feminism, Gender Diversity, Gender Equality, katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling, women

Enough

black and white close up eyes face

Alone in the darkness
Drawn into gloom
In the quiet of night
She whispers “me too”

Only existing
An extension of him
Wanting her freedom
She curses his whim

Years of abuse, a
life mapped by bruises
Ignoring her struggle
He just makes excuses

Invisible scars
They mark her history
And trigger the slap,
his hand from her knee

And yet he says, ‘She’s
a little bit crazy’
Or is it she’s finally
had enough, maybe?

Stories of sisters
Encourage her too
In the bright of day
She now shouts “Me Too”

No longer irrelevant
She finds her power
Blooming through thick mud
A lotus flower

A wave of voices
together as one
Rippling outward
Echoing the sun

One voice, then another
Many women vow,
supporting each other
Is he listening now?

And still he says, ‘She’s
a little bit crazy’
Or is it she’s finally
had enough, maybe?

He’s listening now
Does he really hear?
Will he ever understand
What it’s like being her?

And when he says, ‘She’s
a little bit crazy’
Will he finally know
She’s had enough, maybe?

And when he says, ‘She’s
a little bit crazy’
Will he finally know
She’s had enough, maybe?

katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling

Courage

photo of spiral staircase

She sits
her back to the staircase
Counting
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…

Willing the darkness
‘Go Away’
Counting
1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

Anxious knots churn
Tension builds
Counting
1, 2, 3…

She stands
A tentative step
Into darkness
She descends

She shines her light to find
‘there is only fear here’

gratitude, intuition, katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling

The Artist

painting brush on palette

Paradox of creation

Frenetic action
A desperate striving, urging
Do more

Quiet allowing
Moment by moment, guiding
Be more

Conflicted.

As the moon
draws the ocean tides,
fall trees paint the hills
a palette of amber, mustard,
and auburn,
and a collage of spring blooms
glisten in the morning dew,

Relax in a gentle knowing
Like water lilies on a grand canvas
Brush stroke by brush stroke
A masterpiece is unfolding.

gratitude, katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling, women

Lightness

sparks of firecracker

Sparklers shimmer
in the night

The sizzle and crack
mesmerize all
Aliveness dances
in dynamic starbursts

Her face glows
iridescent against
the dark backdrop
Angelic

The fire burns toward
its inevitable end
A pause,
another is lit

Sparklers shimmer
in the night

gratitude, katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling, women

Out Breath

green grass field and mountain

‘This may be the last time I see you.
I’m so glad you came.’
The trip was a whirlwind,
but of course we made it.

She was the same as I remembered,
a bit crass and a lot stubborn,
proud of the life she had made,
reminding us to focus on what matters.

‘Breathe the joys of life deep into your Self’
Family. Friends. Home.
‘Breathe out life’s expectations’
Title. Status. Money.

‘Does a fancy car or impressive title define you?
Are you what you have,
what you do?
Something else entirely, perhaps?’

The countryside, as we drove,
a pine tree blanket over lush hills,
exposed the river now and then,
signs of moose crossings dotted our path.

We never did see a moose,
but we did, for a brief time, get a window
into another world, one of simply living,
a reminder to focus on what matters.

We may not see her again.
She will be cherished, always reminding us,
‘Life is lived somewhere between
the in-breath and the out-breath.’

We’re so glad we went.

katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling, women

The trouble with time

shallow focus of clear hourglass

Her hand in mine.
A tender smile graced my lips.
Her breath, laboured.
I wished for peace.

A lifetime of moments
cresting on a nation’s birthday.
A day of celebration
becomes an ending for one.

My mind flooded with memories
of dinners together and days in the sun.
My heart tight with grief
reminded of all I have left.

Time came, and it went.
Another year, another month, another day, another hour.
Time, in the end, can not be bargained.
And, there is never quite enough.

gratitude, intuition, katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling

Dandelion Wisps

background image beautiful blur bright

Today, tomorrow, yesterday. Now.
A daisy in full bloom
calling a bumble bee
to its nectar-filled heart.

The radiance of the sun
peeking through shape-shifting clouds
against a cerulean canvas
encouraging a seedling into being.

Dandelion wisps
dancing on the wind
blown from their
stable stem.

A world in motion
evolving with effortless creation.
Life flowing along the
stream of now.

katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling

A bump in the road

it happened too fast
the magic of the moment gone
into oblivion
as quickly as it had arrived

the reverberation echoed
penetrating her core
held in limbo
wondering, what happened?

a window shattered
spewing fragments of glass
caramel macchiato
splattering whipped cream across her lap

the din turned to noise
confusion palpable
cinnamon buns
burning sweetness into her nostrils

a hand on her head
applying pressure
wet cheeks
salt on her lips

time passed, hopeful
turning forever tragic
consciousness lost
a memory in chaos

Then peace.

katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling

Math and Magic

arid bryce canyon clouds color

Standing in the rhythm of numbers
Predictable, safe
Black or white
Piano keys singing a melody

Dancing away with a tentative step
Courage, discomfort
Shades of gray
Storm clouds threatening an explosion of thunder

Tempting to cower beneath stability
Doubt, uncertainty
Depths of whiteness
White curtains billowing in a white room

Braving the fear with a jete
Determination, faith
Symphony of colour
A brilliant rainbow coaxed into being by the slightest glimmer of light

drabble, katharine griffiths, katharinegriffiths, Poetry, storytelling

The love of a partner

couple elderly man old

It had been several days since he’d eaten, and the water wasn’t going to last much longer. Every day was the same. Wake up. Drink water. Nap. Drink more water. He was hungry. The smell didn’t bother him, but he was sad that she had changed. He couldn’t understand why she wasn’t talking to him. Confused, he nudged her, snuggled her, kissed her cheek. He was getting weaker.

The banging was intense. The door crashed open. People arrived. He heard one of them speak.

‘This elderly woman has been dead for a while. Check that dog’s collar for his name.’