Talks of takeovers
and takedowns –
deliberate misdirection
My mind is a tangle
my heart stripped raw
Us vs them a mantra
Choking on my own bile
darkness closing in –
I turn to so called heaven
Accusations on iced tongue
desperation pointing fingers
the sullen clouds an echo
Even in this stormy state
light, like fire challenges
Wake up! Wake up!
There in the twilight
beneath lambent skies
my resolve melts
How, from this perspective
can I contemplate hatred?
Love a more noble alternative
Petulance is actually the word that comes to mind at the moment. I feel as if my inner child, not getting what she wants fast enough, is throwing a temper tantrum.
I just need to convince her to give the grass time to grow.
Thanks Richard Adams.
I was just doing the final walkthrough before an Open House (we’re selling our house) when I noticed the Art Room floor was wet. Looking up at the sagging ceiling tile, I hollered for help . Ric came to the rescue, removing the tile and letting the rush of water free.
At our age, we do not move fast, and given the fact we both require use of the chair lift, the clean up was even slower. We did the best we could given the timeline and quit as Real Estate arrived.
“Tell them the plumber has been called”, Ric offered, anticipating people would come.
Exhausted we headed out with dog on board to vacate the house for 2 hours. The rain was pouring down with no relief in sight.
As I type this, the plumber is hunting down the problem. The rain continues. I am feeling waterlogged.
We climbed so high
this mountain of man
made obstacles –
I remember the rage,
no more than 9 –
how helpless it felt
a girl in a man’s world
but I climbed anyway,
we climbed anyway
and, instead of a hand up
we get this? Patriarchy
be damned! Your days are
numbered. Mark my words.
(Image my own)
I think we are all feeling the need for a new dawn.
Day three of rain. Feeling motivated to curl up with a blanket and heating pad and lose myself in a good book.
Lucinda Riley’s, The Seven Sisters, currently has me rapt.
Consciousness commands
a shift of focus
tired of the clash of colours
stimulation overload
my muse is leaning towards
the nuance of black and white
A study of shadows
and shading
and how light
arouses the soul
Speak to me in subtleties
she whispers
in tones suggestive
of hidden depths
I am listening
And so I submerge myself
clear the palette of vibrant hues
and take up the lowly pencil
seek the promise
in a colourless world.
(Art my own)
One Woman's Quest 