Wee rowan lad
drums me into night
a fabled rhythm
conjuring mystical
oneiric encounters
There is freedom
in dreaming
slipping ego’s hold
soul taking flight
There is sorrow too
for when the drummer’s
song is done
morning must come.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
“What in your life is calling you, when all the noise is silenced,
the meetings adjourned…the lists laid aside,
and the wild iris blooms by itself in the dark forest…
what still pulls on your soul? “
– Rumi
I dwell in silence
meetings adjourned
list groceries
Former self faded
sorrowful shadow
definition slipped
I am the wild iris
pushing forward
in darkness, unseen
In contemplation
future doors heavy
snowy the path
If I follow light
I find promise
a verdant valley
I am guided
no destination
only presence
Physical constraints
merely distraction
I am the message
Light, shepherd
dreamer, woman
warrior, goddess
My soul pulls
invites passage
I am ready.
(Written in response to my weekly challenge – opening quotation. After meditating on Rumi’s words the image emerged and later this poem.)
I’m gnawing on possibility
the suggestion that my dabbling
could amount to something
What? my gut protests
reminds me of limitations
physical constraints
But I’ve had room to breathe
and resources at hand
and creativity, expansive
dwells in possibility
nibbles at suggestions
mind scrabbles to find
excuses – laundry,
a drawer that needs sorting
but the door has opened
and I’m seeing a path
a way through the noise
a sliver of light beckoning.
(For Ragtag’s daily prompt: gnaw. Image my own.)
This year the plague came
and I blamed the wind
for carrying destruction
and I blamed the sun
for its ineptitude
and the rain,
no friend of mine,
only served to drown
my expectations.
Lockdown
and social distance
masks and antiseptics
how was a soul
to survive?
Pushing 2020
out the door
certain relief
would follow
but change is not
a date on the calendar
a release of circumstance
I turned inward
faced the gloom
and found a spark
forgave the weather
the virus, the news
In 2021, I woke up…
(For Reena’s Exploration challenge: I woke up in 2021… Image my ow
Teach me reverence
am losing ground
children adulting
mothering in a void
Teach me acceptance
disability’s waters flood
I’m in the margins
an afterthought
I concede life changes
release control – passion
begs an outlet; I am worn
but I am open. Teach me.
(Image mine)
Sip of brewed mugwort
and reality shatters
pixelated beads
like a murmuration
shapeshifting images
luring me skyward
I am skin-shedding
anti-gravitational
Alice in Wonderland
watch me grow.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
To chronicle a life
to extract truth
separate skin from soul
in search of essence
I try to listen
to the rhythms
diagram a blueprint
am discombobulated.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Solitude.
I dream of
panoramic
silence –
breathtaking
boundless
sanctity.
Solitude.
Wrapped in separateness
cardboard walls fallen
curling corners of instability –
no refuge in stillness.
Solitude.
Smothering starkness
madness reverberating
canyons of aloneness
overbearing.
Solitude.
Persevere
regale moments
feathered encounters
faces on screens
tenderness
in voices.
Solitude.
Grace finds me
mercy lifts soul
possibility
opens the door
panoramic.
(This is a rewrite of an older poem, last appearing here in August, 2018. I submit it for Reena’s Exploration challenge #163. Please visit her post for a most inspiring video. Art my own.)
Tripping over guilt
how I need to make amends
Meanwhile, charity
leaves me vulnerable
Lose credibility,
momentum
No longer a pick up for others
ditched without a lifeline
***
These are but feelings
I’m more comfy couch
than utility vehicle
and credibility –
well that’s earned
Pick myself up
wade through vulnerability
grateful for giving hands
some amends best left
to the lessons gained
guilt not worth the trouble.
(Much of my poetry is derived from dreamwork. Dreams use exaggeration and humour to evoke understanding. In this poem, I am able to see both at play, leading me to the more empowering response. Thanks for reading. Image my own.)
A cruel master
the ticking clock
So much potential
Get it done!
I rush past shadows
crumple the pages
failed attempts
mounting
What of dreams?
Of life’s destiny?
How I worship
at the altar of should
Even with positivity
fantastical notions fall short
I argue against uncertainty
meet only disapproval
There is no magic
no pre-destined fame
just dust gathering
the dead are unimpressed.
(Linking up with Reena’s Exploration challenge: follow link for video prompt. Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 