Spirit disregards containment
should I appear disconnected –
focus lacking substance –
it is just essence flowing
I am whisper on wind’s lips
veil of clouds on tropical shores
sun’s aureole fleeting
I’ll return soon enough…
(Written for Reena’s Xploration challenge: flow
and inspired by the artwork featured on …Bilocalalia… blog.
My image is displayed here)
That was me
the 9-year-old girl
sitting on the 3 o’clock bus
staring at the woman
with the scarf around her neck
standing across the street
in front of an oddly shaped building
I’d never noticed before, and
having a profound feeling
of déjà vu.
That was me
the scarf-wearing woman
standing on the sidewalk
in front of the odd shaped building
waiting for the 3 o’clock bus
to move, so that I might cross
suddenly overcome by a sense
of premonition as my eyes
locked with a girl on the bus
who looked uncannily
like a younger version
of me.
(Written for Reena’s Xploration challenge: Components of Time. Art my own)
Ingredients for despair –
illness, COVID, loss –
all meted…
Never did follow recipes
I see only openings
potential for enrichment
how the lens has power
to ruminate or celebrate
(Art my own)
Wolf moon finds me
hungering – no
I am not a wolf
but I am starved
in this month of storms
snow blocking doors
temperatures dropping
Temperatures rising
flames of creativity
steaming panes
the season is wrought
belly-aching crave
I am wolf, howling
hoping the moon finds me.
(A bit of word play for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: Wolf moon. Image my own.)
“What in your life is calling you, when all the noise is silenced,
the meetings adjourned…the lists laid aside,
and the wild iris blooms by itself in the dark forest…
what still pulls on your soul? “
– Rumi
I dwell in silence
meetings adjourned
list groceries
Former self faded
sorrowful shadow
definition slipped
I am the wild iris
pushing forward
in darkness, unseen
In contemplation
future doors heavy
snowy the path
If I follow light
I find promise
a verdant valley
I am guided
no destination
only presence
Physical constraints
merely distraction
I am the message
Light, shepherd
dreamer, woman
warrior, goddess
My soul pulls
invites passage
I am ready.
(Written in response to my weekly challenge – opening quotation. After meditating on Rumi’s words the image emerged and later this poem.)
inkblots mutate to form pictures, alphabets, stories I did not create
***
decorated trees sway to songs emanating from masked lips imagining smiles that reach twinkling toes and luminous tips (Words are from Reena's Exploration challenge. Art my own.)
Solitude.
I dream of
panoramic
silence –
breathtaking
boundless
sanctity.
Solitude.
Wrapped in separateness
cardboard walls fallen
curling corners of instability –
no refuge in stillness.
Solitude.
Smothering starkness
madness reverberating
canyons of aloneness
overbearing.
Solitude.
Persevere
regale moments
feathered encounters
faces on screens
tenderness
in voices.
Solitude.
Grace finds me
mercy lifts soul
possibility
opens the door
panoramic.
(This is a rewrite of an older poem, last appearing here in August, 2018. I submit it for Reena’s Exploration challenge #163. Please visit her post for a most inspiring video. Art my own.)
Paper me over
with carnal designs, I am
hourglass losing
myself in the shift – pencil
sketches facing erasure.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Art mine)
Picture-perfect life
who doesn’t aspire?
I’ve reframed the image
time and time again
Searched for definition
in 5′ x 7′ then 8′ x 10′
But a creative soul
cannot be confined
frames now accents
for the life that flows.
For Reena’s Exploration Challenge #159. Images mine.
(Disclaimer: I am submitting this poem for Reena’s Exploration challenge: horror. The poem arose from a nightmare, and my be triggering for some readers.)
They always take the back roads,
virginal snow-covered lanes
lined with trees: pastoral views
Unmarked routes, out of sight,
use the innocence of landscape
to blot out their dark intentions
Pristine picture perfect scenes
lull the unsuspecting; breath-
taking vistas: secret keepers
The roads still exist in my dreams
the trees like soldiers, stiff and stark
stripped of their magical allure, now
guard the memories, painted red
with loss of purity; I had not
guessed the danger of woods
child mind incapable of conceiving
what wolves roamed in nature
the blood of their victims crimson
stains forever etched in silhouette
the shrillness of their screams
now silent echoes in the night.
(Secret Keepers first appeared here September of 2016. Art my own.)
