Knot

I internalise,
I look at myself and hide;
Keeping pain within

I bury my hurt
Like a wounded animal
Showing no weakness

Never verbalise
Only within my own mind do I allow truth. 

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 25 July 2019

At Arms... length

Brusque hiding softness
Biting muzzling kindness
Belligerence burying acceptance
Caustic concealing sweetness
Coarse stifling politeness
Cold quashing thankfulness
Spite defeating thoughtfulness
Sharp veiling gentleness
Silence suppressing tenderness


Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 31 March 2015

True Lies

”I really wanna know.”
(with thanks to The Who)
Do true believers ever flinch when they hear uncomfortable or unacceptable things about their idols?

Do they, like other minorities, hear bad news and hope it was not perpetrated by one of theirs? How long can they hear and see no evil; refuse to acknowledge that they might have been wrong in their assessments?

How do they justify their blanket belief that their heroes are infallible when stone-hard evidence can demonstrably prove them wrong over and over again?

How do they live with themselves day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute; lie after lie, cruelty after cruelty, indifference after indifference?

What does it take to get them to cringe instead of only shrug their shoulders and look away; speak out and against instead of only for; to remove their blindfolds and finally feel true, honest disgust, shame and culpability?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
©18 October 2017

Rosemary, Lavender and Sage

I want to close my eyes and fall asleep listening to birdsong and the music of waters.

I want to sleep until I wake on my own; plush, fur-like fleece against my skin.

I want my heavy eyelids to close to dream-free rest instead of restless waking dreams.

I want cool breezes to brush against my skin instead of fevered, nightmare damp.

I want to wake to the sounds of dawn: lapping waves, happily chirping songbirds, and the scents of dew-dropped herbs and rose.

I want to greet the morning with freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon toast; sun dappling across worn linens, cats and dogs resting chins against my limbs:
grateful for each new hour.

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 06 July 2019

Blended, Separate, and Unique

We are all but different parts of a whole; woven like cloth; many threads pulled into diverse patterns and the fabric of a specific time and place.

Dark and light, reds, yellows, and browns, greens, blues, and hazel; multi-coloured skin, hair, and eyes: each thread picked up, intermingled into check, stripe, tweed, or tartan, amalgamations becoming their own distinct and recognisable identities.

Fibres have strength when bound together, intertwined, plaited tightly and loosely, in and out, over and beneath. 

So are people; all sentient things need to be part of a greater tapestry: each thread in the weave holding up the next. Why do some insist on being the scissors?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak

© 22 June 2019

Are we the Authors of our Lives, or its Editors?

If we are the questions, where should we place the commas?
If we are the answers, are our stories cited, complete with footnotes and quote marks?
Do our lives have set margins or page breaks?

Are our adventures, just paragraphs and chapters rather than completely fleshed-out books of Life?

Who draws the frontispiece, or writes the dedication and prologue, who the summary, index, or the end-notes?

Do we choose our own table of contents and outline? Is our ending written, a foregone conclusion of someone else’s plot, or is the Finis unexpected, upended alteration from the draft?

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 14 June 2019

L’Heure Bleue

Breath before the Dawn

Between Darkness and Light’s glow

Total Silence reigns. 

Ronda R. Scott-Marak
© 6 June 2019