I searched his eyes
but he was long gone
wandering a private,
and distant place
a landscape with no zipcodes
and no maps.
I tried to call him back
all in futility
he was stuck
in the corridors of silence
unreachable…
© 2018 Jacqueline
This poem came to my mind when I heard of Senator John McCain’s passing. I don’t know him personally except for what was made public, but I developed a healthy amount of respect for him as I read a bit more about him. May His Soul Find Rest.
I saw it coming.
I grudgingly said hello.
I allowed it to simmer and linger.
Depression.
That uninvited guest.
Comes to spend the night on your couch,
and ends up
staying for weeks on end
in your room and bathrobe.
I have my episodes, like I did this past week and a lot of times they are triggered by very innocuous, mundane things. such as a break in my rituals.
Sometimes, I can’t even put a finger on the precise point of trigger, or even encapsulate my emotions properly in words. What I do know, however, is that as hard as it may be to get out of that bed and bathrobe and face your day, for those of us who go through these down times, it’s very important to focus on daily pick-me-up rituals. They have a way of keeping you grounded.
I want to walk the earth,
to capture its vision
through the lens of my eyes
maybe many memories
will be framed
to hang on the wall
but most importantly,
are those memories made
and stored in my mind’s eye.
© 2018 Jacqueline
Do you often wish,
that the future ahead,
you could surely foretell;
knowing every step?
Ω
I stare at the tea leaves
willing it to reveal its secrets,
I swirl my cup gingerly
but nothing comes up.
ℜ
I am not a psychic
waiting on tea leaves to tell secrets,
I possess no crystal ball
to peek and tell the future.
Σ
What would life be
if everything is known?
For the fun of living
is to unwrap each day.
©
2018 Jacqueline
Let me ask a pertinent question, have you ever had your tea leaves or coffee grounds read for you? I am curious.
when leaders stole a Nation
from under its feet
they said it would make us great
like we have never known before
but we sat down
and we drank wine
forgetting to weep in our cups
and mourn our loss
they sold our land
for shillings for their pockets
heritage given to men
who held them by the balls
bereft, we are left adrift
‘cos travesty besieges us;
for we were sold falsehood
and promises that leak like a basket
© 2018 Jacqueline
Her first love,
he gave her a butterfly,
a beautiful, iridescent thing
stuck in a jam jar
Her second love,
he took away the butterfly,
sold it for a nickel,
and left her a fist in the face
Her third love,
he gave her many butterflies
etched in pretty coloured ink,
they lived free on her backside.
©
Jacqueline
None of us is shallow. Many have simply not learnt how to use their shovel. Jacqueline
image credit
I searched for upliftment outside
I saw bits and pieces of it
I saw greedy people grabbing
and holding on to more than they needed
I searched for upliftment within
I saw a bottomless portion
I saw gifts that keep giving
that can be shared with everyone else.
©
Jacqueline
hold each day
like a tiny precious dew-drop of water,
gathered on the tip of a petal,
admire her round shape,
for once she rolls into the dust
its gone and indeed lost.
…
hold each day
by its precious graceful moments,
savour each hour,
never let it go sour,
for once you let moments escape
time lost can’t be caught in videotape
©
Jacqueline
Don’t give doubt a welcoming chair
‘cos he’s a sweet talker.
He will overstay his welcome,
and tell you all the things
that you cannot do;
just to convince you
to dig up the seeds
that you planted in faith.
©
Jacqueline
I don’t think I’m very mad,
I just rehearse by talking to myself
and all the other voices
that have taken up residence
inside my head.
I make friends with them.
My latest resident is a mystery,
her name is ‘Madame Cecily.’
She loves dressing in deep rich colours
and laughs a little too loudly.
She’s full of wit and fiery independence,
her purse is full of surprises.
She’s not one for tepid tea
but stiff copious cups of warm brew.
Her caustic tongue makes grown men cry
yet her bosom has put many to rest.
She’s not one to suffer fools
but her humour brings tears to the eyes.
She ran Miss Flighty into a corner
and flirts endlessly with Beau,
told Lady Dampers a few home truths,
and Lord Lugard, she called a bombastic fool.
She told me that I was too eager to please
I certainly wasn’t too pleased with her.
With a twinkle in her mischievous, knowing eyes,
and full lips curved in a naughty smile,
now she sashays down a passage in my head,
humming a ditty and saying unequivocally,
‘Loosen up my dear. Live loud and well darling’
‘Cos life is too short and just a dream.’
© 2018 Jacqueline
