aging – Page 14 – One Woman's Quest

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but withdrawn…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)

Dancing

Wary of ruts –
lies I tell myself
sprouting roots,
impending progress.

Yet, without roots
how am I defined?
Does impermanence
not also leave a stain?

The ground shifts
beneath me
and I dance
imperfectly

inventing a rhythm
that defies ruts,
mocks impermanence
and eludes definition.

(Dancing first appeared here in May, 2018. Image my own.)

Beat Goes On

Big band galas
Seaside dancehalls
Swing dancing
Men in uniform
Memory-soaked
daydreams like
shots of adrenaline
arthritic fingers tap
to a distant tune.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)

Bridges

Captivated by bridges
connection previously
assumed impossible

A grandchild’s love
the loyalty of a dog
the kinship of writers

I watch life pass by
flash on sorrow, till
bridges restore peace.

(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)

Marital Dance

We converse in actions
words inaccessible –
have not been schooled
in dialogues for two.

His clutter spreads
pronounce’s a kingly
presence, commands
attention, oppresses

I clean with insistence
shuffle papers, wipe up
crumbs, assert my right
to co-exist, belittle him.

Once we studied dance;
he learning to lead, I
to follow signals – the art
is lost on us now, our steps

more interference, blocking
an inconvenience, not a
strategy; we are rhythmless
tolerating avoidances

How did language fail us
experts now at skirting
delicate issues, retreating
into solo performances

Pray time will serve,
absolve the problem, but
distance grows in silent cracks
we only converse in actions.

(Marital Dance first appeared here in August, 2017.
I submit it here, edited, for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: dance.
Image my own.)

The Wind and I

Followed the wind –
a child without boundaries –

Experience, especially hardship
clipped those wings

Lost faith in the wind,
pushed against her flow

Till nothing was left of me
fight diminished by final blow

The wind, though, she persisted
picked up my diminished spirit

tossed me in her whimsical way
rekindled the child.

(Image my own.)