Tag Archives: War

Glassy mirror

A curse carried heavily,
a bane weighing down
harsh truths –
brooking no means
of escape –
pushing me into black
rages of rabid,
green jealousy leaking
onto pure, clean surfaces.

Avoidance has no safety valve,
However the attempt
to glean a measure
of self-respect
was played – no hope
existed for exorcising you
from my mind.

My demon in black,
fiery splendor . . .
captivating, tantilizing
with a mysterious
seductiveness long
I have sought to gain.

All that was hated
but secretly worshipped
from distant reaches
was yours to possess . . .
desire and passion, holding souls in
calloused hands –
lightly tossed
in scrap heaps or charnel pits
never thrown away.

Wanting those trophies
to hang for all to se –
stuffed members from
a vanquished race.
While huddled on the sidelines
I watched one after another
fall by the slight
of your blade.
Envy burning
as each writhed, screaming,
squirming, crying for more.

Running in fear as
the blade turned toward me.
The journey has gone to
far reaches you may never know.
But now scales are balanced.

Contained within myself –
an identity all my own.
I prepare for the final meeting –
a battle of power,
flip sides of the same coin
embroiled in locked embrace.

Fiery black now lies
within and no more
will your subtle charms
devastate in blows
wounding feminine pride.
The war of hating-loving myself
has ended – you can be you –
not a mirror into
the glassy waters of me.
 

The world is crying

There is so much pain in this world.  It seems to be screeching out at us.  Not sorrow, although that is there, but abject misery.  We may think our little lives are painful but when I think of the refugees, the millions of people in refugee (internment) camps, those who have nothing to eat, no shelter, lacking clean water, caught in the crossfire of crazed beings fighting over bombed out towns which lack every necessity now, children raped, stolen, trained into soldiers, deliberating drugged to make them more obedient, who are we to say our pain is great?

It is real, and exceedingly hard to climb out of, but my pain is increased by the pain of this world.  It’s crying out, in the air we breathe, in each time I put food in my mouth or walk into my comfortable, safe apartment.  I may be disabled, living on Social Security, and facing real challenges, but can you imagine being disabled – mentally, emotionally, physically, And being a refugee?  Can you imagine being on a boat with so many people it is impossible to move, not knowing when, or even if, a country will take us or if we will capsize the boat and drown?  That is fear.  That is feeling voiceless, unwanted, without shelter or food, not knowing how to care for your children in a situation like this, totally alone in the midst of many.

I hear and feel the ground beneath me aching in sorrow.  I feel the air I breathe trembling in agony.  There is only so much pain this Earth can withstand and in these times, it feels like it can’t possibly take anymore.  For we can’t forget, this world is an organism in its own right.  Can you imagine how It feels being bombed, desecrated, stripped of its beauty, groaning under the strain of having to hold the burdens of the multitudes? Sometimes I feel I should sit down on the ground and stroke it, soothe It’s burden even a little.

And mostly, I don’t know what to do.  Where I can place my small sums of money that will make a meaningful difference and not swallowed in “administrative fees”. Can I make a difference and where? If I could jump on a plane and fly to those crying in the wilderness, what could I bring but a hug, an ear to listen (if I understand the language).  But even that is not a reality. I need to look for people and places nearby. Stretch out a hand where it can actually be grabbed.  Help. And I need direction about where to do the most good, any good, rather than retreat into my tiny world of cat, books and home.  How is an activist born?

The World At Large

DON’T TELL ME

Don’t Tell Me its those blacks
waving their “BLACK LIVES MATTER” signs
Or those Congolese stealing their
child soldiers, prostituting
young girls as “temporary wives”.

Don’t Tell Me its the homeless riffraff
and all they do is pimp their bodies,
sell their souls. How they should
be in the mental hospitals . . . where do
you think they came from? From
the hospitals, wars, drugs, society’s ills.

Don’t Tell Me its the Native Americans
fault. They could do better
but lack the initiative. Whites tore
their lives apart. Moving them,
killing buffalo giving them worthless land,
stripping them of their language,
culture, paths of life . . . dignity.
Giving them alcohol their body chemistry
was allergic to.

Don’t Tell Me the World’s ills
are shouldered by ISIS (L).
That Muslims carry a plague of moral
poison and devastation, can’t be trusted.
Who put them in power? Gave them guns?
Used them as pawns against a Syrian dictator?

Don’t Tell Me Whites are innocent.
who brought in slaves, where 1 in 6
crowded into ship holds, died
while the others, crammed in tight,
lay chained to the dead?
To a country where freedom
was an illusion and 97%
of all confederate soldiers
had no slaves but still fought
for a way of life they couldn’t live.

Where a Presidential Candidate,
who only married foreign women,
talks of building walls to keep out
the foreigners and the majority of people
applaud him for his audacity.
Where we farm out our more subversive
problems to War mercenaries
who can act in ways the government can’t.

My ears are weary of the lies, mistruths,
manipulations. For if we are
the “greatest country in the world”.
I pity this world. Don’t Tell Me
we are a pressured lot – it is we
who are enacting the byplays
and machinations of the world
or standing by spinelessly
and watch.