Happenstance welcome,
dreamer that I am
Loyal to memories
and committed to progress
Professional ambitions unrequited,
I seek new avenues…
Failure a nag
provokes hesitation
Let me be!
I am independent!
This path is unique
and while I dwell
in contemplation of what ifs
I recognize my challenges,
the unreliability of illness,
expect no encores
Easier to focus
on what I can master
today.
(Watercolour mine)
Worms have invaded
every sliver of my antagonist
by now, and still I tarry …
Minute details excuses
for hesitation,
the memoir languishes
unpublished
Wanting my audience
to savour each morsel,
declare it fit for consumption
The ironic death march
of a solemn vow
to make light of dark.
(Art my own)
I am visible, yet hiding –
balancing a vitality-blocking
disorder that renders me
inanimate, repulsive –
Who doesn’t flinch
in the face of deviancy?
Creativity obsesses
grasps hope that courage
will annihilate the beast,
that resourcefulness
is all it takes to overcome –
Hold on! it cries, nestled
deep within the grief –
Oh, you think you see me,
but I assure you, my friend,
you do not – I am rebel,
lost in isolation, vulnerability
fantasizing revolution –
Resolve trapped between
the exaggeration of infinite
possibility and the unremarkable
defence of compulsion to survive –
thrive even, if spirit was not
so aghast at current setbacks.
(Image my own)
Can’t have it both ways –
exposed and sheltered
Trending displays
invite dissociation
Drive for universal appeal
gags intuition
Violates inner sanctuaries –
personalities have limits
“All about me” overdone
ghosts authenticity
(Art mine)
Charcoal-etched dreams
smudged on the canvas of time…
Direction has been lacking,
understanding remiss
That I remain – sail upright –
is feat enough…
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Sketch my own)
Imagine orange –
a lifetime of suppression,
roots tangled in black,
rebellion a given –
art bleeds essence at last
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Art my own)
Trees have a story,
buried in their roots,
refined by seasonal passages,
etched in scarred bark
Birds know these stories
Sing their praise, unapologetic –
and we can hear them too,
if we only learn to listen
I have a story
birthed from parental lips
delineated by the jostling
of our many limbed life
It states that I am the good one,
the responsible, the brilliant,
the child of hope and valour…
this story is not mine
I am a tree, whose scars
suggest a history, whose roots
remain hidden, and whose voice
was lost in familial tempests
The birds know it, though
and carry my essence
on winged notes, back
to source, where I am written.
(Art my own)
Circling,
dancing,
caught between
idealism of expectation
and harshness of reality –
one has lofty goals,
the other invites limitation
I’ve excuses aplenty –
none that assuage ambition
Incomplete work dangles
from spider web threads
waiting for rescue
Talking to myself
unavailing – best
step out of this dichotomy
stop the whirling
(Sketch my own)
I am orange
fiery as
a sunset
bright as
an Autumn
leaf –
brilliant
in the waning
hours.
(Art 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)
One Woman's Quest 