Wednesday, 21 March 2018

Only, In America (March 1, 2018)

Am I
Far too cynical
To believe
Real change
Is possible?

As the headlines scream
Of another student massacre
By an armed gunman
At a U.S. school.

In a nation
That views firearm ownership
As a God given right
Carved in stone
By the U.S. constitution.

Where anyone can use
50 bullet or bigger magazines
In their semi-automatic rifles
Hunting big game animals
Through urban forests.

To whomever
Who’ll read their dreams
And achievements
On social media.

As innocent blood bleeds
Through Angels’ fingers
Over the Elysium.

Their bodies
Barely buried
They're pilloried
As Fake News
Or worse.

Agents provocateur
Seeking the destruction
Of the United States
And it's way of life.

Like Holocaust deniers
These ‘gun righters
Cherry picking the truth
Creating a world filled
With fear and hate
Justifying their existence.

In believing
More guns will solve
This growing epidemic
In American society.

Ask yourself.

Will arming teachers
Make the classroom
A safer place?

As the bullets swarm
In the classroom air
Like a disturbed hive
Of angry killer bees
With their deadly stings.

The level of MAD*
And chaotic moment
Of engagement
As everyone flees
For safety.

Politicians pose
In opportunistic photo-ops
Congratulating themselves
For their decisive action.

And yet
Each new death
Shows the shallowness
And lack of real leadership
From the political class.

Only the death
Of the United States President
By an assassin’s bullet
Will produce
Any real lasting change
In American gun laws.

*MAD: Mutual Assured Death

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: No need to say anything more.

Monday, 29 January 2018

In The Hanging Garden (January 28, 2018)

Casted adrift
Into a sea of darkness
Without any sense of direction
Or reason

Searching for a past
Long buried
In hate and ignorance
Of being different.

A minority sublimated
By the majority
Without questioning

Lost of self-identity
Imposed denial
Cultural genocide
That consumes
One's soul.

Of one's inner strength
No one is asking

Where death is
Often seen
As the only solution
For life's injustices.

And yet
Are reluctant to change
Without wondering

Where one's greed
And self-agenda
Are often measured
In the lives lost.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: Just some thoughts that have been floating in my head.

Thursday, 25 January 2018

Patchwork Girl (January 28, 2008) Part 4 of 4

A few false steps
In finding Ellie's grave
Appreciating the personal space
Of a few moments alone
Before joining me.

Placing your hands
On my shoulders
In support and love.

We stand.

My mind
Reruns that fateful night
Tears running down
My cheeks.

Taking the patchwork doll
Holding it
Against my lips.

Kissing it goodbye
Placing the doll
On the grave.

By guilt and sadness
I bolt towards the car
Just missing
Several gravestones.

Your warning
Fell upon deaf ears
As I trip
On the uneven ground.

Stumbling back to the car
Covered in mud
No memory of falling
Or how the mud
Got into my ears
Remains a mystery.

Can imagine
The look of disgust
Upon your face
Seeing your clean interior
Covered in mud.

I smiled that thought
As your eyes shoot daggers.

Softly to myself.

If it was too late
To go back to bed
Without set off
Any more landmines.

Or least
Minimize the damage.

A sly glance
You reward me
With your brilliant smile
Filling the car
With love.

I ever be
Able to read you?

I shake my head
In mock despair.

You push me
Against the door.

Your finger
Down my muddy nose
Dabbing the tip.

Leaving a streak
Down the middle
Of my face.

Like a bird
Trapped as
A cat's plaything.

If the next swipe
Will be the last.

Seen you
This playful
Scared to ask.

Could not handle
Losing you

Like removing
A blind person's sight
Only after
Having discovered it.

"Everything is fine

To reassure me
But felt like
I was standing
In quicksand.

Sinking fast
Without hope.

My exit strategy
Should you leave me
Whatever method
It would be
Quick and painless.

Stop this
I am not dying
Or planning to leave
You hear me.

"Oh Jacqui
You are my love
My inspiration
My soulmate."

Caressing my face
Kissing my forehead
Our tears mixing
Wanted to believe
But can not.

My hands in yours
Resting on the car console
Under your loving touch.

How to take
The next step
Wait or ask the question
What is bothering you.

I waited.

"Uhm Jacqui
Not sure
How to tell you
But we are going
To be parents.

"Am hoping
For a daughter
Who'll be named
In honour of Ellie."

Felt like someone
Had kicked
The reality out of me
Cast adrift
In Never Neverland.

Your words cut
Through the fog.

A parent
Wanted to laugh
At this absurd thought.

It was true.

Saw your lips moved
Yet heard no sound
Asking a question
Before I understood.

An easy question
Almost embarrassing
Simple answer
At the thought.

Had trouble pronouncing
My "h" and "n"
When young.

Helen became Ellie.

World knew her
As Helen
To me
She is forever

Your laughter broke up
The emotional scar tissue
From her death
Easing the guilt
I carry.

Deft hands
Measuring out the thread
In preparation
Of mending a tear.

Skill honed
By long practice
Lovingly stitch
The ripped edges
Repairing my torn heart.

Therisa © 2008

Author's note: The fourth of four part, of a poem taken from my poetic morgue.

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