The lines blur
between narrator
and reader
Each pang
a further melding
Reason, I’m such a fan.
(Image my own. Reading anything good lately?)
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.
The Power of a Rose
How is it that a rose understands
secrets buried deep ?
That softness of hue,
and hardiness of bearing
Can elicit such sentiment,
unleash nostalgic ache?
(Image my own. No reading today, as I have COVID and my voice is suffering)
Poetry, Please
Sentence and paragraph
insufficient vehicle
for processing grief
Words, like miniature life rafts
waft in and out of misery’s depths
begging for release
As if a damn has broken
and the flood of emotion
will settle for nothing less
than poetic expression.
(Image my own)
What My Body Knows: A Tanka
(Another poem written for Twitter. Image my own)
Stolen Identity
The woman currently abiding
within this costumed realm
is merely a lethargic version
of the once-vital, now oppressed
miss, whose identification
was stolen by means of
unsolicited adversity.
The focus of this recanting
is to invite a perspective
that not only restores, but
aids in the teaching of other
shadow-selves, that to reassert
original nature is more than fair.
(I’ve stolen Stolen Identity from an earlier post. Art my own)
Still Alive (Haiku)
All the fading bits
detract – I am still alive,
passion asserting
(Living with chronic illness, the onset of Winter can be a very discouraging time. I write to remind myself that I am not that easy to deter. )
Imitation
Pockets of light
illuminate the shore –
day submitting to dark
I trace the lines
of our passage,
remembering
How winds and tides
shaped us, how carelessly
we wasted time…
Danced around
our solitudes
imitating intimacy
(Once upon a time I wrote poetry for Twitter. This is one. Image my own)
Snapshot
Do not be distracted
by the blue-ness of words
nor the grittiness of tone
These are merely
contrasting elements
of a greater whole.
(Snapshot first appeared here in November, 2018. Art my own)
Gliding
In isolation, I am rock –
solid, fearless, present
Memories are moon-bows –
miracle of love, whispers
of what might have been
Will not let current fear
shape me; I am tethered
to faith, gently gliding.
(Image my own)
Betrayal (tanka)
Lies from lips linger
when kisses shred sanity
and hot embraces
burn soul-deep, abandonment
reducing hearts to residue.
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 