She is young,
this artist-self
celebrating discovery
He chastises enthusiasm,
this intellect-self, favours
logic over emotions
I use disability as an excuse
Accept intellect’s restraints
Ignore encouragement
Refrain from submitting
Halter progress
Youth has ambition
her paint spattered hands
grasp at opportunity –
her tender heart
emits a joyful tune..
…but age,
having abandoned ambition,
is hard of hearing.
(Art mine)
Consciousness commands
a shift of focus –
tired of the clash of colours
stimulation overload –
my muse is leaning towards
the nuance of black and white
A study of shadows
and shading
and how light
arouses the soul
Speak to me in subtleties
she whispers
in tones suggestive
of hidden depths;
I am listening
And so I submerge myself
clear the palette of vibrant hues
and take up the lowly pencil
seek the promise
in colourless world.
(Colourless Expressions first appeared here August, 2020. Art mine)
I have ventured
into your atmosphere
slipped my skin
your skin
and discovered
a universe
thoughts
emotions
beliefs
blending
into a physical dance
of light and shadow
nuances of colour
delineating life
At our core
we are light
leaning into mystery
cellular interpretations
of a symphony
we cannot hear
Compassion extended
mind altered
we meld.
(Melding first appeared here June, 2020. Image my own)
Not programmed to comply –
cannot tolerate oppression:
a pressure cooker
ready to explode
Do-gooders sit up
straight and smile
encouragement:
I slouch defiance
Don’t ask me to respect
that which is disrespectful –
my fuse is short
of that I’m certain
Don’t slot me;
leave me –
creative inspiration
is not lacking here
I’m a free agent
a incorrigible scamp –
authority doesn’t scare me
’cause I’m beyond control.
(That Kid, first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, June 2017. Found poem here. Image my own)
I dwell in mediocracy
where Larkspur takes a spotlight
and sunsets enforce sleep
A background figure, I hide
behind mundane assertions,
practice subtlety
Lies I tell myself, of course,
any reader knows – I decry
normality, as passion is my way.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Maybe I just needed a new perspective –
like the famed Hanged Man of tarot –
committed to some deep, internal need,
I willed a horizontal shift; landed with intent.
Maybe it is not my legs that are disabled,
but a soul longing to escape the continual
discord of perpetual motion, a never-ending
to-do list of the success-driven persona.
Maybe there is a greater purpose for being
that is not encompassed by outer drive –
a mysterious meaning that is revealed only
in the quiet stillness in which I now dwell.
Maybe I have been called to a personal
pilgrimage – a Camino of sorts – a crusade
of spirit designed to cleanse and enlighten –
the journey is certainly arduous enough.
Maybe it is through acceptance, finally
having released a need to control, move,
achieve, accomplish that I am able to
embrace the true lessons of suffering.
Maybe this cocooning is an act of Grace
demanding surrender before the actual
transformation occurs, and I will emerge,
legless or not, winged and ready to soar.
Maybe, just maybe, this stripped down,
barren existence is not a penance for
shameful living, but a desert crossing,
offering re-alignment: hard-fought peace.
(Maybe first appeared here Feb. 2017. Image my own)
Winter defines this stage,
this page, night descending
too early for my taste
If I catch a falling star,
can I shed the excess
layers of this confinement
Follow animal impulses
to a sunnier clime, restore
exuberance of noble youth?
Passion persists, intelligence
intact, just need a brighter
angle from which to reveal it.
(Lighting Call first appeared here January, 2019.
Linking up with Reena’s Xploration challenge: light. I
mage my own.)
Trade you an ‘n’
for a ‘v’, I said
to the moon
to the sun
to the bird
at my window
All obliged
and now
my lonely day
is lovely,
lovely,
lovely.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson
Art my own.)
Service contentment
Be a vessel –
giving and receiving
Create ripples
Inspire
Be present
Push through limits
Be bliss spreading
viral joy
(I’ve started a new project: reading through old journals – mostly griping – to find new messages, new poetry.
This is my first result. Image my own.)
Words, like crickets
leap from my mind
chirping pests whose
trajectory eludes
dulled reflexes,
scuttling about
periphery of logic
Harmless, really,
in the singular –
cacophony of multitudes
threatening to multiply
take with them
semblance of sanity
Intuit a rhythm
I counsel self
to define the notes
in workable phrases
capture essence
and reason message
but the invaders
adverse to linearity
disappear beneath
the floorboards
of my conscious mind.
(Found this poem, languishing in my blog archives.
Edited, and with an updated title, thought it might
be worth a second look. Art my own.)
One Woman's Quest 