This confined life –
carefully construed –
ingrains order,
commands discipline.
I can free myself
from urbanity,
declare adventure
as prerogative, but
how long before
I release the need
for control, unburden
internal restraints
let go, and open
to divine rhythms?
Doubt I possess
the trust required
to live with such
uncertainty.
(Submitted for Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday. Â Photo is part of the prompt.)
Age
masks the depth
and breadth of ability –
houses more than anticipated
room for expansion, however;
current state of disrepair –
walls buckling, wiring faulty,
and security systems failing –
compromises output.
Old
holds a certain charm,
character well-earned,
but it would be useful
to install a mechanism
for locking out the past –
perhaps the future too –
eliciting and validating
the fullness of present.
Paint-on rainbows
and special edition labels
do not a top-notch product make.
Have we not  learned –
domestic audiences are moving on,
are more discerning –
Timing is off
for this pumped up
charade –
Stay committed,
conference,
effort is warranted
if real change is to happen.
Life! One day rushing to collect kids, stopping for the dry cleaning, and praying the slow cooker is indeed cooking; and the next strolling down uncluttered lanes, contemplating absence. How did we get here? How did we dream so big and land so humble? Gone are big homes and hefty mortgages. Hell, we’re down to one car. Sunday dinners with the family are memories and nowadays, my head spins to think of cooking for more than we two.
Now we speculate about time left. Ponder what distances will support us. Shall we travel, avoid the winter months, and if so, will our health cooperate?  Will the children understand?   Forgive my melancholy. The silence is echoing off the walls, and I am reflective today. Not in a good way. I’d best get myself outside for some fresh air.
Time slips through fingers
palms reaching outward, hopeful –
Fall’s hues distract woe.
(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 Word Thursday, and dVerse‘s open link night. Photo supplied by Deb Whittam)
Two babies, two cars, a mortgage, and depression I just couldn’t shake. Â What was wrong with me, I wondered. Â Was I missing something? Â Is there more to life, I’m not seeing? Â I prayed to the Heavens.
Six months, I dreamt of returning to my childhood home. Â Every time, I remarked the same changes: the blue wall-to-wall carpet was replaced with red in the living and dining rooms, and geometric patterns running up the stairs; and one wall in my sister’s old bedroom was bricked. Â Whereas we had a dog, the dream residents had a cat. Â Always, I would exit through the back door, where I would fall and jolt awake.
One day, driving past the place, I noted an Open House sign and went in. Â There was the red carpet, the designs on the stairs, and the bricked wall in my sister’s old room.
Shaken, I passed the cat in my haste to exit – out the front door.
Ask and be answered –
Source listened, and delivered –
a resounding “Yes!”
(Written for dVerse pub, hosted tonight by Merrill. Â The challenge is to write a haibun on the topic of transition. Â I am also linking this to my weekly challenge, where the prompt is veil. Â Although I did not use the term in this piece, I felt as if a veil had been lifted.)
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.)
Digging for gold
in an overcrowded mine,
the dust of narcissism
blinding our passage.
Rural roots worship
celebrity – well-travelled
hype overshadowing
common decency –
Powerless, we are
throngs of insignificance –
fraudulence and anti-social
rhetoric failing to elicit pause.
Our screams, ignored, do not
alleviate the suffocation –
How do we blast through
the rage, re-enact a vision,
draw lines that reset respect,
encourage care, listen to needs,
recognize the treasure we seek
is in humanity’s survival?
(Submitted for Ragtag Community’s daily prompt: blast, and Fandango’s: draw. Â Image from personal collection.)
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?)
Sail erected,
call it ‘Hope’
Location
dialed in
Saboteurs
asleep
Done with
party persona,
inalterable
generalities
Ready to cater
to the awake
Willing to believe
in dreams
There’s a calm
opening, and
Sail is erected,
call it ‘Hope’.
Our roots are spreading,
the umbrella of our tree broadening –
Muslims now amongst our beloveds
a progression, nurtured by
a Divine plan – trees are meant
to branch – hearts’ capacity unlimited
an outcome that evolved – not because
of that day when the impact reverberated
across borders, dislodging fears – but despite it
Praise goes to youth, whose willingness
to embrace possibility beyond stereotypes,
beyond hatred, opened doors, enticed
this hometown gal, and a backward father
to set aside prejudice (ignorance, really), and invite
the light of love to transform darkened passages.
brave souls, willing to defy the legacy
of downed towers, the lies of politicians –
carving out a path for an enlightened future.
(Written for dVerse, who on the anniversary of 9/11 challenged us to go back to a previous poem penned on this date and write a new one, based on one line.  I revisited  Renovating the Psyche from 9/11/2016 and chose the line:  “roots spreading outwards, Muslims now amongst our beloveds.” )
One Woman's Quest 