Sidling Shadows

She moves like a languid lynx

slinking across glass littered alleys

tacky with the tears

of so many shattered dreams.

Hard and heartless, she has closed down

using her body as a commodity.

To survive, to entrap, to getting what she wants.

Unsure that even she knows.

Men made her this way.

From a father who held her too dear

to a brother she fought with fear.

From boyfriend to boyfriend

each one always the same…..

It was only the faces and bodies

that changed.

Women too had a hand here.

A mother who turned from her tears

to a sister who could only feel relief.

From girlfriend to girlfriend

relationships found growing in rocky graves

mistrust and jealousy….

It was only the clothes and hair

that changed.

No time for tears.

No time for love.

No time for comfort.

Delving into the underbelly

schooled in trash

she moves like a languid lynx

sidling through the shadows.

Your worst dream.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

August 10/17

Stain upon my soul

I wrote this in 2012 on this day. I have been paying attention to my ‘On this day….’ and rediscovering lost words. Picture is also mine.

Begone, beyond, feelings tossed to the moors

frightful, disturbing, unwanted, pain

Rapture, only found with denial, with revulsion

go not into the embrace, but fight for hell.

You say you will forgive me, you will wipe away my tears

you say that your eyes alone, can divine the stain upon my soul.

You say that through you and you alone, can I find salvation.

yet you turn your head, your ears, your eyes

When I do not behave;

how your ambassadors on earth feel I should.

Call me not a coward, nor defiant

you and you alone gave me free will

My choice, my decision, my desire

hurt not others, all shall be good.

Find the stain upon my soul,

enough to curse me.

To send me to hell.

Yet you gave me the ability to choose,

and still you punish.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

August 5/12

 

 

 

Meglomania

Photo courtesy of Pinterest.

You talk and talk, always right

ears closed to the other voices.

You and you alone make the mark

and destroy a million lives.

Who says you are right?

Who spoke this truth to you?

Making you alone,

the one that all shall worship?

You venom spreads, poisoning

you voice, so mesmerizing

Call thousands to your banner

waging war against so many innocents.

Hatred,

disrespect,

And villany.

Your voice,

your words,

so charismatic.

But death shall follow;

balance the scales

as we all watch the blade fall.

 

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

November 29, 2011

 

 

To percolate or to just write

I am having some difficulty with my muse. I came across a poem that I wrote several years ago after a father here in Canada had committed an honor killing. And my brain has begun to piece together a poem or a story about women who have been abused by religious tenets.

So my muse is percolating. Trying to figure out how to write what I want to write. How to focus on my anger and fear. How to portray women who have been ruled by religion for 1000’s of years.

There has always been the condemnation of witchcraft, that is an easy one to fall back on. The bible is used to beat women into submission. I am sure the Koran is put to the same use. But what about the subliminal message that we receive. Today still, in 2017 that somehow it is our fault, how we dress, speak, smile, all is an excuse used.

I have a story or a poem within me. I am not sure why I feel the need to write about this at this moment. I have not read anything that would have been a trigger. I have not seen anything that has been a trigger. All I know is my muse is chewing her lip and tugging on her hair as the idea moves into being. It will be complete and utter fiction I can tell you that. I am just not sure when it will be written or published for your consumption.

The Poem that started this all when I reread it:

Honor Killing

I read that another girl died today

her father took her life

‘The shame, the shame’ he laments

‘she can no longer be a wife.’

Bound in an alley, filth in her face

abused, debased, left shivering

Afraid to move, afraid to cry out

she knows what she will face,

she knows that more is to come.

Allah’s tears cleanse her heart

Allah’s tears cleanse her soul

Allah’s embrace heals her hurts

Allah’s love shows her the truth.

The shame decried is his alone

the hatred burns his soul

No justification, no regrets

Saving one’s name, that is more important.

I read that another girl died today

her father so proud of the deed

Posturing, holding his head high

fierce in protest, in rejection of fear

no longer is he able to feel Allah’s grace.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

December 1/11

 

 

 

Addiction

He stood over the abyss, toes curled against rock

the thirst, the hunger

the anger, the hatred

eating at his soul.

Within his mind bruised the words

of mobs chasing

who thought they were better

who thought they should know.

On his knees he crawled through filth and muck

weeping tears that none could see.

A sneer twists his lips,

wicked words that punish those

who thought they knew best

who thought they knew more.

A false thought of flight

as he jumps forth to the air

waiting for the rescue

he was certain was near.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

June 16/17

Beauty

What do you see when you look at me?

when you value me based on societal concepts?

Do you see the way my eyes light up?

when I giggle and laugh over the stupidest things?

Or do you only see the fine lines radiating from my eyes;

the brackets from smiling around my mouth?

Would you care to know how long it took;

for me to stop covering my mouth when I laughed or smiled?

Did you see me in the dressing room, trying to find the right clothes?

the ones that I like, that I have chosen because they fit my form?

Are you aware of how long it took;

for me to look in the mirror and be proud?

I never was a Beauty Queen

I never won that award.

I flaunted my figure and used my wiles

so society would think I fit the norm.

It took me a long long time,

to be able to look in the mirror and see me

Beautiful and confident, in my own way

which is the one that society does deny.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

May 1/17