Category: adversity

Calm Yourself, Woman

Circumstances shift –
breath the fertile air –
let dreams fly; expand

embrace change – hope,
now winged, an explorer
bursting with possibility.

I would move this old
body, relocate to new
beginnings, be reborn

but for these internal
trappings – begging for
extermination – retro

shaded memories –
long past expiration –
skewed accessibility,

stretched without purpose,
reconfiguration required –
history a real estate, I need

to unload; who will buy
a drama-laden, single
story alcoholic’s haunt?

Circumstances shift –
sniff the fertile air –
guard forbidden dreams

change, like wings, unfolds
in its own time; be patient,
possibility is taking flight.

(Poem originally appeared August of 2016)

Defeated, I Turn Away

Back rested against post,
the figure guards the median –
poised with cardboard sign,
a simple plea for help.

Positions himself amid
gridlocked targets – usually,
I look away, disquieted,
but today I do not, wondering

what I could possibly give
this man that would lift him
from his plight –
surely others have tried,
and, yet, here he is
day after day
the same –

and
I am struck
with realization –
that we are not
all that different
he and I

both trapped in unhealthy
patterns, having adopted
personas that once served –
but now weigh heavily
with the stench of permanence

Does he not know it’s all
an illusion – a game we play
wherein we are the pawn?

I don’t know it either –
turn away, defeated.

(Frank is hosting at dVerse tonight and the jive is frustration and heartbreak.)

No Race Today

Left leg
on strike,
brain
disengaged,
energy
scrounging
for re-charge
coming up empty

Body
derelict –
this illness
sensual agony –
forgive
my silences,
any absences

Spirit
like a racehorse
strains against
the reins
too taut,
hungry
to feel
the wind
in its stride,
breath
freedom.

Gate is closed.

(The challenge of living with chronic illness is to maintain balance.  There is a disconnect between what the body is capable of and what the spirit aspires to accomplish.  Today, body wins.  Thank you to Sammi Cox for the Weekend Writing Prompt: derelict; to Fandango for sensual; and to Daily Addictions for agony – all words that help convey this experience.)

Interior Motives

Mother lives in me –
her hopes and fears
now embodied
in my choices,
this guilt borne
of her suffering…

and her mother –
who laboured often
with unwelcome toil,
her only respite
widowhood –
it’s her legacy
I bear.

Potential –
who once appeared
with all the radiant
charm of youth,
exists within, also,
although our connection –
drowned out by the banter
of those gone before –
lacks substance.

I remember how
we used to sing –
hearts joyful,
full of daring.

How even in the face
of rigidity, we raised
our voices, dreamed

Now, both distracted –
I, shaking off fragments
of Mother’s hapless life,
extracting splinters
of a grandmother
destined to woe;

potential,
glances away,
forlorn as
a forgotten child,
pouting.

Moss

The past clings,
like moss, nurtured
by tears unshed,
like sap untapped,
warps minds,
sense of self,
craves perceptional
shift –
a vernal appreciation
for the grandeur
of our contours,
brilliance of wisdom
garnered through strife –
the undeniable elegance
of lush green moss.

(Photo from personal collection: rainforest on Vancouver Island.)

Awkward

Chance encounter,
a simple “hello”,
and I reel
backwards,
grasping…

blank

the mind a trickster,
memory inaccessible,
panic pulses

a response…

hovers

out of reach

expectancy
a deadline…

Am I smiling?
Or just an inert fool,
this brain fog
a cruel master.

(Ran into an old friend today.  Could not remember her name, nor where I knew her from, only that we knew each other quite well.  This is has been happening frequently – maybe as I get out more.  Very disconcerting.

Prompts today are from Fandango:  deadline; Ragtag Community: pulse; and Daily Addictions: access.)

Washed Ashore

Was willing to settle
even before casting off

anchorless, with no compass
to guide me, no oar to steer

left fate to the currents
a vessel adrift, naïve

trusted those with power
to rescue me, unaware

of the target vulnerability
made of me, that sharks

like to circle wayward
boats, certain of a catch

no wonder, when finally
I came ashore, wrecked

I had lost faith in love,
turned hope to cynicism

had failed to register
the dangers of sailing,

into uncharted waters,
the necessity of navigational

resources, and a life jacket,
the knowledge to stay afloat

and safe, in a sea where
discernment saves hearts.

(Inspired by the image and Laura’s Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt: wrecked)

Enough

Whatever you do
give it 110%

Father’s words
whirl,
confuse,
belittle

ambiguous, at best,
attainment remote

I am not enough

Good, better, best,
never let them rest…

morning chant –
eggs and bacon,
(seldom acceptable)
served up
by an ever-inadequate
mother,

Father’s criticism
whipping,
cruel

I will never be enough

apologize before beginning
a wallflower
on the social scene
a plebe
in the working world

presence hesitant
accomplishment tentative

Winners never quit and
quitters never win

blood boils
silently
I scream

Till I cannot bear one more
extempore lecture
face my foe
square on

catch a glimpse
of what?…
self-doubt?
fear?

These tirades
are not personal
it is not my ineptitude
at stake

merely the railings
of a tortured soul
trying to find
solid footing
on unsteady ground

I am learning to be enough.

(V.J.’s weekly challenge is accomplishment.  I’ve been pondering why it is so difficult to feel as if I’ve accomplished anything, when logically I know I have.  The daily prompts helped me to put this in context.  Thanks for Fandango for ambiguous, Ragtag Community for extempore, Daily Addictions for remote.)

Rage as Catalyst

This rage –
this storm,
waves crashing
against walls
impenetrable

I am ice,
unforgiving,
unrepentant,
wounded

thrashing
against a beast
unwittingly
played by you

We freeze.

I’ve come undone;
you are battered.
It is irreparable
absolute

until one of us
shifts, and fear
surges, unleashing
tears

and transformation.

Losing Direction

Certain, are we,
of the direction chosen,
authoritative in our drive…

yet, impulsivity rides along
and our assets are but plastic,

and these dreams of ours
are they even realistic?

Oh how adversity casts aspersions;
how easily plans crumble

focus deteriorates, threatens
to abandon, desire takes a back seat
to the dictates of old agendas…

we revert, wait for endings –
certain closure will refuel purpose…

and fret: is resolution even possible?
and is it necessary

or can we reload,
set course anew,

let faith keep us afloat?

(Inspired by a dream and written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing prompt #63: crumble, which challenges us to write a composition in 88 words.)