Author: VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

Distractions

How am I to work today
as a black squirrel navigates
precarious saplings
with death-defying sure-footedness?

And the Red-bellied woodpecker
thrums outside my window,
having mistaken brick for walnut bark
his bright red cap catching my breath

And how can I ever hope to focus
when a flit of yellow coming to rest
at our array of feeders, indicates
that the Goldfinch is declaring Spring?

The Chickadees are calling “you-who”
and the Blue Jay dares to ask
“Where are the peanuts?”
and I am feeling a tug of guilt

Even a starling,
perching on the windowsill
peers inside and ponders
what attraction keeps me glued

I’ve papers to write, blogs to read
and, well, a need to fulfill expectations
but how am I to concentrate
when Nature is so full of promise?

(Sketch my own)

Slanted Orange

Essence is essence
and flat as I might feel
shadow reveals otherwise;
such is the mystery of life

Orange is my essence –
the promise of sunshine
and creativity, and… I envy
blue its expansiveness

Constrained as I am
by conformity –
this silver-framed
existence a settling

But shadows don’t settle
they stretch and bend
and exclaim rebellion
savagely defending essence.

(Slanted Orange was written in 2022 as a collaborative effort with a local photographer. The efforts of our poetry group are published in a book called the Minimalist Eye. Click here to see the whole collection as well as the photographs that inspired each poem. I’ve used my own art for this post.)

We Are Form Emerging

Creativity partners more with chaos than clarity
It craves colour, light, darkness
movement not supported by 2 dimensions

I delude myself into thinking that words,
cleverly positioned, can decipher the compulsion
fail to understand that soul, unchained, has no words

It is the free-flowing expression of music, dance
It follows the murmuration of birds, and
crawls along the earth, serpent-like

I seek the intimacy of knowing other –
raw and unblemished – but how can this be?
We are form emerging from mystery

That I should find you, Love,
there amid the noise of awakening
then I am more than blessed

Your mind reaches for the definable
while I drowsily bask in sensations
our coming together never akin to wholeness

Yet explosive in its imperfection
Oh, if we could see the artistry
 arising from two souls seeking unity

Comprehend that we are the instrument
the vessel through which creativity speaks
a magnificent tribute to Life’s source.

(Art is a combination of my own effort and AI.)

Sheltered

“If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things thro’ narrow chinks of his cavern.” – William Blake

Weathered the would that frames this perception,

once painted with optimism, long worn.


How bright the ideals of youth, now blurred,

colours stripped, raw intention bared –

Life mocks these aged perspectives

old structures fail, light dims with neglect

Still the heart beats solid, hope like putty

sticking to the sills, solidifying half-truths.

How deluded am I, trapped within walls

defined by out of focus panes, separated

From a reality that would behold me

fragmented or whole, and who will ever know

Have not the wherewithal to strip back

old mindsets, repaint the trimmings

Am content to dwell behind screens

of my own making, distorted but secure.

(Image my own)

Concessions

Squatters fill the corners
of my unused mind,
a constant clatter
detracting from intention

Incensed by the implication –
how others have used me –
how boundaries have no effect

I demand they leave…
Futility at its best

Then I hear the child cry
a tug on my undernourished heart
certain of her need unattended

I will take her in my arms
seek out accountability
find only neglect
and manipulation

Flatter myself that I, alone
can save her –
let the intrusion be

more fodder, I concede
for the pen…

(Image my own)

Family Portrait

Revisiting past posts as I take this time to gain balance. Photo circa 1975.

Family Portrait

Note: My youngest sister (pictured on the left) and myself (in the middle facing the camera) are the only “survivors” of our family chaos. Mom passed this past May; our eldest sister (next in the lineup) died at 43 of cancer; Aunt D, next to me, of cancer at 68; our other sister suffers schizophrenia and Parkinson’s lives in long-term care; the baby of the group lost to heroin addiction and what we now recognize as human trafficking in her late teens.

Frost Bitten

Gnarly, these withered limbs,
this vessel more rigidity than flow,
Winter upon me – a permanent clouding

Sunnier days passed –
oh how vivid the imagination
when blue skies met green grass,
no hindrances

Old dreams hover, tethered to fences –
defences to camouflage vulnerability,
offences to keep my paths cleared

Find balance in isolation –
an old tree, past her prime

Would cut loose this precarious hold
on all things fantastical, but
fear the act a harbinger

So, I bide my days
in this frigid limbo,
and hold on.

(Originally appeared January, 2019. Image my own)

Let’s Be Honest

Wolf moon finds me
hungering… no
I am not a wolf
but I am starved
in this month of storms
snow blocking doors
temperatures dropping

Temperatures rising
flames of creativity
steaming panes
the season is wrought
belly-aching crave
I am wolf, howling
hoping the moon finds me.

(A bit of fun with wordplay – turning an idea upside down- this poem originally appeared January, 2021. Image my own)