(for all women who fight to live in dignity)
I turned around and
and nobody told me
life would hasten
to judge me again
being a woman,
and now growing old
wanted for play
and wanted for work
curves could convince
and eyes would coerce
around the lewd,
a red flag
to go beyond
no audience there
to crush these walls
of a prison set
right after birth
the law could bend
albeit never break
not wanted for play,
not wanted for work
no respect to get
or wisdom to give
(a target for botox,
that set aside)
a white flag
at an empty hall
no audience there for
a withering hag;
no status or justice
for this gender spurned
rules can still bend,
and yet never break.
I have small rabbit
Caged in a box
A lone little creature
With one floppy ear
It maims but the carrots, and salads, and roots
And still it’s imprisoned on my human moods
I could though release it
Make it run free,
The fox would then eat it
And tear it apart
So I weigh the bad, the doom, and the curse
Against its survival, albeit it’s perverse
How can I establish
When good does more harm
If I am but thinking
in my poor realm
I would have to grow beyond my own zone
A frightening journey into the unknown
Yaaaaay! One of my poems was accepted for publishing on this site for social justice poetry! It is on their site now 🤗 My poem is called “A Swansong for rich countries”. http://www.socialjusticepoetry.com
Snow weighing heavy on the world
hiding the dirt, the ugly, and the grey
calming down the hustle of a life less lived
covering the wounds of a soil battered
by solid autumn’s rains
I was growing tired of the torn and hurt
of the winds howling in my head
icy flakes have fallen onto my mind
causing it to quiet and ponder
where has the sun traveled to?
what is humanity hiding from?
Are we not meant to journey
through seasons of all diversity?
It seems as if snow has come to remind me
that one day we all be forgotten
buried somewhere deep within
and naught will be left but spring’s new offering.
Christmas is looming around the next corner;
cards and parcels sent and received.
At the post office (I wipe off my shoes)
I send off a present to friends in the heat –
they’re home in Zambia, all to the South.
The girl at the counter inspects the address.
She keys in with verve, then halts in her moves:
“Zambia, where is it?”; she’s muddled in guess.
“African South”, I tell her surprised
(Generation smartphone, no one @ home?)
“South Africa, oh!” she exclaims in relief.
I frown and correct her, slightly impatient:
“Southern”, I stress and cannot believe.
She appears to be trapped, asked a trick question.
I feel her brain ticking, about to implode.
I give her the look (howcanyounotknow?).
Her fingers are frozen, stand-by in mode.
I wait for a minute or two or another.
Then, all of a sudden it strikes my awareness:
She won’t find “Zambia” in this one computer
In the language of Goethe, it spells with an ‘S’.
“Try then with ‘S’”(Generation X advices today).
She types again – her face now lights up.
My parcel is stamped and sent on its way.