have been plagued
By non-rhythmic meter,
Inspiration that refuses
To be summoned
By any clever tactic,
Words mired deep
In the morass of imagination.
I ask your alliterative assistance
For this lowly bard,
That I may always have
The poetic license and freedom
To reach the zenith
Of my ink-stained dreams.

The Journey

The journey of my life
Has taken many odd twists,
Detours both unwelcome and unplanned.
To correct my erratic course,
I must demolish the barriers in my way.
I seek to transform my life,
To forge a new path forward.
Hazards hide around every turn
On the treacherous road ahead.
A wiser woman would
Abandon this foolish crusade,
But an instinctive sense of direction
Tells me I must press on
If I ever hope to reach a better resolution.

Discards

Gathered around our glowing tree
We sing festive songs of hope reborn,
A belief that love extends to all on Earth.
Your voice rings with misplaced conviction
As you rumple, crumple, discard my weary heart,
A wrapping never meant to be recycled.

The Zombie Apocalypse

“So what do you need to do before zombies…or hurricanes or pandemics for example, actually happen? First of all, you should have an emergency kit in your house. This includes things like water, food, and other supplies to get you through the first couple of days before you can locate a zombie-free refugee camp…”

Excerpt from a blog post from the Centers for Disease Control Public Health Matters Blog on May 16th, 2011 by Ali S. Khan.

“We ask that everyone please remain calm.
The zombie horde approaches,
Mindless entities bent on destruction.
We have yet to identify the source of mutation,
Whether a voodoo ritual gone horribly awry,
A failed laboratory experiment,
Or bacteria seeking retribution
Upon the makers of antibiotics.
Those in close proximity are asked
To barricade themselves in their homes,
Venturing out at this time will
Only increase your personal risk.
We will bring you further information
As the situation develops.”

We sit in silence behind our locked doors,
Blankly staring at our televisions,
Unaware that when the hungry mutants breach our defenses,
They will find they are far too late;
We became them long ago.

War Crimes

She was a passive observer
To her own life.
She knew resistance,
Argument,
Even independent thought,
Might trigger another “incident.”
She sought refuge
Behind her white flag,
Surrendering
To her lot in life.
He broke the rules of engagement,
Leaving her as his first
Casualty of war.
The Geneva Conventions
Never did apply
On the battlefield of matrimony.

On Fitting In (A Message for the Sheeple)

They tell us
Behave and conform.
How boring!
Jettison
The mob mentality and
Just be who you are.