I became one of those who disappeared…
diving into the belly of disjointed thoughts
malaise, discontent and limbo
I became one of those who disappeared
my voice broken and rusty
like an old unused tap on an abandoned site
I became one of those who disappeared
saving all my energy for survival
battling existential crisis
I became one of those who disappeared…
from out of the deep a voice called
head raised, I stare into the sun
it’s not yet over…
© Jacqueline 2019
Image credit – Pixabay
© 2019 Jacqueline
Soft cooing sounds of comfort
the dove reminds,
the land is richly green
I felt a bit rusty writing this haiku. It’s been many months of no practice but after several attempts, I managed to cobble something that I like.
Thank you for an interesting prompt Ronovan. Grass & Dove
These are
the number of kisses that we’ve had
the little dinners we have held
the evening walks on Tuesday’s end
the glorious sunsets around the bend
These are
the number of laughter we have shared
the times our silence has been paired
the million tiny tales we’ve told
the times you held me when I cried
These are
the moments we lived as we foretold
the times that slipped and went untold
the many nights our eyes went unslept
the promises made and yet unkept
These are…
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
