Category: creativity

Dance of Redundancy

Re-
dun-
dant,
these
rituals
by which 
I define myself –
find purpose, validate
my being – I create herculean
tasks, ignore God’s role, the cycles
of nature; script myself responsibility –
a dramatic starring role with no applause,
and in the end, when light has given over to dark
and this body has failed me, will objectivity set me free
or shall I return to do it all again…a hypnotic spiral dance?

(Inspired by Willow Poetry’s Challenge:  What Do You See?  Featured image is the prompt.)

Bleeding Edges

Wrap myself in verdant dreams –
creaseless envelope of hope –
have written my deepest desire,
sealed the vessel shut…

meanwhile, reality oozes red,
like puss from open wounds,
creeps into careful corners,
bleeds through edges…

nothing neat about dreaming –
life demands, cuts, prods,
does not bargain – hope is fine
unless control is the container.

(Inspired by the prompts of Ragtag Community: verdant; Fandango: meanwhile; and Reena’s Exploration Challenge: bleeding edge.)

Image from personal collection.

Don’t Tell

No one told me,
in my haste to grow up,
that adulthood, awash
with responsibility,
would still be lonely.

And, no one told me
that the days and nights
of sweating over papers
would likely not lead
to the life imagined,

nor that commitment –
the kind portrayed in movies –
does not exist – the word, itself,
bearing more substance
than the act – a fickle sentiment.

No one told me that
motherhood – the act
of giving birth – would alter
my reality permanently,
colouring it with unfathomable
pain and joy – such juxtaposition.

And, no one told me that
every battle I ever arm myself for,
regardless of its justification,
is really a struggle with self –
inner demons the most menacing.

I never imagined that age –
with seismic force,
would alter my perspective so –
leave me barren and yet enriched,
enthralled with the ordinary,
and unfazed by the rest.

And, in the end, as I watch
vernal rains announce a new season,
in the quiet of my solitude, I am
amazed and grateful for all
that this crazy, driven life has become,
and that no one ever told me.

Rocks

The Canadian Shield,
where rugged pines stretch,
reach for endless skies,
taking root in rocky shores.

We set boulders
in our gardens – anchors
against untimely storms,
or reminders of endurance
when all else falls away.

Even the satisfying crunch
of stones along the path
fascinate – variance of colours
and forms, like art – promising
undiscovered treasures.

(Rocks first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, and was in response to a photo challenge.  I have edited it here.)