Love Lost
Rage locked in by childhood fears
Pain and loss throughout the years
The soul is the keeper
The heart is the seeker
Of love lost and unspent tears.
Jen Slingsby © 1998
The Menopause
She holds hands to her tear stained face
With an image invading her head
of a wound in the heart of her anger;
a wound that is oozing deep red.
She knows the wound is female
cut with a divine knife.
She knows it is wise and beautiful
and its seed is the love-fruit of life.
So she smiles through the salty rivers.
She loves the wound through her hate.
There is no fight to be fought or won,
there is only her female fate.
When the wound heals she is sorrowed;
her heart does not sing, it is low
Looking down from the top of life's mountain,
To the valley of nowhere to go.
Jen Slingsby © 2000
No One
I reached out to touch you
and I grasped the air.
Although I could see you
you were not there.
I felt things and told you
but you could not hear.
You sat close to me
though you were not near.
I was desperate and lonely
and you could not see
that I was with you
but you weren't with me.I wanted to do things
but you didn't have time.
You lived in your world
and I lived in mine.
Although you lived with me
you were't really home,
which left me so lost
and so very alone.
The wall that surrounds you
is incredibly strong
and I tried to break though
though I knew it was wrong.
My own walls so weak,
so shaky and and thin.
I got so tired
I had to give in.
I thought I was dying
though I wanted to live
but I need things you could not give.
A dream no less
that can never come true
and all I am left with
is no-one - that's you
Jen Slingsby © 2000
Mothers, Wives and Guilt
Guilt embroidered female heart
sewn throughout the ages;
ancestral, inherent, collective guilt
through mind and soul it rages.
He who says you must and should
is not the one who hears.
She who listens and obeys,
to man and child adheres.
Need and desire are lost in guilt;
so quiet, so unheard.
Though a spark of argument occurs
like a wingless, captured bird.
Guilt dictates her breasts and womb;
their purpose is to serve.
They have no other meaning
and no more do they deserve.
When she passes and no more is she
a part of her lingers on.
She is the cause of others pain
and feels guilty for being gone.
Jen Slingsby © 2001
