A born lioness
my untamed heart.. ha!
wild this pulsing token ruled by unruly wants
at times given, traded or stolen - sometimes
thrown down on a dare to be won or lost
till it became a paper tigress in tatters;
regrets and rejections remorse and resentments
flitted like fringe in the wind
..I played at life and life played me..
good times and bad vibes as random as Russian roulette
..five chambers of folly.. but that sixth was a b*tch..
bravado worn like a honeyed mane ruffled and bluffing
rolling with -or- rolled by the wrecking ball of the spin
to laugh and lose and tell - and live
through duels between disasters and dreams.. alas,
chivalry was lost in the gamble but not the likelihood of liability ~
I rummage through my psyche’s ruined luggage
soul-searching with mood’s sentimental searchlight
for affection connection lost in dark depths -
I am but a ghost ship stranded on the beigy side of brawling breakers
sails of self-pity hailed by greedy gusts with a sorrow’s lust -
I pine for a pipe-dream dance
in rapt thoughtful thirst for a cocktail blend of
bay-breezy optimism swirled with vibrations of om
garnished with a slice of the moon
a pester of wagering pessimistic clouds
lay odds upon the outcome of a trove discovered in a wistful cove -
this wastrel's newfound fortune of amberina;
satiny shades of Autumn’s bittersweet
born of breakage and abrasion -
frictional forces of joy and sadness dress the drift glass
hoarded in the sea’s rabid bites of the shore then
abandoned by the absent-minded backwash -
..forgotten like vague fractions of a song too long-ago to remember..
what passional tales these frosted bits of daystar could tell;
a not-so-charmed journey from
virginal vessels of translucent wonder
to shattered shards of a doomed sunset
their fragility favoring the risks of vulnerability --
bygone blushing damsels damned by double-dealing
recounting deceptions like a martyr or a saint
..or.. perhaps.. that’s just me..
lost to decades of accidental metamorphosis
if only to reach another shore to touch another soul
..maybe.. ..to touch my own..
O harmonious forces of fate
how do you orchestrate such feral instruments
like time and place and distance
to unite in tune with symphonized chords
re-creating an irresistible lullaby worth remembering..?
nostalgia rouses a stagnant ballerina to twirl on Swan Lake swells
as faint echoes of quaint chimes reminisce with imagination;
in an old-fashioned parlour with white lace doilies charmed
by heady plum plumes atop silvery-green stems spooning
contentedly in a tan wicker flower basket -
a child sits on grand-mère’s old-world lap comforted in her lavender arms
..before her perfume and my mind
were blown away by winter’s mistral winds..
enraptured as I was with an ornate trinket box with a musical belle
surrounded by dainty forms of hand-blown amber-rose objets d’art
before there were cracks in the glass
..could I ever be so enchanted again..?
for the washed-up gypsy gems stripped of shine
are worn and warm and wise and oh so familiar
shaking my awakening with their loss of newness -
their roughed-up radiance tinkers with my sense of awe
rescuing my mood
like heroic swords of sunrays slaying the night
bloodletting the black out of incubus dreams
soothing heavy-metal thoughts
as comrades-in-commiseration croon storm-surge blues
with weathered heartstrings’ in hard-earned hues -
with the empathy
of a survivor..
and like me... are a creation of tumbling forces of man and nature
in a mind battered by diatribe tides
over tossing dice through turbulent times -
I behold an opaque odyssey in a handful of mermaids’ tears;
broken and buffeted their buffed beauty defied destruction
burnt orange and devil red pearls
time capsules quiet with a vintage fire’s glow
illuminates the amber marrow of a tigress-soul caged
behind the mirror of a little girl’s music-box-memories —
..before the dancer’s spin into darkness..
pulp of my grief plashes upon relics of pain and love
gentle splashes baptize despair and shame as
contemplation undresses the looking-glass of inward reflection -
recollections like sky lanterns lift from starless depths
light-bearers intercede with murky horizons as flames are lit from
ruby tips of sunrise surf ready to parlay shipwrecks and spindrift into gold -
stray feelings of triumph and pride squint in the sun of self-compassion
like skittish felines -shy yet hungry- they warily lap at the cream of self-worth
finally able to reap redemption from reckless wreckage
while finding peace in the eye of the hurricane
..frictional forces of sadness and beauty dress the drift glass -- and now -
dress this drifter in a lioness share of indigo epiphany..
and... I realize that my coming-to-light
was a fait accompli
October 30, 2020
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Inward Reflections
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
*wastrel: a wasteful or good-for-nothing person*
*fait accompli: a thing that has already happened or been decided before those affected hear and/or learn about it, leaving them with no option but to accept it*
*amberina: a late 19th century American clear glassware of a graduated color that shades from ruby to amber*
Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2020
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