Is this progress,
this decision to uproot, cast possessions aside, free ourselves of ties?
Can his dependency,
my dependency, endure the transition, released from former justifications?
We are companions
embarking on adventure, companions retiring past lies, redefining possibility
Or, is this more of the same,
artfully camouflaged – a continuance of flight from tyrannical origins?
The paths behind are jagged,
wrought with rocks and crevices and scarred riddles, and yet; have we not survived? Thrived?
The road ahead is expansive,
our home an ever-changing landscape, as wide as a continent – our minds eager to absorb…
This is progress;
we are unburdened, free spirited, submitting to new tests of truth.
Poem first appeared in October, 2017. Image my own)
One more train
and she’d be away far enough to lose him
Scavenged in her bag
searching for a ticket and courage… could use a dose of courage
Thought of her mother
how torn up she’d be; of her sister, confined to long-term care
Call for boarding
and a decision – neck smarting from last confrontation He wielded his hands like weapons. his words like knives – her heart a mass of bruises
What choice did she have?
Surely staying meant death, but could she run forever? Rage found new footing
Picked up her bag
hustled out of the station Why should one man destroy her – She needed a better strategy.
(Image my own)
I fear the denouement –
the moment of reckoning when the winding path unravels; when intentions, transient at best, reveal themselves as common lies and soul crumples before light recognizing this is not the end.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @ Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Young woman, I see your pain
remember a time when I too struggled for autonomy, purpose
Wish I could reach across
the span of generations, mirror the beauty that I see, release the tangle of deception that binds, facilitate your potential, help advance your journey, lift you
beyond the clutter and noise
and deliver you to freedom, but your book has not been written
and the chapters need to unfold
as they will, and I am no deity who sees with clarity the path you must choose, the destiny that calls you – trust that life is educational, and you bear
the resources to see your way
through; celebrate your hunger and rejoice in your triumphs
I will watch with nostalgia
and the pride of recognition, for your giftedness is real
your optimism a worthy tool,
and I know you will succeed – have faith in your tomorrows
for you were born to shine
and the pages of your memoir await experience’s depths.
(Young Woman, I See first appeared here in September, 2017. Image my own)
Yielding Spirit Tampered Enthusiasm Mute Incomprehensible Challenge
(M.E. or Myalgic Encephalomyelitis is said to be systemic. Every so often it reminds me so I attempt to write through it. Image and poem my own)
at river’s edge I am tempted to run away but heron’s calm – a presence I depend on – invites me to stay
Within the frenetic buzz
he and I find stillness
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Connections, like bridges
run between us, no matter how subtle, nations and individuals there is no divide
Imagine if we acted
in this knowledge – mindful and kind – not so subtle the outcome I should think.
(Imagine Bridges first appeared here Sept, 2019. Image my own)
Sentences refuse to form –
Words, though, bear pairing punch-packed phrases delicate unnervings
Fear grasps the wrist
stunts sentences – thoughts staccato emotions gagging Poetry loosens the grip bundles the mayhem spits it out – births breakthrough
(Image my own)
Why do you write poetry?
Disregard the obvious –
I know how time has marred me
Disregard the glare –
eyes clouded with cynicism
A fledgling heart beats
within this disheveled nest
Come closer and behold
a childlike yearning for love.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter. Image my own)
Impossible to ignore –
even though I’ve tucked it away there, between the chair and credenza – a life-sized story, waiting to be told.
As much as it compels me
to pay attention, I am repulsed – this is my life we’re talking about
And not just mine –
the tale weaves itself with tragic threads of others and what right do I have to expose that?
And yet, I don’t know
that I have the strength to squash it – this living breathing thing… wandering aimlessly about this house.
(Image my own)