My car is pathetic, purple and slow
yet my accelerating thrust
can be devastatingly annoying
to the fast cars I leave for dust.
My athletic girl is diddy and slight:
her running gear shows her tiny waist.
Yet, with her spikes, her ferocious grit
leaves the rest to give her chase.
My spirit was crushed and left for nought
after I dealt with one death too many.
Yet I still live my heart and express my soul,
because the blessings I count are plenty.
Shame makes me
hide my light from the world.
Shame makes me
avoid intimacy in love.
Shame makes me
scared of showing my hand.
Shame makes me
languish in understood land.
Shame’s made me
seek an easy argument.
Shame’s made me
search for something transcendent.
for napowrimo day 25
It began with bricks, I guess,
built from the abuse above.
The big-smile baby knew no more,
no less. But she had no floor
or roof or wall, her
boundaries spliced,
her ego nil.
Her cement did set quite early.
It took years to even see that.
Dreams of locks not working
haunt the trusting times.
The little girl got trapped
with owning, booing crap.
To escape takes more than hair.
Say ‘boo’ to the witch that’s there.
This poem is number 24 in a month’s worth of poems for NaPoWriMo.
Inspired by today’s theme of masonry, mine is a Jung-inspired take on Rapunzel.
Control was my calling card,
what everyone knew me for.
Control was my comfort,
a way to keep the score.
Control took my humour,
replaced it with sour lips.
Control was my defence
against the highs and dips.
Control and I had a battle
until I learned who was boss.
Control gave me power
that was way too easily lost.
Control I gave up
when robbed of those I loved.
Control I still explore
through story, rhyme and word.
you look at us grown ups
as if we know our stuff
but really we are playing,
getting by our days in
our mixed-up, chocka-busy ways
praying and hoping it’s our heyday
You’re there when I’m not there,
when I shut down, when I don’t care.
You’re there when I feel full
when I’m empty, when I’m cruel.
You were there when someone died,
when I’ve hated, when I’ve lied.
You’re there when I’m absent
You hold the space, just when I can’t
cope with what’s going on. You hold
what’s in here, from loo bowl to fool’s gold.
You’re there when nobody else is.
Thanks to you, I’m re-finding my fizz.
Stay good, stay pristine
and you won’t give me a showing up.
Stay silent, don’t move,
and I won’t need to show you why you’re sorry.
Stay mine, don’t have an opinion,
and I won’t slap you around my table.
Stay perfect, don’t pull your ribbon out,
and I won’t need to adjust you in public.
Stay close to me, don’t challenge me,
and I won’t need to give you a showing up.
This poem is for NaPoWriMo Day 20, challenging us to write in the voice of a family member. This is from my abusive mother.
My jewel box of belief
has rubies for passion
sapphires for grace
diamonds for strength
and emeralds for love.
The jewel box in my heart
sparkles and saves me.
Today’s the day of the cross.
A chance to separate truth from dross.
‘Cos before you find true meaning,
you have to get yourself lost.
Up my nose, the chlorine sticks its doses:
like a spell, it lulls me and it woos me.
Through my eyes, her swimmers’ arms balletic:
elbows up, calves strong, her heart is centric.
To my ears she swishes through the blueness:
slicing splash, swishing aim, fingers’ trueness.
This poem is for Day 17 of NaPoWriMo, challenging me to write about three of the senses.
inktuition 