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.

Relevance

She’s papering the walls
pondering former rooms
unmarked by her presence

Patterns alternate,
she thinks
then prays
will harmonize

She doesn’t need much –
a forever mantra  —

a bed, a chair for reading…

Contentment, she tells herself,
 the sufficiency of simplicity –

A side table, a lamp
a few drawers
 
A well-practiced diminishment
When did invisibility become her norm?

Sewing herself into the fabric of life
Always adapting to the flow

A stab of anger, or is it sorrow
These four walls her final stop

If she is to make a statement
raise her voice against conformity
the time is now

A slash of red, she decides
will rattle the monotony
render her relevant

At least this once.

(Sketch my own)

When Love Fails

Slammed by expectations
silenced by your rage
the hero in me exhausted

I can’t make it right, my love
when communication is forbidden
and the voices in your head
hold us both hostage

I’m clinging to memories
resolved to leave here
integrity intact
identity intact

The mayhem in your words
has cut the ties –
I know where I stand
mental health at stake

I’m setting my intention
walking away –
will find my own footing
and hope you don’t forget

That love always holds answers
and despite my somber exterior
the back door to my heart
is always open

(Art my own)

They Tried to Warn Me

The serpent alerted me
boa sized terror disrupting sleep
I tried to push it back
but the beast insisted
“Keep driving forward, woman
I am at your side”

It came again
infiltrating my slumber
with a wide mouthed warning –
“I could consume you,
you better be ready”

Of course, I looked away.

It was a tiger next,
whose force, unmistakeable
sat upon my legs
rendering me inert
“You will pay attention”
he warned. No argument there

But how am to decipher
these nightly messages
the power of such beings
infiltrating my waking moments
am I going mad?

It would be the wolf
whose presence caught me
mid-flight, awake while dreaming
that startled me the most
“No time”, he said, “the moment is now”

And I awoke with a shudder
heart drumming an anxious tempo


and that’s when the letter arrived
telling me that we were finished
flesh of my flesh
no longer forgiving
and then the dog died
and I know that things come in threes
and the threads of my heart
barely holding on
can’t handle anything else
and my mind burns with questions

If only I’d paid attention
when that first snake appeared.

(Inspired by dreams. My art)

Oh, How I Pray

These hovering lows
how does one escape the pull?

Defensiveness a useless tool
I cannot read intentions

I self-animate
a contrived endeavour

Shine reduced
I am humbled
off colour

Grief, on repeat
I want to disappear
like Peter Pan
childlike, armed
with illustrious fantasies

Could this be metamorphosis –

A paralytic calm
a spell-binding ponder
cracking righteousness
till clarity fades the gray

Oh, how I pray it is
the light of love
chiseling a new path

(Inked sketch my own)

We The Unseen

Edging towards gratitude
praying for salvation
It’s where we all want to be, right?

Why then is discernment
telling me to run –
Me, feeling claustrophobic
in crowds?

The chatter is discordant
seems we’re lowering our standards
mistaking temporary fails
as treachery

I try to stay hopeful
but my essence is parked
in invisibility, the clamour
of commercialism
condemning the likes of me
to back alleyways

Danger is everywhere
the lush slopes of ableism
 renders us shut-ins easy prey
progress whizzing by

I live in descent
drawn to and avoidant
of the lure of merging
always lagging

any vibrancy from my kind
perceived as garbage –
faith skips over the victim
drives us to hide
lesser beings are we

I take my chances,
dream of greener pastures
seeking the blessed promise

Joy, life has taught me,
always comes with a side of menace

(Image my own)

These Times

Who is at the table
negotiating peace?

A trans man
bares his brave chest
Is his flesh not
our flesh?

Indigineous mothers
cry for lost daughters
Is their plight
not our plight?

Shopkeepers moan
how long can we endure
the inequities
of an indifferent eye?

Child of mine
what future awaits
as I watch our progress
slide, painfully in reverse?

I want to be a beacon
of encouragement
believe that harmony
even exists

But the noise
in the streets
is deafening
truths trampled

The false prophets
the politicians
the blinding pull
of greed

There are none at the table
but anarchy’s decoys.


I Remember

That day we strolled riverside
Wild poppies in full bloom
guiding us

The reassurance you needed
stuck on my tongue –
age and language separating us

We walked in silence –
a regret I carry

Now the poppies remind me
that you were less than naive
that life had wounded you
and that what I had to offer
was so much more than
a voiceless presence

But I was afraid too
And I let you go

My heart bleeds
the colour of poppies
My breath catching
every time I remember

That day
when the river guided us
and the poppies bloomed
and I failed to listen.

(Dedicated to my dear Alina, who had to be brave at a vulnerable time, and whom I miss dearly. Image my own.)

A Christmas Haibun

The stillness within these walls contrasts the frazzled buzzing in town. Shops lined with Christmas must-haves will entice those running on impulse. Buy, buy, buy! This season, more than any other, evokes a yearning for perfection. I am weary of it all, defiantly resisting the urge to dress and venture out for that one last thing. We will gather soon enough, exchange gifts, gorge ourselves on seasonal specialities. Afterward, I will be content to find a quiet corner, reflect and give thanks for another holiday season survived.

Christmas lights sparkle
We’re meant to be of good cheer –
Parched Spruce sheds its charm.

(Image my own)