Plain and simple
Anyone can see
For women like me
We whistle while Rome burns
a woman who carries on
the backbone of history
People like Mama
to resist occupation
understand the language
of your enemy
– The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver, p.435
‘The Exodus’ by Orleanna Price
Johari tells me not to worry Out the bottom window view Must be Pavlov who knew why When sad I like my food Freud agrees he can call His sister's name instead Maslow says I'm all sold out If merely housed and fed Thorndike's clear your looking good Is why you're a kind soul Should have listened to Myers and Briggs Why you hog the remote control. Horn rimmed glasses image
While you were sleeping the sun arose
The children cried and the TV’s glowed, illuminate
While you were dreaming the fire glowed
Dew drop windows sheltered us from the winter’s first frost
Apples falling to the sodden ground
Life lies dormant beneath our feet, waiting to rebound
One can barely control
Thought
Life
Let alone
Dreams
Twice more we
Dream
Talk
Feel
Cry
Hug
than men.
His design
Smothered the earth
With her love
If the world ran wild
Along maternal lines
Would there be twice less
War
Loneliness
Homeless
Hunger
Orphans?
There is passion in the making
Of love and war
There is pride in the taking
Of power and appearances
(What purpose is the peacock?)
Our nurture
Eternally felt
Hurt
Blame
Shame
Disdain
Our nature
Tragically felt
Just as strong
As love
Created and redeemed
Overthrown and unseen
Hidden self…
God knows
Yet loves
So, do I?
For Kate..
A long flowing snake
Of people sauntering
Through the streets
Crowds caterpaulting
Upon signs of
Sweatshop treats
Colours and shapes
Draped upon a
Myriad of skin
Matching one another
Like a false array of kin
Heros take their stand
While the audience applauds
Criminals remanded
Even angels take a fall
Think the worst if you will
It’s your bitter pill
But think of all the
Panic when the crowd
Have their fill
I picked them all at random
Not noticing the package
I did not want the wrapping
To prevent me from partaking
The first one burst into my mouth
A liquid sweet liquor
The remnants of the cherry
Relished for a moment more
Next was slightly square and hard
But sweet all the same
The longest chew did skew my jaw
Relieved the end it came
Several more of various shapes
Tasted much the same
A smooth blend of flavour unknown
Coloured in different ways
Then the most shocking ones
A sour batch of bites
Some so nasty I spat them out
Hastily cleaned my mouth
For a box labelled favourites
I found so very few
The hard ones tiresome and long
The good ones gone too soon
One cannot be a foothold
To carry life and limb
One can barely be a handhold
Secure for you to cling
One cannot be an anchor
In a fall to take the slack
One cannot be a lifeline
When there seems no turning back
Instead a close companion
Can cheer us on in love
But surely as the day is long
Shall share the view above
It needn’t come as a surprise
The number of people who engage
In some illicit trade
At some point in their lives
Consider the timeless predicament
Of those who choose between
The lucrative path well-travelled
Or some nobler yet modest means
The expense to such persons
Is profound in due course
Decline of mere dignity
Whether or not remorse
Inevitable hostility to
Sheer corrective force
Which leads to an eventual
Incarceration or demise
Or so they say..
For Michael
Wiping crumbs off cafe tables
Scooting glasses from their deaths
Scrubbing spit off spotty faces
End of day, treasure rest
More they learn, more the chatter
Philosophy of small talk
Wonder where your mind escaped
Once I had learned to walk
Hear your voice in mind over mother
Tea sipped lips kiss mass of curls
Broken record breaks the silence
Time revolves, their lives unfurl
Chords of chaos wrap up fondly
Softened by warm blood lines
Endearing past, forbearance endless
Nagging finite-ness of time
For Andrea
“I would love to have more time with my mother…
She is part of me.” – Crown Princess Mary of Denmark
Rural fringe
Dwells common cringe
Cardboard-cutout street
Set like flint
Hinterland where
Lawn and forest meet
Cliff frontier
Carved face looks on
Ranks of timber felling
Sinking ales
Saloon servants
Stirring tales a’ telling
Piano stool swing
whisky jar fling
Rest old timey den
Battle weary
Laden pilgrim
Poised sword of pen
For Liam Hugh
“We take up task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the past we leave behind…” -Walt Whitman
Count the stars of heaven 
