Learning To Dance

34643-dance-in-the-rain

Holding back,

watching them, watching us

fighting to try, to see beyond the pain,

marking the line in between

waiting for the first to make a move

we begin only to stop for the rain.

 

Then they come, demons on the wind,

and we crouch with shields above

as the dead on cold ground are lain.

Thunder roars and we meet them,

blood pounding in our veins,

and so we begin learning how to dance

in the rain.

 

Voices ignored as men drown out,

their Lilliputian minds closed to the sun

we defend them, too,

though cases reversed we’d hang,

but we still have to try to hold back the flood

until our dying breaths say “we’re done”.

 

For freedom means more than miniscule men,

and someday they’ll realize we did this for them,

with nothing more than liberty our gain

we tried to teach them how to dance in the rain.

Advertisements

Freedom from fairytales

freedom-from-fairytales-wellemperedbards-wordpress-com

Freedom from fairytales
If all we are is shadows
And stardust waiting to return
We never need fear being
Spellbound
And can revel in the freedom
Of our disenchantment.
No call on us to heed
A single second’s breath
We are alive, we live
So what? Is death
The end of everything
We wished for
Or is it simply
Unbeing? Returning
To the ashes and dirt
We came from
Before we learned
To rub those into our wounds
And make them worse.
Is it release,
When hope and pain are over?
Our breath will cease
To matter to what remains
And those we leave behind
Can take our stories
Find the plot-holes
And leave us in peace.

 

With big thanks to poetry-channel-supreme, Jackie Coiffa, whose poem ‘Shadow People‘ inspired this.

Your Something Means Something

Your Something Means Something - welltemperedbards.wordpress.com

I see you there
Blue eyes
Pink hair
Peaches’n’cream complexion
And looking like
Butter wouldn’t melt
Whilst I know
Beneath your
Picturesque perfection
Whirls a storm
Of wondering.
Wandering, adrift;
Mapless, or sometimes
Without signpost
And the gut instinct
That maybe
You’ve gotten lost.
Out it pours –
The many-pathwayed
Multi-layered
Kelidoscope-splintered
Rush of thought,
Falling into words
In desperate bid to make
Sense
Of anything.
Of being.
Of being HERE.
Of being here and who and how
You are, and why
You make a difference.
Which you do.
Unbeknownst
For as you wander
(And wonder)
You leave a little trail
A smattering of breadcrumbs
A trail of glittering lamps
Within the gloom
Of unknowing
And gradually
With each brave step
You show a way
Of being
Something,
Because your Something
Means something
To someone.
Each day
You’re leaving
Footprints
For others
To consider
Following.
Very few people (well, maybe more people than I think, in fact) tend to inspire poetry from me as instantly as this poem happened, but it happened anyway, in response to something my friend Rachel E. Bledsoe, of Misfits of a Mountain Mama, said.