Unsettled,
worry’s guest –
change binds me,
spineless…
this waiting is venom,
caution enticing,
pursue transformation,
big, small – and diversion
to eliminate the parasites.
Intellect needs a cure,
neediness burdensome –
taking charge messy.
Responsibility my own.
Category: health
Even Trees Fall
Majesty is a tree
quiet strength
and vulnerability
no more sheltered
from acts of nature
than I – none
impenetrable,
although youth
believes it –
days when strength
equates with rigidity,
resistant arrogance
A right fighter, was I,
iron will, in control –
never measuring up
such foolish nonsense –
destructive, no doubt,
took illness to educate
recognize courage in
withdrawal, merits
of inviting understanding
physical limitations
birth potential –
gracious acceptance
surrender of struggle
open, vulnerable,
rooted, like a tree.
Lingering Laughter
Grateful for the wilder times,
days when daring ruled –
amassed fodder for stories,
harmless antics eliciting
laughter – ever more sweet
as body fails, nothing left
but to reminisce.
(Twitter Tales. Â Visit me @Vjknutson.)
Surreal, This Life
Sunday morning runners
pass by bay window,
oozing life, while I strain
to catch a glimpse, movement
tenuous – irony of life
rendered surreal
by chronic illness.
(Twitter Tuesday. Â For more Twitter poems find me @Vjknuton.)
Raven and Snake
That day, crossing the parking lot,
raven swooped past, snake in clasp –
I took it as a sign, hurried my steps.
The ward nurse stopped me,
revealed the end was near,
appointed me bearer of news.
Me, whom you loved to hate –
lashed with brash comments,
unforgiving of my youth.
Unsurprising, your wrath,
and then the threats –
to be cut from your will
Deeply ingrained the need
to hate, to blame – lawyer
didn’t comply, I remained
Represented you in death,
sorry for a life of lies ,
how often you had to pretend
to love men,
to not be lonely,
that alcohol solved all
Miss you even now –
your caustic presence
irreplaceable, left a hole.
Don’t regret finding you,
getting help, staying
bedside as death knocked.
You’d do the same –
intrinsically linked,
the raven and the snake.
(Linked to Reena’s Exploration Challenge where the prompt is to write about sudden, magical events.)
Stench
Dank, this current state,
mildew and rotten fruit,
the stench of redundancy –
crave the petrichor of hope,
the aroma of fresh soil
singing praises of rebirth.
The Toll
Am not the woman my children once called Mother –
can see the disappointment in their anger-blotched
expressions, feel the constraint in their voices –
distance between us tugs on my heart, plays with
my conscience, as if illness is choice – a contrived
plot to rob them of their expectations –
hope they can forgive me before it’s too late;
hope they can forgive themselves.
Duelling Personas
Outward facing –
contrived effort –
composure checked,
face appropriately presented.
I turn away –
internal chaos clouding –
lacking resources
for social banter
Wolves taunt me –
predatory monsters
shaming me into retreat –
defences down.
Wade back into superficial,
desperation seeking solace –
hide the flooding within.
Needing a Sign
Restlessness accompanies me
on the sojourn today –
unfazed by ripe red
belly of robin,
or shimmering emerald
of breeding merganser’s crown.
My lens seeks out decay –
rotting wood, darkened cavities –
as if my soul craves reassurance
that life persists even where death
hovers – I need a sign.
Discontent, I move on –
drive the river road,
snail pace – praying for
something to shake
this malaise –
birds come and go,
trees radiate Spring green,
I pause, unmoved.
And then I spot it –
across the river, high up –
a massive hulk –
lens raises, adjusts, snaps –
the regal hunter turns towards me,
regards me with ferocious intensity,
does not falter on his perch –
All-seeing, fearless,
he is spirit-manifested,
a messenger, lifting me
from stagnation –
momentary redemption.
(Linking up with my weekly challenge: Â in-between.)
Discord
Does illness have a voice,
and if so; is it melancholy,
or dark and dank, divulging
deepest despair, or revealing
a vileness of nature?
Discord creeps along my veins,
disrupts muscles, systems failing
under the oppression –
“Stay strong,” friends counsel,
cannot hear the gathering storm,
feel the heaviness cloaking me.
I am not myself, but then;
who am I? Â Is disease a mutation
of the original sin – punishment
for fatal sins, or  redemption
wrapped as trial – the whispers
gain clarity – I am faltering…
(Written for Reena’s Exploration challenge: Â featured image as prompt.)