Somewhere inside,
beneath the noise
of to do’s, or regrets,
buried so deep,
that I disbelieve
it exists, and yet…
there it is –
pulsating in sleep,
disrupting idle moments –
a hum, a breeze, a niggling,
as if I’ve trapped passion,
like a firefly, jarred it
in some inner cellar…
and still, it glows –
begs for the light of day,
a slit in consciousness
through which to escape –
inspiration demanding
expression.
Even as we let go
of that which no longer serves
our hearts grow wings.
*****
I am venturing into new territory,
and have established a virtual store front with Society6: Â KnutsonKreations.
I would love it if you’d check me out. Â Society6 is offering an Artist Promotion through to Thursday, February 21 at midnight – 25% off and free shipping worldwide using the link above.
Creating “poetry-to-go” has been a dream of mine. Â This is the beginning!
Lethargic, you say –
it is the moon’s withdrawal
that compels this wane –
the current that runs between
defying gravity, depleting –
no sense in fighting
such elemental flow –
total submission is key.
(Written for Reena’s Exploration Challenge: moon; Ragtag Community’s: key; and Fandango’s: lethargic.)
Flight
wondrous, white
uplifting, embracing, alluring,
deeply stirring my soul –
escape.
(Written for Dark Side of the Moon’s  5-line challenge:  Didatic Cinquain.  Click on the link for further information and to join in.)
Unheralded,
an apparition
in white –
wings enveloping,
uplifting
soul cries,
voiceless,
powerless –
no pause
on perfection
she follows coastlines
while I travel roads,
fades from view
her shadow lingers,
wraps me in melancholy
one minute of rapture –
enough to make me mourn.
(Inspired by the sudden appearance of an egret while shooting this image. Â Submitted for Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt: Â roads, and Reena’s Exploration challenge: Â one minute.)
Born brilliant,
and good looking,
he had me dancing,
fevered –
red cat woman,
I am porcelain,
prisoner,
cup fishing,
long to explore
dark words –
do not ask though –
sexy sailed –
ate godless
byes.
(It’s Magnetic Poetry Friday.)
Winds here are unchained –
no fear of stagnation –
learning to tether myself
to uncertainty – relying
on instinct to pull through.
Even weeds reach for the sky,
as if heaven holds a secret,
as if liberation lies in the stars
and the day’s passage into night
is a promise – I reach for the sky
with my prayers, with my wishes,
am no more enlightened than a weed.
Ancient song of Eden, our nature,
as above – light to watch for –
my summer, withering,
her insect breeze vined
would come there and have
harmony – beautifully fresh
in prairie lake,
air vivid.
(Fridays are for Magnetic Poetry. Â Play along online.)
What if days were berries
growing bright, whose sumptuous
juices blossomed only in Summer?
How sad it would be –
such limitations, disrespectful
of the creator to surmise
an inevitability of dormancy –
I will not believe it!
Our days are like seasons –
motivations and movement
fluctuating, weaving into
a tapestry of greater glory
There is no single season
of bloom – even berries resurrect.
One Woman's Quest 