I can do bad
All by myself,
I heal once you’ve gone,
Hurt only in the knowledge
Of how I was played,
It was the audacity you had,
To take a good woman’s worth and affection,
And treat it as low as you could go,
I don’t need you in order to feel bad,
Damnit,
I am bad,
Badass,
Too good for what I’ve been picking,
And in my own due time, I’ll find
One,
Grown worthy of attention that is mine.
Category: Poetry
The Pilgrimage
Summer solstice came
As my footfalls returned me here,
And with them,
a great sea-change,
Of my shelled heart,
a cracking
And from it grew,
Bloomed,
Burst forth a greater
Beating vessel,
Capable of holding more,
The conflicting emotions
And complexities of what can only come
For out-growing fear,
Of learning what to take away from lessons learned
From this recent venture home and round again;
This–my pilgrimage.
Fragrant Peony
Fragrant peony intermittently perfume my senses,
From those blooms set in a vase by my grandmother’s portrait,
The scent pulls me,
mind and body back to the reality
That presently exists:
My grandparents,
all 4,
have passed on,
To the other side;
And yet the viel between us
is so very thin,
In moments when I smell the peonies again,
Profound fragrance
Of flowers planted
by my mother’s mother,
Her spirit leads the others to,
and me to them,
To feel them
Still,
In the space between.
Instructions for this Life
There should be clear answers
But there are not,
There ought to be specific directions,
Instructions in a manual of how to operate
This vessel,
In this life,
But there are not,
No “How to”,
to be in different modes,
Different states of being,
In times of joy and great despair,
Instead, one is left with hearsay,
Lessons,
from others who have traveled,
Down their own paths,
This wisdom shared to guide in the unknown;
Herein lay the hope:
There is no one right track,
No one right way to traverse
This path you tread,
You lead;
It is unpaved,
Meant to be worn by this very trek,
Thereby shaped by you.
Midnight Deja-vu
I don’t want to go back,
But I am unsure of forward;
Frustration meets me
In this state of being
Stuck;
Home is where the heart is,
Still, a place is needed,
To be,
For one to be lifted up
By land and
Held by space,
That which is affirming and accepting,
And welcomes you to its setting,
I am working on that for me,
For us,
After adversity jettisoned us
From where we had
Only meant to be temporarily,
Somehow, I had forgotten;
Midnight,
Deja-vu,
Online,
I am here
and now looking,
For a place,
the next move.
Exist.
Things get bad
And some of us go under
Ground,
The marching,
Declaring,
Identifying,
Having Pride
Seems quiet,
Silent almost;
But here,
We remain,
We are,
Existing,
Doing that thing
that hate
wishes most to end.
She of Letters 