Sandy sunscreen
straw hat of dust
a coat of gravel
covering all
wanders woman
uphill.
Face to the sky
defying weariness
denying defeat
digs feet down
desperate
for peak.
Mean rebel
uncontrolled
know-it-all
unmarried still
questionably so
treks solo.
Runs away
plain after plain
to send back
pain after pain
as parental hopes
finds noose.
Beams wide
atop mountain
brighter than light
from within
comes peace
with freedom.
If voices had colour,
mum’s would be yellow
for she was mellow
saying hello
at the doorway
chases ma blues away—
school wasn’t easy
being picked on as measly
yet for me she was there
we had to go nowhere.
If voices had colour,
dad’s would be black
dark, deep, bleeding slack
with a sense of hollow
he’d always wallow
in games after work
and want braised pork
thus well-fed he was
cushioned by his arse
while mum, she’d pass.
I walked down the path
same as every day
trees waving arms
lake rippling
feet dragging
mind full.
Perhaps I shouldn’t’ve lost my temper
last night in bed—
reading was no crime
I should’ve obliged
turning over
not turning off.
Perhaps I could make it up tonight
a nice dinner
spaghetti and meatballs
swimming in starchy sauce
I’d pick a lamp as well
to liven our abode.
Perhaps I should lighten up more
take it easy,
yell less; listen often
“how was your day?
pray tell, honey”
for I care what I hear.
Perhaps I too should get a book
keep occupied
and read together
as Ted and wife
world knowing poet
wannabe aide.
I walked down the path
just as every day
feet dragging
mind full—
eyes blind,
ears dumb.
I was awake all night
comforter failing to deliver
air streams crashing
bashing on my window
forcing theirselves upon it
as lawmakers,
shoving on cars
petty thieves—only harsher.
Resilient stood the glass
barring entry, the faithful dog
shielding striking shards
from breaking
entering, shattering
life, like a terrorist mob
while I crumbled
cold feet, in fear.
Unforgiving, it knocked on
knocking down swaying barks
snapping lives like beans
stranger in the night
estranged from the soul
in menacing hatred
blowing out hope
guns bellow in the street.
Scarred
by years,
once shiny face
browning, peeling away
as charred pepper.
Awaiting
while winter dews
seeping through
sweeping hope
of restoration.
Solitude
the trusted advisor
a partner in part
on date nights
out in the open.
Breathing
coldness piercing
ornament for the porch
a hollow cage
in search of bird.
Inspired by:
“I am a cage, in search of a bird.”
Franz Kafka
The Chaos Within 