Haiku
Cold air tumbling
through the window, dissipates
on warm fingertips
lost in my own head
hooked back into the present
by a cat’s bright eyes
Category Archives: Poetry
Grandma’s Hands
Another good one from Ivor.
I wonder what mum and grandma are thinking
Mum was born after the First World War
A child of the roaring twenties
Then she became a poor teenager, of the great depression
And a young nurse, during the horror’s of a second World War
A time when everyone’s supplies were rationed
Everyone helped each other, when things run out
Everyone knew a son, that been killed in the war
Everyone gave you a soft shoulder to lean on
Everyone shared each others pain
Our parents and grandparents survived
And taught us compassion, and the value of every single life
Ivor Steven (c) March 2020
Haiku
cracked TV on curb
sleet falls, white fuzz collecting
the static escaped
Fences
We used to sleep on the porch
in our sleeping bags on warm nights
square spindles cutting crisp shadows out of the moonlight
the cats would slip between the rungs and leap
fifteen fearless feet to the ground
a jaw-dropping distance, nothing to them.
My family tells me
when I was a toddler
I pushed my head between the bars of my crib
got stuck
and bawled, red-faced, until my mother
buttered my ears and pulled me free.
Climbing the horse gate, hopping over chain-link to retrieve a ball, squeezing between barbed wire, edging carefully under an electrified one
all my memories of fences
are of boundaries broken
rules defied
for better or for worse
I know this merry go round
next comes
confidence caught on the updraft
losing gravity floats apart
scatters into madness, confusion
stress and self-hate
pull out all the coping mechanisms
plug the hole, wedge the door
battle my own brain
and wonder
can they see
what I won’t show
can they hear
what I won’t say
suppressing impulses
success is excess
I hate myself so much more
when I get what I want
when I reach a goal
when I outpace my peers
this is
the American Way
it would be easier
to subsume myself
into the crowd
I have to force ahead
be uncomfortable
accept who I am
in order to grow
accept who I can be
who I should be
or should I just live
a life of quiet desperation?
Remember how I started submitting prose and trying to get 100 rejections? I got two rejections… and one challenge win. WTF. I don’t deserve to win for my terrible writing! AAAAAA! But I’m also proud. I am amazing! I am too many things at once! AAAAAA! Pass the coffee!
I’ll post a link when it’s published! Wish me less crazy today!
Sarah D. Silvey 