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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
The curse of an
inflated imagination.
An escarpment of thought
in a blistering mind.
An invasion of insolence
amidst a tempest-tossed
cacophony
of mewling memories.
A throat restricting,
heart galloping,
and eyes trembling.
A voiceless scream for help.
A crouching body
in cold defeat.
A quivering being,
gasping for an
exasperating breath.
Then, a ferociously seized breath -
transplanted
from an enchained soul,
gives birth to grave apathy.
A silent tear dissipates
into an endless ocean
of trepidation.
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2018
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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
Today the sky seems a different shade of blue,
and the sun disperses an even more radiant ray of light.
All changed the day I found you -
you took the weight of the world off my shoulders.
Time turned the pages of my wary life,
and so I realized that I have never seen the Heavens this bright.
Bitterness clouded my perception of true beauty,
and now there is no more crying myself to sleep at night.
Now, as I lay my head down on my pillow,
something similar to a smile crosses my face.
I know now not a moment of sorrow
… except when you are apart from me
and as the stars shiver in the distance,
and the moon drapes its face down upon me -
I thank the Lord looking down from above,
for showing me True Beauty…
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2018
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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
I am the queen of self destruction.
Ritualistic Razor sharp scrutiny of my reflection -
constantly spewing hate at my mid-section,
whilst effortlessly faking the pursuit of perfection.
A crumbled up heart beckons restitution in the midst
of train-wrecked relationships,
ruinous friendships,
and crumbled up to do lists,
in white-knuckled fists.
The essence of happiness remains a mere mirage
for one who is an expert in self-sabotage.
With nothing but empty reminders sprayed out on a dreary collage,
it is exhausting living an ever consuming facade.
Procrastinated plans worship at my feet,
whilst brooding and bellowing as I hit snooze on repeat.
Impatiently my ambitions take a seat,
before wisely declaring undeniable defeat.
Daily my mind’s army assumes a familiar avoidant stance.
Love and hate engage, again, in a repetitive dance,
between an avoidant retreat and a stagnant advance.
It is clear: as long as I sit on the throne of
self-destruction,
for me… for being whole..
there will not be another chance..
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2021
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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
A tree -
standing alone
on a barren piece of land,
leaves absent
as dead-like branches,
with sun-scorched tips
desperately reach
to the heavens.
Its heart seems hollow -
almost dead.
The ground is hard,
for she sky hasn’t cried
in a very long time.
Its roots
reach deep under ground,
under open skies
and clouds of cotton:
it courageously begs for mercy,
and
when the wind blows violently
its branches sway in a dance
for rain,
and it sings out for a miracle.
Only a drop will do.
It is holding onto grace,
and will soon be dead (completely)
and will not be able to tolerate
the ghastly winds of this world…
Autumn:
just a phase,
for winter will come
and the cold will make the branches quiver
with great fear of death.
No rain,
no love -
the torment never ends.
Spring -
will show its face again:
colorful and vibrant,
and the clouds will burst
excitedly (in summer),
and rain will wash the earth clean once more
and will feed the soil
with showers of love and grace -
blessed tears of God,
of pride over us
for surviving the winter once more.
Branches will bow in praise -
leaves will dance on the wind
in storms of rain.
Hope will fill the heart again,
but:
when warmth dies,
winter will rule again…
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2018
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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
Beneath a comfortless, cold moon,
a rose was pluck too soon -
Perhaps it’s not so:
for he is now living,
and we are dying…
God only collected another Angel.
Still, I wept as I had never wept,
stripped bare of hope and everything.
Within me an ever-louder wind -
a pain that throbs with an un-keen sting.
I looked up at the heaven’s mysterious face,
with all my soul within me burning:
“Dear heart, be still a moment!
God had only lent him to the world.”
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2018
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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
A plethora of
hopes and dreams
born in glorious
first moments:
heartbeats and
breaths.
A most coveted
bountiful blessing
deserving of
unconditional love,
smiling upon this
precarious world.
The most joyous moment
suddenly shrouded
by crushing concern
and immeasurable fear.
Patience wearing thin
in the presence of
engorged, stinging breasts
and marked, stretched skin.
