In my absence
dreams flourish,
friendships form,
enterprises thrive
In my absence
opponents clash,
decisions falter,
differences grow
All that was viable,
all that motivated,
all that defined…
Now vapours –
truths forgotten –
in my absence.
(Jilly is hosting is in the dVerse pub tonight where repetition is the challenge. Â I am combining this with Fandago’s Word of the Day, opponent, Â and Ragtag Community’s prompt, friend.)
Sun slices through slumber –
Day, wrapped in cerulean, beckons.
Not an early riser, I balk, until
sensibility intrudes, argues
autumn’s passing –
I concede, break out,
push limitations –
a sexagenarian rebel.
Later, I crash,
golden lustre
enveloping me –
halo-like.
(Kim is hosting at dVerse pub tonight and challenging us to write a quadrille – poem in 44 words – using the word early. Â I am also linking up with Ragtag Community for their prompt: Â lustre. Â More photos and information about this outing are posted here.)
I toil in the dreamtime
like a night manager
in a hotel without walls,
catering to clientele –
whose needs, so diverse,
rattle the rows of beds –
settling disputes and
encouraging discretion
and succeeding only
in waking exhausted.
I am like a keeper in
a hostile hostel –
trying to find a key
when there are no
doors to unlock.
(Inspired by sleepless nights and erratic dreaming, and submitted for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt – unlock. Â Featured image is titled “Self-Portrait with Colours” although my son says it looks more like a LSD trip – I didn’t ask. Alternate title: Â “I am Slowly Going Crazy”, lol.)
Plump the lips
pad the ass,
pull abs in
Push-up bras
and false eyelash,
botox, and brows
Make us pretty
much less witty –
do not overdo
Natural is rave
naked is yuck –
to find perfection
choose a routine
that sculpts and
shapes, then lie.
(dVerse quadrille prompt is yuck, Â Ragtag Community is plump, Fandango offers routine, Daily Addictions is apparent.)
Winged things
are meant to fly,
like birds, and planes,
and dragonflies…
angels…
I had dreams once –
winged creatures
who soared
limitless skies…
free…
Until fear –
a cruel master –
caged my heart,
clipped my spirit…
broken…
Age and loss
turned the page,
locks illusions
unravelled…
escape…
Vulnerable,
I walk, remember
wings, lift my face
to inclement  weather…
fly…
(Written in response to Willow Poetry’s weekly challenge: Â What do you See?)
I search for father
in this pain, recall
limbs wrapped,
liniment-lathered,
how he cried out
relief beyond reach
judged his suffering
as emotional –
a karmic penalty
for a life of tyranny –
compassion lapsed.
Now, I fight with legs
that will not settle,
arms that ache to bone,
moments inconsolable
spiralling into moodiness
seems I misunderstood –
overlooked the possibility
of genetics – pain compounded
by the guilt of impotence
curse my failure
to express sympathy,
offer comfort – the habit
of retracting into defensiveness
enacted till his death –
softness not a component
of the barriers that stood
between us…
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)
The idealist is annoyed,
cannot forgive these flaws –
how delight can melt into forgetfulness,
exertion transform into immobility,
the insistence that I have no control –
choosing anger over depression,
either way, a loss – unacceptable
to the one who promotes perfection –
I wear the blame, like a hairshirt –
penance for intolerable truths.
The floorboards,
imagining themselves waves,
undulate,
throw my balance
off kilter…
The lemonade,
ignoring my thirst,
refuses to open –
holds fast to top
rendering me weak
Even the frying pan
fights my efforts,
twisting my wrist as if
arm wrestling,
rather than cooking,
is the game called for here.
Surrendering, I sit,
and with propped up legs
pull out the laptop,
certain that perusing
blog posts will meet
with less upheaval,
but the keyboard
is a trickster,
misreads my commands
and windows open and close
without reason, and
frustrated I push it aside.
This house is conspiring
turning a perfectly capable
human being, into a fumbling,
doddery old fool.
(Written for V.J.’s Weekly Challenge: personification)
Image from personal collection.
Clouds cluster, warn of coming storms.  Having been shut in for days, I am anxious to get outside. Trusty camera carefully secured around my neck, hands firm on walker’s grip, I begin my slow stroll through the neighbourhood.  A gust of wind disrupts the flight of a bumblebee, and we collide: he striking my cheek. I step back, startled. No damage done.
I follow a walkway, built between the houses, leading to our community center. This route takes me past rows of flourishing gardens – a feast of vibrancy. I slow to watch the bees delightedly dancing from bloom to bloom. At the edge of my friend’s house, I hear the crickets, loud and raucous, as if they know that she is currently away. I pause to listen, surprised to hear such unabashed chirping mid-day.
Lingering, I hope to catch a glimpse of one, maybe even a photograph, but the creatures are securely tucked in the shadows of the overgrown foliage, oblivious to my presence.  I capture the flight of a bee, and the elegant profile of a mourning dove, and then turn back. A white winged moth brushes my hand in passing and then stops long enough for me to take a picture. The crickets keep on singing.
Midday crickets sing –
revel in nature’s bounty,
as storm clouds gather.
(Written for dVerse, hosted tonight by Victoria.)
One Woman's Quest 