Tectonic, the force
required to move
this wall of shame
Erasable, the missives
I write to defend my worth –
pencil strokes that only mock
Unsustainable, the hope
that life should ever receive
my efforts as more than folly.
(Art my own)
Category: aging
Things That Confine Me
Islands define us –
attempts to stave off
a ruthless invader
Heritage dictates
reclusive behaviour
shame driving pain
Finding comfort
in solitude, uncertain
if I’ll ever vacate again.
(Tuesday I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
The Lie
I lied.
The initial seed of disappointment has fermented,
and in the absence of confrontation, grown roots
written sorrowful chapters
conclusion: unworthiness
Why couldn’t I just have said:
I don’t understand
this makes me unhappy?
Where did I learn that prevarication protects
that I alone am responsible for emotions
that I do not matter?
Decades later
I still cannot uproot the weed
the lie remains.
(Image my own)
Another Chapter Closes
House creaks
ferocious
decries starkness
of bare walls
absence of furniture
finality of boxes
stacked and sealed
Sleep eludes me
mind recalling
passages –
his cancer
my fear
twist of fate
that left me housebound
We could not stay here
this place chosen for healing
turned prison
“You’ve been good to us”
I whisper, “Now
you’ll favour someone else”
She grumbles in response
this old house, sharing
my trepidation
of unknowns, change
always precarious
Another groan
and I concur
we grand dams
need extra TLC
but I have faith –
an injection of
new life
will do us both good.
(This is a found poem, excerpted from a post of the same name which appeared on my second blog in July of 2017. Image my own.)
Devilish This Fear
Devil borrows
Twilight’s voice
tortures sensibility
Tangled bedclothes
grumble, inflexible
bedmates – unsupportive
Where is reason?
my mind wails
heart drumming discord
I access light,
perch on edge of bed
will myself to breathe
(My dear husband is in hospital again, his fifth surgery to reconstruct his knee. It’s been a long ordeal and my heart bleeds for him. Fear is an awful bedmate. I submit this poem in response to the promptings of Eugi’s Weekly prompt: twilight and Reena’s Xploration challenge: devil. Image my own.)
Even Ghosts Yearn
Natural light preferable
to artificial – not the harsh
fullness of noonday sun
but softly filtered rays –
luxurious…
inviting
Love too, should be subdued,
gentle as a zephyr –
not mythical, but yielding…
mindful
not worshipful nor boastful
but comforting…
warm
I am waning light
the mistral wind wafting
no longer a force of nature
but smoke, spiralling
vanishing into non-existence
And yet,
even as shadows spread
I yearn – heart
beating true
not lost,
not forgotten,
but withdrawn…
humbled
passion mellowed
by years of constructing walls –
grit and tar –
scar’s long buried
save the limping gait
of a ghost.
(Even Ghosts Yearn first appeared here in July, 2018. Image my own.)
Liberated?
Call myself liberated
but this modern woman’s
shadow arches backwards
finds its reflection in legacies
How can I forgive my own failings
when their tale takes root in
oppression and abuses long passed?
Liberated a misnomer.
(Image my own.)
Passive/Aggressive
Urgency and age, well acquainted
Is it Celestine, this draw
or a fateful sense of lacking?
Time ticks a cringeworthy rhythm
insists I pay attention – Fine!
say I, lingering over a defiant tea
Passive is my denial
aggressive is the fear
Tomorrow, I tell myself.
( Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Need A Verb
Movement abandons
I grasp for something…
concrete…
…air to breathe
… am fast becoming
…sedimentary
…an object
Need a verb –
transitive –
to drive me –
The wind lifted her
The sun inspired her
The day healed her…
(Image my own)
Attitude Wins
If I measure progress
by “used-to’s”
illness and age win
I used to play tennis
speed and muscle
ease of ambition
This place, the nexus
of how life has changed,
teaches me appreciation
Frost in my veins
permanent, warmth
of memories aglow.
(Image my own.
Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson)
One Woman's Quest 