Artistic sensibility
hungering for the exquisite
craves expression
The critic guffaws
decries creativity
starves the impulse
Who unleashed
such nonsense,
such magical thinking?
To think beauty
once espied
can be replicated
and by such an amateur –
the unskilled hand
an unworthy representative
But the artist, unleashed
knows only magic –
the genie will not be rebottled.
(This is an edited version of a previous post. Art my own.)
Open to healing –
delve into the subconscious
create a space for inspiration
Ignore limited capabilities –
value every offering –
enter with pure intentions
Embrace new starts
have faith in ability
be spurred into action
The Self holds the answers;
creative expression is the key.
No expertise required.
(Art is my own)
To stroll amongst giants –
straight-backed arrows
whose green bows aim skyward,
a directional pull so uplifting
that earthly matters diminish –
this is contentment.
(Image my own.)
There are shores that remain
ever-etched upon my heart –
emotional tides that tug
and carry me, currents
of past revelations –
I remember drowning
in the swells of loneliness
always the outsider, the grains
of this sentimentality
still shredding my adult soul.
(Borrowed from my former Twitter page. Image my own)
I would befriend hesitation,
take her shopping with me,
invest the time, but impulse
is my constant companion.
Hesitation, born of shared
trauma, labours over pain-
filled decisions; my need is
palpable, throbbing, must
suffocate it beneath layers
of numbing fabric, weight;
afraid to show myself, afraid
that she will find me, block
any progress, or worse, make
me pay for these layers of
stolen moments; encounter
crazy reflected in her eyes.
(Found this little gem hidden away in 2016 poems. Art my own. Current theme is ‘Women Entangled”)
I miss your wisdom;
could use some about now,
confidence lacking
Life’s what you make of it,
you’d say, and
You’re doing a good job…
Truth is, I’ve made a lot of mistakes –
call it stubbornness or stupidity-
but I failed to plan, Dad
Not bemoaning life
It’s been really good
and I know you did the same
I’m just tired of doubting my self
Watching the rest of the world
reach their goals and then retire
While I can never tell –
am I doing a good job
am I even appreciated?
Remember the day my marriage died
and I came to you, crumpled
spewing anger, defeated…
And you cried with me
raging on my behalf, said:
Goddamn it, you deserve better than this!
Funny that through all the pain
your walls, my walls
you, alone could see me
Tragic how I only understand that now
death and years separating us –
my need for you still raw.
(Image my own – cut and paste with AI)
Pages turn themselves
and I, mesmerized, consume –
words sating hunger
(For Sadje’s What Do You See Challenge: Photo is prompt.)
Yearning for renewal
we wrestle dragons –
unsuspected passages,
like time machines
scattering ticket stubs
We distract
seek nourishment
percolate meaning
Nostalgic nuances
succumb to
jagged memories –
Cubism in motion.
(Art mine)
Oh that Spring gale,
she’s such a storyteller –
awakens the land
fiddles with expectations –
Welcome post-Winter trickster.
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 