Moody, these December skies
brooding chill interrupted
by sun’s sudden emergence
To hibernate, or brace
the wind; stiffen protectively
or inhale invigoration
Caution guides my steps
intimate with wintry passages
acknowledging that I am December…
(Image my own)
There is light in unknowns –
at least I project it there –
caught between the current
ashen landscape and the achings
of a solitary childhood…
I like to think faith guides me
but she is muted like the gardens
of my dreams, more ethereal
than palpable and I need concrete
have waited too long for that train
of certainty to carry me away…
course it never comes, there is no easy
just a slow, steady plodding: a pace
that age has settled on; so I turn
to inner landscapes, imagination
remembering colour…and yes, light.
(Image my own creation)
What is it that a woman of maturity quests for?
Autonomy: to feel that her decisions/wants/needs
are not overshadowed by the dictates of another,
or by a past that is forever looming.
Empowerment: to know, once and for all, that
the victim is laid to rest, so that she can embrace
her authentic self.
Inner peace: to live without guilt or the need for
permission. To be able to forgive and self and other
in order to be free. To trust, innately, her own
inner resources, releasing fear’s hold.
Sacredness: to stand firmly upon the Earth,
breathe freely, and engage with life. To make
a difference.
Celebration: to live with anticipation, surprise,
and ultimately joy.
Connection: to recognize in each living moment
that none of the above is obtained in a bubble.
I quest for true connection. The bravest quest of all.
(Reading through old posts I came across one from November, 2014 which inspired this write. Image my own.)
Pockets of light
illuminate the shore:
day submitting to dark
I trace the lines
of our passage
remembering
How winds and tides
shaped us; how carelessly
we wasted time…
Danced around
our solitudes –
imitating intimacy
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Physical distance
no remedy for dark past
those childhood bruises
etched on old bones – solid as
the house that bore them witness.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Is this progress,
this decision to uproot,
cast possessions aside,
free ourselves of ties?
Can his dependency,
my dependency, endure
the transition, released
from former justifications?
We are companions
embarking on adventure,
companions retiring past
lies, redefining possibility
Or, is this more of the same,
artfully camouflaged –
a continuance of flight
from tyrannical origins?
The paths behind are jagged,
wrought with rocks and crevices
and scarred riddles, and yet;
have we not survived? Thrived?
The road ahead is expansive,
our home an ever-changing
landscape, as wide as a continent –
our minds eager to absorb…
This is progress;
we are unburdened,
free spirited, submitting
to new tests of truth.
(Poem first appeared in October, 2017. Image my own)
I fear the denouement –
the moment of reckoning
when the winding path
unravels; when intentions,
transient at best, reveal
themselves as common lies
and soul crumples before light
recognizing this is not the end.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @ Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Disregard the obvious –
I know how time has marred me
Disregard the glare –
eyes clouded with cynicism
A fledgling heart beats
within this disheveled nest
Come closer and behold
a childlike yearning for love.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter. Image my own)
She is young,
this artist-self
celebrating discovery
He chastises enthusiasm,
this intellect-self, favours
logic over emotions
I use disability as an excuse
Accept intellect’s restraints
Ignore encouragement
Refrain from submitting
Halter progress
Youth has ambition
her paint spattered hands
grasp at opportunity –
her tender heart
emits a joyful tune..
…but age,
having abandoned ambition,
is hard of hearing.
(Art mine)
My memory of you –
distorted by childish exuberance-
distant and disinterested
Translated vacant eyes
through the lens of my needs
child that I was.
Failed to notice
the aura of defeat,
the battered heart
the robotic responses
masking unbelievable sorrow
missed it all
Till death knocked
and I saw you anew –
adult lenses now fully secured.
Wonder at the fortitude
that kept you upright
the love that served us both.
No fault here –
on either side –
just a bittersweet understanding.
(Distorted Lenses first appeared here August, 2019. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 