A grey curtain drawn
in dispair and pain
over an exhausted mind
and over-burdened body.
A sweltering shamefulness
creeps in on lonely,
endless days
and sleepless nights -
taking advantage
of inexperience and
insecurity.
A brooding rage boils over
into uncontrollably
weeping eyes
and quivering fists.
An outburst of emotions
sets into motion
a bombardment
of self-doubt
and hopelessness.
Swiftly
a warm caress
and innocent blue eyes
offers short-lived relief.
In the presence
of pure perfection
a deep gratitude
offers colossal courage.
Healing.
Inevitable.
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2018
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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
I vaguely remember how it began:
I was strolling through the garden
of my freshly ripped open soul -
a universe encompassed
by a barrage of memories
and melodious sounds.
Exploring delusive labyrinths
with feeble eyes.
Remoteness overwhelmed my tortured mind
and my heart beat ferociously…
A resplendence charmed face
modestly chased shadows away
as he wrote -
across the darkness of my mind:
“such melancholy mind must die!”
Somewhere near the shores of dreaming,
A flower opened in my heart...
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2018
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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
Like sands
Through the hourglass
My thoughts percolate
Between instant gratification
And long-term resolution.
Like an unfaltering pool
Of sinking sand
My dissatisfaction agglutinates
With foolish gibberish
To obscure optimism.
Like a withering stalk
My shrivelling aspiration
Matches and clashes
With swelling inertia
Resulting in dispiriting
Deprivation of direction.
Like a valley of ash
My barren essence
Gasps for restitution -
For a preserving elixir
To cogently overturn
The demise of time.
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2021
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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
...youth’s awakening eyes witnessed
the loss of heritage of light.
Shadows constantly calling,
bringing a nearness to the secretive night.
A surge of crimson droplets -
a soothing sense of control of fears.
Still, a darkness grows,
devouring hopes, over many years.
A purgatory of shame,
leaves a gasp for an agony of death.
Pelting rain and howling winds,
fill the chambers and captures ones breath.
The storm keeps raging -
birthing a bolstering darkness.
Pain: Persistent. Paralyzing
a mind leaking what is broken.
Quivering, in a darkening dream I lay -
alone.
Shadows, still, calling me home.
Leaving me to rot, reprieve - to atone.
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2018
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Juanita Oosthuizen Poem
Pulled together
by a magnetic avoidance of loneliness,
fueled by an insatiable ardor
to evade a shortage of love.
Mutually splintered souls searching
for a place to embed and
implement a façade which conceals
mutilated minds.
Spurious attempts to disarm
the timebomb which is his mouth.
Futile efforts to escape
a mental cage
inflicting frightening fingerprints
on a shatter-able soul.
Cautionary writings on the walls
of his guise,
demanding subservient devotion.
Loud lashings from his slick tongue,
contradicting confessions of love and hate,
whilst ransacking an insubordinate mouth,
by extorting an opening through
quivering lips.
Transient,
insincere apologies
fall on deaf ears,
between briny tears plunging
down an anguished face,
debunking the reverie
that this is how love
is meant to taste.
A dismaying omen
predicting the dawn
of the end,
disguised as a single round, white dose
of insentience
aggressively shoved down
through tortured glottal wails.
Convulsive crying gives way
to comatose disposition,
displayed on a cold cement altar -
a sacrificial lamb laid out
for torturous vindication
of his deprived need
to strip of honor,
by forcibly desecrating
incontestable,
incapacitated remains.
An ungainly desperate last resort -
running with lead-like legs from a known enemy.
Flashes of head- lights and white painted lines,
don’t hinder a final attempt
at liberation or eternal rest.
Flashes of cold, dim swells of pain,
preferred,
over the clinging clutches of oppressive
maniacal hands,
lunging at the opportunity to subdue.
A harsh awakening -
in his lair.
A morning after like no other.
Hues of black and blue on
pale, dehydrated dermal layers,
serve as confirmation
of an undeniable recollection
of hair-raising anamnesis.
Painful retrospection
inciting an unrelenting
concluding confrontation -
never again
the victim will I be.
Copyright © Juanita Oosthuizen | Year Posted 2021
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