Long And Windy Road (October 21, 2019)

My feet

Firmly entrenched

On the lonely road

Of exile.

From a world

That I once breathed

And drank in

On a daily basis.

Where one's soul

Does mourn

Life's little things

Taken for granted.

Like the sweet perfume

Of a blossoming rose

After a harsh winter

Filled with snow and ice.

Smiles shared

So innocently

With total strangers

At nature's beauty.

Now - distance memory

Never again

To grace

One's scent of smell.

Concrete canyons

Dominate the emerging vista

That stands before me.

As I search

For a new place

To call home

For my beating heart.

Therisa © 2019

Author's note: Something that wrote itself, in 20 minutes. Finding a title for this poem? That's an entirely different kettle of fish! Sigh.

Just The Way, It Was (May 10, 2016)

Am surprise

By your reaction to

A part of my life.

Especially

From the 1980s

And early 1990s.

Dark times

For the LGBT+ community

As we were forced

To confront several epidemics

At once.

Not all

Were related to

The emerging killer

HIV/AIDS.

Being expose

To the virulent hate

For the first time

Of transphobia

And homophobia.

Not from

Other kids

But adults.

Already have

That t-shirt

Years ago.

When

I started kindergarten

In 1975.

Along with

The PTSD flashbacks

Auditory and visual

In constant rotation

Throughout the years.

Naively

I thought

With the gaining of age

One got smarter and wiser

About the world

Around them.

Just part

Of the curse

Being

An optimistic-pessimist.

Yeah

I know

It's an oxymoron

Like military intelligence.

So sue me.

On second thought

Better not

Still have money leftover

From my disability cheque.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Guess, the little things that most people take for granted, are those memories, which filled us, with sadness and regret.

Mt. Melancholy (Janaury 18, 2016)

www.emaze.com

Today

I find myself

Walking

Under the shadow

Of darkness.

As old memories

Spring forth

Like an avalanche.

Cascading down

The snow covered

Mountainside.

As if

I have taken

The wrong trail

Into a forbidden area

With my ignorance.

Burying me

So deep

In the memories

Of a darker time.

Each passing second

The burden grows heavier

Upon my soul.

Am struggling

To find up

From down

With little avail.

Feeling

My inner spark

Growing dimmer

As the tears fall

Down my face.

Knowing

How easy

It would be

To surrender myself

And let everything

Go.

In my wanting

To remain

In the foetal position.

Until

My oxygen runs out

Fading out

Into the night

Forever.

But

I know

These feeling

Shall pass.

As I dig

My way out

Into the light

Once more.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Not exactly sure, what triggered the events of last Monday, January 18, 2016, when I found myself, buried, under a sudden wave of dark memories. Almost 36 hours later, am still struggling with the aftermath of this, as emotionally, I feel numb, and have lost all contact, with my poetic muse. If I was, to describe this, it feels like a PTSD flashback, without any of the visible images, normally, would have experienced, with one. In being, a total sensory overload of my emotions, in a three hour period, on Monday. Much like the type, I would associate, around my electrical burn, to my mouth, as a four year old.

Prepping For Soul Soup (January 13, 2016)

Photo from http://www.hubpages.com

Sitting down

With a paring knife

And a cooking onion

In my hands.

Taking my time

To ensure

No fingers are nicked

By the slicing blade.

Pruning back

The dry and crumbly

Dead layers

Into the garbage bag.

As if

I'm paring back

My life

Before me.

Trying not

To rub

My burning eyes.

Whose tear ducts

Are overflowing

With sadness

From past memories.

With each layer

I have removed

Before placing it

On the cutting board.

All the time

Wishing

I was handling

Its milder cousin

The Leek.

For the soup pot.

As a stray hand

Starts rubbing

An eye or two.

Trying to ease

The stinging

I feel.

Knowing

It's a task

I have to face.

As crying

Is cathartic

For ones soul.

In removing

The dead memories

We have gathered

Over our life.

Allowing us

To move on.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: This poem is, my 2500th written one, since I started writing poetry, on March 31, 2007, as suggested to me, by the group moderator, of my M2F support group, at the 519, in Toronto.