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splayed splashed and splattered she
shades of ebullient blue on skies languid
and as glided and rolled and pirouetted her spirit
swirled beauteous clouds in bounteous ecstasy
    
pigments of hale she lent to rainbows pale
as sparkled in sun her tinted wings
nurtured beneath them her burgeoning dreams
unbridled in vastness soared her flights a many


Girlhood years ~
                                  ~spirits                     ­ ~ rocking
                                              ~  frolicking
    ­                                                      
                                                   ~like mirthful waves


thence came the age of early youth
when sprouted an ogre from thicket of rules
born of patriarchal seeds devoured her open sky
space where her spirit sang danced and grew

coerced to gulp a concoction made from
meaty pulp of social codes to her hitherto unknown
transformed she into an ‘ideal’ woman
- compliant, subservient, submissive and meek

wishes waned
dreams drained

little remained
of the blue in her skies
and of rainbow hues
Reflections on times when women were deemed fit solely for raising children and doing household chores... And groomed accordingly... Defying their defined role and stepping outside seemed almost unimaginable...

Inspirations from Simone de Beauvoir's quotes-

“One is not born, but rather becomes a woman.”


“Her wings are cut and then she is blamed for not knowing how to fly.”

“Woman is shut up in a kitchen or in a boudoir, and astonishment is expressed that her horizon is limited…..Let but the future be opened to her, and she will no longer be compelled to linger in the present.  ”
 Sep 2017 SøułSurvivør
Born
Be prepared for anything

For loss of lives with no reason
an imposed treason
on your very existence

You'll feel like you are
the blackest or the whitest man on earth
racism shoved down your throat
and the hate keeps coming

Peoples morals will be axed
principles thrown out the window
we'll do anything
to get everything

Tyranny will have allies
Your complains will be put
"under advisement"
for you matter not

then you'll truly know
order, brotherhood and love
was nothing but a speech
and speeches are for campaigning

So I say
you quickly and quietly
Open that can of coke
and drown your emotions on a failing heart
like you've been taught

Or open your eyes
to the deep slumber of disillusionment
you've been subjected to.

And then you'll know
for the sake of peace
you gave up your freedom
I don't like that picture framed,
Looking from my shelf;
You're no longer like that,
No longer you're yourself.
I don't like your smiling eyes,
I don't like your hair,
I don't like the way you look,
I don't like you there.
I had plenty,
I was twenty,
A life ahead of me;
I don't like your picture there,
Looking down on me.

I'll place a new shot on the shelf,
A recent picture of one's self,
Mirroring pangs of time,
The heartaches that are mine.
A picture of an aged-worn man,
A head that droops,
Shoulders stooped,
A face laced with worry lines,
A wry smile covering crimes;
A still life and a pantomime.
I don't like that picture there,
When I was in my prime.
I want to dance with you again,
Before the light descends;
Dance, the troubadour sang:

     Dance me to the end of love.

Place yours in mine,
We'll wind with time;
Repose your head, close your eyes,
I'll hear you breathe another goodbye.
Can't you dance with me again.

I'm spinning off this elliptic world;
Holding the dark side of my moon,
Orbiting 'round this star lit room.
Waxing on the upbeat,
Waning on the down,
Dancing on a gyroscope,
Through phases round and round.

I awaken, tapping toes,
And humming in the after glow.

Yes, I danced with you!
Did I dance with you?
I didn't dance with you.
And never will again.
Leonard Cohen: "Dance Me to The End of Love"
When I'm seeking shade from a relentless sun,
And brush a rejected leaf off my shoulder,
I feel poetry.

When I brought my girls home,
From hospital, school, a bad night out,
I've experienced poetry.

Walking Front St., or  Centennial Park,
While the buskers are busy,
The children are laughing,
The dogs are barking,
I've heard poetry.

If fortunate to espy a shooting star,
Enjoy the fullness of an autumn moon,
Witness the dawn light up my lawn,
Like a diamond mine,
I've seen poetry.

I've tasted poetry on my lips
With kisses and endearing words,
And lingering tastes from what you serve.
Yes, I've savored poetry's flavors.

Who reads poetry.
Caught you reading poetry.
Your heart is a stereo ,
and i love all its songs .
I can go on listening ,
for hours and long .

If i just miss a beat ,
would you play on repeat .
would you let me hear it ,
till our rhythm's meet .

And it might seem so crazy ,
for the reasons , unknown .
But keep me in your heart ,
its a place i belong .....
Jesus, Jesus above all
You are my God
Savior of my soul
God of all mercy
Caring and glory
Jesus, Jesus above all
I worship you
Shall I deny who I am to gain what will not remain?
The approval of man.
As fleeting as dust in the wind.
Or shall I live for the Truth?
Live...
for Him.
Live for the Eternal One.
And His Kingdom's reign.

Shall I live for the love of man?
Which is fickle.
Changeable.
Like the phases of the moon.
Or shall I abide in His Love?
Which is immoveable.
Unrelenting.
And will never change.

Shall I deny who I am?
Feeling outwardly comfortable.
While my soul is in chains.
Shall I live for the temporal,
which is so short and fleeting?
Like shifting sand.
Like shifting sand.
Or shall I live for the Eternal?
"On Christ the Solid Rock I stand." (Edward Mote, c.1834)
Firm Rock.
Stable Rock.
This is where I choose
to place the soles of my feet.
Firmly planted in His Word.
Firmly planted in His Love.
With my roots going deep.

"On Christ the Solid Rock I stand."
On Christ the Immoveable Rock I stand.
With roots going down deep.
With roots going down deep.
Into the Eternal.
caught a sunbeam
I pocketed it
for a wintry day
Playful children.


Beneath playful white clouds.


In blue sky.


Running.


Among playful autumn leaves.


Dancing





down.

Dancing





down.


On this playful day.
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