Hope is a Soft Rock

 

—Poetry by Bonnie Meekums, Manchester, UK

—Photos of Fall Foliage by Katy Brown, Davis, CA

AGE-OLD PROTEST

At seventy
I should be sitting
       knitting
               quitting dancing
                        and cavorting
Sex should be
                                           a distant memory
replaced by luke-warm
cups of tea
with pleasure measured
in yards of silk
and pictures of grandkids
                              never seen
                              and never played with

But for now
I will still climb hills
and trees
I will still swing high
head back
gazing at the sky
I will still sing loud
whilst holding placards
of protest at the things
I’m supposed to do
at seventy

 

 

 

 Pomegranates

AQUARIUS

Hope is a soft rock which
when held feels luscious
luxurious
A hedony of mis-guided past

I met it once when I was young
and skin stretched easy
over bones and sinews
never glancing back

But those days are gone
now I must dig
deep into slippery earth
that slides from my grip

Leaving trails of sulphur
yet what else is there
but that juicy rock
with its taught giving skin

 

 

 

 Pyracantha

THREADS (Three Haiku)

I was always meant
to find footholds and discard
rule books for girlhood

* * *

I was always meant,
my body strong as an oak,
to be free to dance

* * *

I was always meant
to find my own story’s thread
like my mother’s wool

 

 

 

Knot-Eye in Old Wood

 

 

PASSING THROUGH

Into the tunnel
He runs
And shouts
To feel the power
Of his name

I hear his echo
In my darkness
His imprint lingers
In shared songs

 

 

 

 September Dappled Light

LET’S NOT TALK ABOUT THIS

You brought me rockets
launching in space
that just missed the window
yet glancing off glass
I heard a loud whip-crack
like my mother’s bones
And I knew then

You brought me babies
lost in a war zone
I tried to save them
picking my way
through a chess board
dodging your bullets
And I knew then

You brought me a small lock
with numbers to turn
unleashed the wrong future
of images half-seen
with two sisters wading
their cloth folds tucked in
And I knew then

You brought me a son
with growth in reverse
taking ice picks to hack at
the words that I wrote
without endless movement
the future looked bleak
And I knew then

You brought me a cliff edge
a daughter to fly
like a flat, silver thing
who smiled as she shattered
unspooling
rewinding
And I knew then

You brought me a puzzle
with two ways to solve
but one route was taken
for the sake of the children
I tried adding numbers
but my way was barred
And I knew then

You brought me a project
no time to complete it
yet there in my pocket
a bright set of gloves
but I was forbidden
my time to explore
And I knew then

You brought me an old house
familiar and strange
I measured and moulded
and pieced with precision
but then I was told
I was off the construction
And I knew then

You brought me a dance trick
A boat to set off in
without any bearings
I surfaced from sleep
and saw that I’d missed it
so I let that ship sail
And I knew then
                    I will keep this on the down-low

_______________________

Today’s LittleNip:

WALKING HAIKU
—Bonnie Meekums

I hike summer hills.
My feet, tramping ancient earth
Move me to stillness.

_______________________

Bonnie Meekums’ poems have appeared in the Poetry Health Service, a Leeds Beckett University anthology, and Roi Fainéant. Her flash fiction has been published by, among others, Reflex Press, Brieflly Zine, Bandit Fiction, and the Ad Hoc fiction. Longer works include her novels, A Kind of Family (2020), and My Upside Down World (2021), and a memoir, Remnants of War, written jointly with her sister, Jackie Hales. Bonnie lives in greater Manchester, UK, where she is inspired by her walks in the Pennine Hills. She blogs about becoming an older woman at https://mamabonnie.wordpress.com/, and she may also be contacted at Twitter (@bonniemeekums) and at her website: https://bonniemeekums.weebly.com/. Welcome to the Kitchen, Bonnie, and don’t be a stranger! (Our cadre of fine British poets is growing!)

Thanks also to The Eye Who Sees All, Katy Brown, for today’s wonderful photos!

Hope is a soft rock. I love that—hope is hard and soft, all at the same time, yes?

__________________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Bonnie Meekums

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





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