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What is it about loose eyelashes
That prompts wofty wishes;
Are they heaven’s kisses
In disguise?

We all want to lift our eyes
Above the cloak of disguise
Even if it may compromise
The facade, and authenticity’s surprise.

This world is concrete;
In Western buildings and streets,
In the here-and-now, we can flee
And dismiss lofty things as absolute.

But we are meaning-makers,
We are constant risk-takers.
We are pursuers for magic’s sake,
And may our quest we foolheartedly take.
What do you do when you see free eyelashes? Anything? Nothing? It is curious our daily practices.
How quickly we’ve been brought down,
On bended knees, crying please,
Stop the disease, we’ll take off the crown,
To our lives; listening to lies, mantras of self-help tease,
Hope beyond now. Clear the mental fog; refocus.
Poetry from the archives…written during lockdown.
 May 25
Bekah Halle
How long —
Have I been holding my breath
Waiting for things to go wrong?

How long —
Have I been
Playing that same old song?

How long —
Will I adopt this pose
Furlong?!
Does this poem resonate with anyone, feel the same? Or is it just me?!
 May 19
Bekah Halle
Fasten your mind on God;
Untangle the webs of my mind
As I step away from the
Webs of this world.
 May 18
Bekah Halle
Nothing is constant;
Neither my sense of satisfaction --
or loathing?

Does that bring comfort?
A yearning? Distraction;
from and liberation!

If Shakespeare were here now, what would be his wisdom
In the times of 'Trending' like fashion;
Would 'star-crossed lovers' be a clickbait sensation?
I really did ponder this, sat on it for hours, put it on the shelf, dusted it off and had another rewrite.
 May 16
Bekah Halle
I love my job(s),
But today, I want to skip
Work.

I want to lay, lathered in the bath with bubbles
For hours.

I want to find a new favourite
Cafe and try a new flavour.

I want to pick up my paintbrushes
and swash down scant dashes
Of paint, ink, and textures
On a canvas.

I want to write
Poetry while drinking Plonk.

I want to play dress-ups
That's yet to come.

Today.
 May 11
Bekah Halle
I was in a deep slumber,
And You reached out to me:
“Awake, my darling,” You whispered,
And I opened my eyes anew.
Almost 15 years (*** ~ time flies, not! since waking up from a 40-day coma after a stroke during a brain AVM. The wonder never gets old. Thank you. Amen.
 May 11
Bekah Halle
Repeatedly, I have gathered you.
And yet you still fall, **** leaves, you're like a floating fault!
Killing me softly with your incessant grin;
Endlessly gloating: "I've got more where they've come from!"
Declares MN as she blows her windy, willowy waves of air through the trees; nice breeze but...






"Come on, give me a break!" I shriek.
Looking back over old poems, I noticed one: "Afternoons on the back deck (https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4862646/afternoons-on-the-back-deck/) " and thought, "No time for whiskey when I have to rake!" Ha! MN = Mother Nature
 May 11
Bekah Halle
Good and bad —
Light and darkness —
Day and night —
I've tried to be divine,
And I've run from evil,
Or so it seemed...

But the evil within me —
Wouldn't leave;
I pray,
I repent,
I accept shame
as my cloak;
I shrivel the goodness
Unseen...

I split,
Disconnect;
Become a kaleidoscope
of regret.
Days lost
in a fruitless
quest —

Isn't it easier
to just
Embrace the evil within me?!
Is that love?
Loving evil;
Heaven's dove?
Or is that truly absurd?!

This poem has already
Gone on, way too long,
But since I have run
from evil so strong,
Turning towards
loses its terror.

In some ways, the practice of reflection is so freeing - coming face to face with myself and instead of freezing, I hold the mirror up and embrace the ugly, broken parts.
 May 10
Bekah Halle
Are all our words
enchanting works
of witches--
We wield them into submission
while we drink
from others'
intoxicating feasts
of fruits;
blood, sweat, tears from the gloom
And words hidden in remission?
FULL DISCLOSURE: I am not a witch, nor am I really saying we are, but I hope you get the concept behind it?! If there is a better word, please share.
 May 7
Bekah Halle
Today I am wearing
One of my father's neckties.
I know it might be a red herring
But it reminds me of him, so I look past all those lies.

It is a pink one,
With silver diamonds scattered.
I think it's rather fashionable
So, caring about others’ hasn't mattered.

I don it with a navy jacket
Just like the ‘ol days: suit & tie.
I’m not here to make a racket
About it, but just to state a point, I cry!

I am a femme fatale
Not a butch,
Rose-gold sneakers attire
Or coloured-heels as such.

It always gets a comment,
Sometimes a whistle or two.
I never thought I was attractive
But these feels, while I’m wearing it, surely do ensue.
 May 6
Bekah Halle
In the silence,
A scream came forth from nowhere.
Not prompted by anything or anyone.
It startled me, at first,
As the tremors reverberated in my body, still.
I pondered its origins;
A groan of all the screams I've suppressed
Leaked out:
Layered losses claiming their voices.
With their release, came space,
And grace…and strength and power.
I'll harness, to use in this hour.
 May 5
Bekah Halle
We don't fight
With fists or guns
But with words;
Ideas, ideals and puns.
We are a movement, use your words for good!
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