Monday, 14 May 2018

Smudged Dreams (April 18, 2018)

Today is
Jackie Robinson Day
(April 15th)
In Major League Baseball.

As we celebrate
His historic breaking
Baseball’s colour barrier.

Despite this
We're still struggling
To move beyond
Our prejudices
And fears.

We should be
Seeking to enrich society
By embracing those
Shunned and marginalized
Due to religious political
Or racial discrimination.

Instead
We're building walls
And other barriers
Against those
Who dare challenge
Society's rigid status quo.

As we pat ourselves
On the back
For the hollow advances
Over the years.

Believing
We’ve made
Real progress.

Ignoring
One very important fact
Our prisons are overflowing
In disproportionate numbers
Of incarcerated inmates
(Both male and female)
To the rest of society
By these groups.

As we mark
The 71st anniversary
For Jackie’s inner strength
Of courage.

While
I wipe away
The tears
Of wasted years.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: Sadly, we all know of stories, locally and internationally, which illustrates this point to others.

Sorry for the long delay between writing this poem and posting it, but I have struggling with other things in my life. Like finally finishing and mailing my ODSP case file review, late last week, as today is the deadline for it, without asking for another 3 month extension on it.

Monday, 30 April 2018

Cry Me A River (April 29, 2018)

You'll pardon me
If I don't give a shit
For your inability
To have sexual relationships
With women.

As you blame everyone
Around you
For your lack of success
In this regard.

Honestly
Your destructive
Misogynistic attitude
Makes you look like
A young spoiled child
Throwing a temper tantrum.

Because
You don't get
Your way.

So want to tell you
Grow the bleep up
And seek out
The proper help
For your social problems.

But know
You're lost
In a dark little corner
Of the internet
With your incel friends
Fueling this madness.

Only hoping
No more saintly gentlemen
Are anointed
By lone wolf acts.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: Sadly, too much bandwidth has been commandeered by these young men and their message of hate and self-pity.

Constipated (April 14, 2018)

Oh Goddess
It hurts so much
Just want it to end.

Please?

Feel so plugged up
With no end
In sight.

Oh crap!

Explosive diarrhea
Overflowing everywhere
Forced to hang on
For my dear life.

As words erupt
Before me
At ever alarming speed
Unable to control.

Breaking down
My massive depressive
Writer's block
Of nearly two years.

Gentle sigh
Escapes my lips
As happy tears flow
Down my face.

Easing the tension
Been carrying
For so long.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: Just being a little naughty here. :)

Monday, 23 April 2018

Writing (Acrostic) (April 7, 2018)

Witnessing my emergence
Releasing the inner darkness
Intuitive knowledge
Trusting myself
Infusing the dark with the light
New horizons opening
Growth.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note:  Something, I needed to do, to stretch my writing muscles.

Wednesday, 4 April 2018

March's Tears (March 28, 2018)

The last visible footprints
Of Ole Man Winter
Are slowly disappearing
From the landscape.

As the slender green shoots
Of Daffodils Tulips and Crocuses 
Push through the frozen tundra
Of the past 4 months.

Bringing renewed hope
To a blah landscape covered
In various depressing shades 
Of brown and beige.

Upon the distant horizon
The last traces
Of January and February battles
Still linger.

As the heavy winter clothing
Is slowly removed
With a weary eye
To the bright warm less sky.

Should the need arise
To redon 
These bulky clothes
Once more.

Knowing
Ole Man Winter
Has one more kick
At the can.

An April surprise
That covers the land
Once more
In a brief white blanket.

Before disappearing
Til late October
Or early November
With his bitter embrace.

As cold tears
Of long repressed relief
Flood the land.

Heralding Ms Spring
And April's arrival
To the land
Long tired of winter.

Therisa © 2018



Author's note: This is my last poem that I will write before my March 30th anniversary, which mark 11 years, since I wrote and posted my first poem. Sadly, I have failed to reach the milestone of 3 000 poems, once more, due to health reasons. Maybe next year, I will reach this mark.

Wednesday, 28 March 2018

The Fallen (March 12, 2018)

A long held taboo
Hidden
In the darkness corners
Of most societies.

The very act
Of mentioning it
By its victims
Is met with ridicule
And offense.

As if
They're seeking
The public spotlight
Of fame and notoriety
From society
At large.

Receiving mixed messages
From those
In position of power
When coming forward
With their complaints.

Wondering
Who should they trust
With their truth.

When their truth
Is dismissed
By statements like:

“It's just boys
Being boys.”

Else
It's “just sibling rivalry
Nothing to worry about.

As their very lives
Are shredded
Once more
By each brutal step
Through the healing process.

As if
They had committed
The crime
Themselves.

Internalizing
Their self-hatred
And self-anger
Into a very negative
And destructive energy.

As self-harming
Becomes the norm.

Some self-medicate
Through the abuse
Of alcohol and drugs.

Placing themselves
In high risk situations
To find self-worth
And self-value
From others.

Or else
Taking sharp objects
Scoring their bodies
Until blood shows.

In shame
These wounds are hidden
Not wanting to draw
Anymore attention
To themselves.

While
Battling thoughts
Of impurity and uncleanliness
That no amount
Of soap and water
Can remove.

These hideous cycles
That will continue
Until broken.

Another heavenly Angel
Drops ahigh
Into the fiery pits
Of Hell.

With little notice
Or concern
Beyond brief outrage
As life moves on.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: Not sure, why I wrote this poem on domestic violence/abuse. Except, I felt this need to do so. And yes, I'm a survivor and a witness of this, myself.

Thursday, 22 March 2018

Downward Spiral (March 9, 2018)

Down the darkest corridor
I do walk through
Seeing the merest hint
Of light
Before me.

Torturing me
These brief interludes
Of cruel mirages
Caressing my soul.

Only
To come crashing down
Bathing me
In the renewal
Of darkness.

As days flow
Into weeks
And later
Into months.

Where time is
Only measured by
The changing
Of seasons.

My voice
A muted sound
Moves from being threatened
To endangered species list
As my words vanish
From sight.

Knowing
The dangerous sound
That silence is
For a person
Like myself.

There's no escaping
Once labelled extinct
As Death takes
My soul.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: On the weekend of February 3rd and 4th, after my 2018 birthday, I was having active suicidal thoughts. This the first time that this has occurred, since the holiday season of 2010-11, when I last attempted suicide. What this meant for me, I was hearing, in greater clarity these self-harming thoughts. That as far as it got for me, during this time, I was battling a virus for eight days. A belated birthday present for myself. Am no longer having active suicidal thoughts, since then.

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