Category: change

Ride Along With Me 2

Passenger, I am –
delegated to back seat –
input seldom asked for,
even less appreciated.

I ride along.

Passenger, I am –
at best can only speculate
about direction – limited
sight lines here in the back.

I am not driving.

Had a driver once,
motivated and self-assured –
could sit back and relax –
until his mistress climbed in.

Who invited her?

Driver #2 is handsome,
but lacks directions, so
no one is paying attention.

Others ride along too.

There’s a high school dropout,
who likes to pick his parents pockets,
and get boozed up on Friday nights.

How did he get here?

Ride along, if you wish, but be warned –
this vehicle is outdated, and likely unsafe –
we’ll just have to squish together.

They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.

Oh yeah, my crazy sister is aboard too,
Or maybe it is me, ‘cause I swear
I saw the ghost of another –
bent on haunting me along the way.

Probably a good thing I’m not driving.

Night is falling, and we stop for gas,
and the neon lights remind me –
if I’ m going to make a break,
it’d best be now.

Or, I could find a new driver.

What I put God at the wheel?
What if I said: God, give me direction?
Would I have to sit up straighter and pay attention?
Would the adulteress and the sloth have to leave?

Would my vehicle become a golden chariot,
powered by horses with wings of white?
And would we fly above the obstacles,
straight to the Promised Land?

Fantasy, unfortunately –
for now, I’ll remain back here,
until life restores vitality,
and my head is clear again.

Then I’ll park this old vehicle.

And get a new model with GPS.

(I’m revisiting old posts, editing, and re-introducing some of them.  Ride Along With Me  was written in November of 2014, six months after being bedridden with ME.  It was inspired by a dream, and understandably, represents a woman who has lost everything, trying to make sense of life.  I thought it is actually quite fun, and may have a wider application, so I resubmit it here.)

 

 

Talk

Mother said: “Look after your sister!”
What she meant was: Take these
burdens off my shoulders, I am
no longer able to cope.

Father said: “Do as I say, not as I do!”
What he meant was:  I don’t have
the wherewithal to deal with my own
problems, so don’t bring me yours.

Sister said:  “Be a good auntie!”
What she meant was: I am too
young to be a mother, and you are so
much more responsible, please take on
the consequences of my poor choices.

So I ran away to build my own life.
Met a man and married, bought a house,
had children and hopes and dreams
for a future that would erase the past.

Husband said: “If you really loved me
you’d try harder to lose weight, be less
effusive in public, control your temper,
and be more supportive of my choices.

What he meant was:  I’m going to grind
you so far into the ground and then I’m
going to cheat and cheat and you’ll have
nothing left inside to do anything about it.

And without a word, I left, and
what I meant was: I am a real person
with needs and faults and limitations
and it’s about time I honour me.

The Need is Real

This lazy rhetoric, setting off
touchy egos, is akin to high school
nonsense – immobilizing progress.

Intimacy with the issues requires
scheduled and thorough investigation,
or we cycle back over the hotspots.

Stress as mistress, shadows
what is appropriate, belies
the underlying pain and need.

We need modern-day heroes,
bent on re-righting history,
to bring focus and intelligence

Find lasting answers, lift society
out of its deluge and create a communal
bonding that embraces rather than shuns.

(Image from personal collection.)

Of Flow and Fear

A river of people move
motivated by preservation,
hands tightly grasping hands,
a prayer for union in the midst
of unfathomable hardship –
they sacrifice for a promise
of safety, a chance to ensure
a productive life, hope.

Politicians stand on the banks
Casting stone-words, clouding
the surface of intent, distorting
agendas, interpretations –
ripples of fear collide, peak,
crescendo on the backs
of the river walkers.

Who will free the damn
that blocks the flow,
and who will lose their lives
when verbal flooding
turns to red tides?

(Originally written for Story Circle Network’s e-circle.  Submitted here for Ragtag Community’s prompt: ripple.)

Letting Go is Complicated

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.  Photo is part of the prompt.)

Filters

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.

Grey Clouds Hover

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)

Pivotal Moment

Two babies, two cars, a mortgage, and depression I just couldn’t shake.  What was wrong with me, I wondered.  Was I missing something?  Is there more to life, I’m not seeing?  I prayed to the Heavens.

Six months, I dreamt of returning to my childhood home.  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.  Whereas we had a dog, the dream residents had a cat.  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.  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.  The challenge is to write a haibun on the topic of transition.  I am also linking this to my weekly challenge, where the prompt is veil.  Although I did not use the term in this piece, I felt as if a veil had been lifted.)

Dispensable

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.  I am combining this with Fandago’s Word of the Day, opponent,  and Ragtag Community’s prompt, friend.)