Curse these hormones
They make me cry
More for the plight
Of others – for kindness
At joy, or pain,
Or seemingly nothing
Than any worst of mine
Experience of life to date
How can I tell my eyes
To shed no tears
For those who die by fire
For those who risk
Both life and limb
To save another’s child
I cannot make myself
Immune to the suffering
Of animals, women, children
Nor even violent, middle-aged,
Mercenary misogynists
Whose words belie their actions
What are these thoughts?
These feeling of unexpected
And even unwelcome
Compassion for all things
All creatures, living and dead
Even mosquitoes, crushed
For being as they are
My bleeding heart would nurse
What good is such weakness
Am I now infirm of purpose
So blind to the darker side
Of human nature
That I would embrace it
Heedless of my own
And others’ safety?
suffering
The Anti-Social Conscience
Fear of flying
In the Erica Jong sense
Is not wrong – even for hardcore feminists
We are all intimidated sometimes
When faced with the prospect
Of successful seduction
In an post-AIDS era.
Fear of flying
Bugs with the power to infect
The next generation with long-term consequences
Is a logical response to a natural phenomenon
So we avoid the tropics, where possible
And wear trousers, long-sleeves
And poisoned perfume.
Fear of flying
To exotic climes
With local customs
Hostile to strangers
Would appear an acceptable
Response to the xenophobic
Fury of others – so unlike our own.
Fear of flying
Seems perfectly reasonable –
A socially acceptable phobia for a reduced carbon footprint
Unless, of course the sufferer happens to be
The passenger in the next seat (adjacent to me)
Quaking in their Birkenstocks,
Passing gas, and sweating cobs.
A Little Number
Before I was born
Just a twinkle
In the universe
Of possibilities
Reflected in eyes
Both bluest grey
And olive green
Did you know me?
Or was the I of me
And mine all one to you?
My seedling promised,
But unplanned
Was a meeting of
Hearts and minds
Foretold in song
To bardic strains
Or merely Cast
Upon the plain and
Simple lines
That sprang and pranced
This two-fold dance
Of fire and ice
Your foreign couplings
Kept apart
By Mother Earth
Who did not dream
Of feelings torn
From the widening
Womb-like walls
And shallow shores
Of an underground
Kingdom
Nuts and Colonels
Carried away
With crowns of pine,
From slender hopes
To careful, caring
Tender traps in
Wadded cotton
Whose snoring sheets
Wedded Pluto’s
Darker dreams to
Persephone’s Oblivion
Before there was me
Lâche
La douleur de son existence compris,
Il n’a jamais plus souffert,
En choisissant ne pas considérer
Combien peut coûter un amant.
Comme toi sa lâcheté serait
La chose que lui a tout sauvée
Et tous les deux vous cachez bien
Vos cœurs en peur d’aimer.
Je veux vivre ce douleur qui porte
Aussi que tant de joie.
Savoir aimer nous donne du force
Plutôt que désespoir.
S’il me faudrait d’attendre tous les
Ans pour entendre ton pas,
Je le ferai aussitôt pourque
Je me portait tant de grace.
Blisters, a pieta
I feel your pain, weeping gently, constantly, into your bindings. Victims of your own piteous circumstance. A slave to environment, with never a cross word, but ever one to bear; and I am moved by pity. I would dry your tears, soothe your pain, ease your burden and wish you whole again.
Katherine Shirley 