Silent Oppressor

forest-shadow

I see you lurking in the shadows
you silent oppressor
I hear you knocking on people’s doors
unassuming
polite 
personable

you come like rain from gloomy skies
your water healing
the people vulnerable
you promise sun when there is none

dawn cracks
and the storm passes
bright skies convince us 
you are truth

we celebrate your courage
and follow in your trail
our blood drenching your muddy paths
our hands heavy with your ideals

we have become your following
you silent oppressor

Recommended

Firsts

This is a great way of getting going/self-generating in a spontaneous, stress-free way. STEP ONE: Give yourself one minute to explore each of the following “firsts” . . .  My first memory . . .  The first time I ever tasted a favourite food . . .  My first day of school . . .  The first time I remember crying . . .  The first time I was ever really truly scared . . .  The first time I felt really truly loved . . .  My first crush/date . . .  My first sexual feeling or experience . . .  The first time I ever lost something (or someone) that I loved . . .  The first time I ever hurt somebody (intentionally or unintentionally) . . .  The first time I was ever hurt by somebody . . .  The first time I ever had a gigantic fight with someone . . .  The first time I remember feeling totally misunderstood . . .  The first time I lied or cheated or stole . . .  The first time I had to make a big decision for myself . . .  The first time I was left in charge of something important . . .  The first time I was ever away from home/traveled somewhere by myself . . .  The first time I experienced illness (directly, or a loved-one) . . .  The first time I received a gift that I absolutely loved . . .  The first time I met someone who I would know for a good long time . . .  TIPS: Challenge yourself to not take your pencil off the page . . .

the menu in my heart is all wrong

my stare goes from the plate to the dainty language on the menu Golden Baskets, a tiny quintet of brittle pastry shells . . .  then back to my plate, and I wonder what my spice-obsessed hawker-stall friends in Bangkok would think of defrosted veggies baked in cardboard-stiff pastry cups on the Danforth, limits of Greektown, middle of a snowstorm . . .  Published in TOK: Writing the New Toronto, Book 5 . . .