Melding

I have ventured
into your atmosphere
slipped my skin
your skin
and discovered
a universe
thoughts
emotions
beliefs
blending
into a physical dance
of light and shadow
nuances of colour
delineating life

At our core
we are light
leaning into mystery
cellular interpretations
of a symphony
we cannot hear

Compassion extended
mind altered
we meld.

(Melding first appeared here June, 2020. Image my own)

Priorities

Supper dishes abandoned,
we cruise the backroads,
destination: river’s edge

A muskrat creates ripples
distorting mirror images
disappears into murky unknown

A canoe glides by,
occupant a silhouette
in the golden sun’s descent

We linger in the warmth
of the fading glow, celebrating
summer’s gracious moments.

(Image my own)

Not Dead Yet

There is safety in apart-ment living;
would corral the little ones, declare
responsibility, obligations as a mask
for this self-banishing compulsion…

except that I am lying prone, exposed –
brains spilling onto concrete – shadows
revealing the darkness of my condition,
hopelessly locked in physical inertia.

I am an unwitting contributor to
scientific (and pseudo) probing:
audacious autopsies pronouncing
conclusive evidence of motives.

Too polite (and weakened) to deflect,
I submit, demonstrating complacency,
sacrificing autonomy; fail to assert
that it is I who is taking this life test.

And, by the way, am passing quite
adequately, which defies all rational
diagnosis and prognosis, and serves
to reassure me of ultimate success.

(Not Dead Yet first appeared here June, 2016. Image my own.)

That Kid

Not programmed to comply –
cannot tolerate oppression:
a pressure cooker
ready to explode

Do-gooders sit up
straight and smile
encouragement:
I slouch defiance

Don’t ask me to respect
that which is disrespectful –
my fuse is short
of that I’m certain

Don’t slot me;
leave me –
creative inspiration
is not lacking here

I’m a free agent
a incorrigible scamp –
authority doesn’t scare me
’cause I’m beyond control.

(That Kid, first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, June 2017. Found poem here. Image my own)

Shoebox Dreams

A simple shoebox, repurposed
with plastered images of dreams –
paper affirmations of aspirations –
shelved and forgotten, its contents

snapshots, faded and torn, remnants
of another time, a different future –
captured when potential was prime
and possibility untainted by illness

This one was retirement – a supposed
celebration – but note how the colour
has drained the cracks obliterating
pride of accomplishment; and notice

how this one crumbles to the touch –
the fragments dissipating even as
my life has dissipated, the image
lost before memory resurfaces, so

much loss when circumstance dictates
direction, overpowers will, and plans
like snowflakes, vanish in the heat
of reality – pain and insult burning

But wait…this one looks promising –
the edges only slightly torn, the image
discernible – could it be that there is
hope yet – a future author I might be?

That’s the thing about times to come,
we fill them with imaginings, and pray,
our hope, like balloons set free in a sea
of unforeseen challenges, and seldom

does the end result reflect projected
plotting, and yet, there is power in
the dreaming, and so I’ll replace the old
with new photographs to store away.

(This is a rerun of a rerun. Still resonates. Image my own)

Numb

My son used to burn himself
press the lit end of a cigarette
against his bare flesh

an attempt to penetrate
the numbness –
this I know

because I did it too
walking barefoot in the snow
cutting till blood oozed

there is a pain
familiar to adolescents
that bears no explanation

a hellish limbo –
suspended between innocence
and adult expectations

unable to articulate
the wrongs endured
or separate shame

from responsibility,
an inexplicable grief
and longing…

…longing to understand
at least for a moment
the pain one dare not feel.

(Image my own)