Momentum

Anger stalks bright city streets

slipping in, and out of shadow

and is glimpsed in sun shafts

stabbing through gray.

Revenge steps in cadence

to a million broken heart's beat

Never mind the provocation;

as changeable as the situation.

The faces and names change 

from city to city soul to soul.

But the tears are the same.

A rain of fear, pain and rage. 

Women crying since time began

but continuing to nurture a world

of hurt on a spinning blue planet

while they knit it a warm woolen

sweater and matching socks.

Their daughters unraveling

the tight orderly rows unwrap

and leave starkly naked the abuse

society once kept hidden behind

legally closed double doors. 

They march out carrying mace

walking on tall, black stilletto's.

Long legs bare or encased

in torn and pinned black fishnet.

Short hems and spiked hair

mark this generation's dare.

Challenging their genders past

they break chains, into jewelry. 

The broken links of sisters

by choice still living in tears

bring out the rage and anger

in words written, and sung.

Telling tales never forgetting, 

keeping the momentum

hips swaying heels tapping

out anger in every step. 

Off Beat

You are my heart,

it always gets broken

one way or another

by myself or some other.

I'm always out of rhythm,

one beat behind or ahead

of where I should be when

you decide it's time to lead.

 Inept, I wait on one foot

poised to waltz ensync.

Only to watch you solo

gracefully to wild applause.

I'm never sure of my cue.

Where do I come in?

Discordant and off beat

with no collaboration.

The lines we draw waver

in differing directions,

creating poignant scenes

of two different seasons.

You are my heart,

it always gets broken.

Tears only last so long,

breath exhales, and I go on.

Chaos

spiral threads of life

spinning undirected,

create tangled endeavors

that achieve nothing

and excel at less.

the lost opportunities

twist amid confusion

leaving behind a legacy  

of easily forgotten chaos. 

                  Rusted        

                  Rusted

             by autumn rain

         my trees of rust and gold

 stand beneath the green conifers

delivering leaves like postal letters  

 to all my treeless neighbors' yards

        heaping in gentle piles

            leaving their rakes

                     Rusted

           Chrysalis

Your fresh frozen heart

is untouched by summer's warmth.

Ice coated, glazed art.

Singed

From infancy

little ones learn

about avoiding what burns.

Maturity lessens

early fears; leaving adults

singed.

Limitations

Unhindered by gravitational thought

limiting possibility, or ability

children defy boundaries and fly.

Until an adult protests, explains

gravity, infinity, and mortality,

bringing physics into play.

Their effort to protect

destroys dreams, soring wings,

and replaces them with reality.

This locks infinite potential into

tiny chambers in the mind

forever after remembered

only as flashes of iridescent thought.

Hiding behind glass doors,

feeling safe, and secure.

The world lives without a net.

Day- to- day. Check- to- check,

without reserve, or preserve.

Independence- dependant

on stability in upheaval.

Who needs a chaos theory,

when it is everyday reality?

Infrastructure

in a bowl of pasta,

with noodles intertwining

until corporate startups

and mergers tangle and knot

And we are all left

playing monopoly,

with funny colored money,

selling houses back

for half value

and still going bankrupt.

But we continue bailing

with buckets full of holes,

wondering, where the money goes.

Watch. Watch. Wall street,

fall down the rabbit hole,

to be caught up in

pockets of Armani suits

while Alice stands watching

teapot forgotten in hand -

hard earned taxes pouring 

unnoticed onto thirsty ground.

There can never be a choice 

without consequences, but

crossroads can spin both directions

so out of four possibilities,

any one path can lead south.

But, without a chosen destination

all roads lead nowhere and fall 

plummeting off horizon's edge,

to echo forever, never landing.

Select stable ground, reach out

seeking it and you will find hands 

willing to grasp yours and lift on three. 

Family, mate, partner, or friends.

Building your life alone, unrooted

without a foundation or framework,

make all erected be unbalanced.

Other's are our anchors, life's ballast.

Social skills or not, human connection

is necessary for stability, clans insulate us

from ourselves avoiding selfishness, 

and isolation as we care for others.

Pruning

Come, Autumn!

Nature's jeweled daughter,

fade youth's dew to wisdom's dry preserve.

Reveal to love, what fleeting beauty now lays bare.

Branches, aligning like stretch marks

into a silhouette

without flaw.

© 2012 Tamera Dobbins