Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Aged and well worn –
history and family
have left their marks –
weakness surfaces.
I tug at the imaginary
unravel essential core –
hearts burdened hide
gilded truths
Uncovering, a collaborative task
housing a trove of potential –
optimism and hope within,
always more room for growth.
(Image from personal collection)
Novice, a word that negates
experience, knowledge, merit –
capability under suspicion.
I novice myself frequently,
as if vulnerability is a sideline
and humility commands denigration.
A tired and weary state –
yes, this is me, new and willing
to learn, but I am not novice.
So before you judge, adjust
your professional spectacles,
snub my potential, hear this:
Value is immeasurable –
unique contributions
enhance collective offerings.
(Reena’s Exploration challenge this week is based on “The Story of An Hour” which challenges us to examine our life and limitations. I dream over and over again that I have returned to teaching only to find that the years I have put in have been negated by my absence and I have to begin again. Starting over is not a new theme in my life, but my attitude about is finally changing, as represented in the poem. Image from personal collection.)
Take me to the desert
with mountains at our side;
walk with me in shadows
let nature be our guide.
We’ll stroll amongst the cacti
pay homage to the quails;
take me to the desert,
help me gather tales.
The seasons are passing,
we’re running out of time;
take me to the desert;
heal this heart of mine.
(Desert first appeared here in November 2018. As Winter blows in around us, I think longingly of our time spent in warmer climates. Image from personal collection.)
Grandma!
the word wraps me
in bubbly warmth –
an invasion of limbs
impress upon my heart –
best mood-altering
prescription ever!
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter. Follow me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Chill and fog
cloud my senses –
effective distraction
loneliness holds no sway.
Others speed past,
while I advance,
slow, steady –
drawn by an unknown
Presence, who may
or may not receive me well
at this road’s end
I cannot tell.
Pray indifference
does not await me –
have suffered enough
no stomach for more.
Must stop a moment
and rest…darkness
brings its own brand
of cold… I am weary.
Tomorrow,
I’ll begin anew,
perhaps not so alone,
But loved ones
are preoccupied
others long gone
So the task remains
mine singularly
to further this journey
With faith to carry me
and a prayer for clear
passage to see me through.
(Image from personal collection.)
Soft, the day’s fading light,
hushed, the manic pace –
my heart’s rhythm lulled
beats a nostalgic melody –
love’s memories bittersweet.
(Tuesdays, I post a poem from Twitter. You can follow me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Influence minimal,
once hair turns white
and body slows to sloth
Only words – genderless
and without context
serve to blindside
Last weapon of age.
(Image from created by yours truly.)
Expectations safely stowed
pursed alongside judgment,
I am bent on finding an outlet
for already disgruntled disposition.
Encounter inexperience
fumbling responsibility –
an overwhelmed innocent
lacking in accountability
I offer a suggestion,
to roll up my sleeves
and before I know it
compassion’s employed
This was not my intention –
I am ill-equipped for such
a commitment, surely
I am of no practical use.
Yet, here I am, engaged
expectations tossed
in favour of service –
please don’t judge.
Autumn dons a mask,
regales the changing season,
ignores Winter’s threat –
and I too, dance, brightly clad,
deny the nearness of death.
Bent –
life’s tribulations weighty
do not confuse this folding
with weakness, I am
worn –
tested resilience
nourishes creativity
I am muse rich,
alive –
alone my story
an illustration,
my life art.
