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.)
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.)
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.)
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.
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.
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.
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.)
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.)
I throb,
belly a swill of green –
never smoked…
There is good air & trees,
and warming chards
Breathe out…and spit..
Only champagne cup
would wet and waken
Let up bug!
(Friday is Magnetic Poetry day for me. Â Coincidentally, I have been fighting a bacterial infection, so the words are fitting.)
Hope glitters
like rays of golden
sunlight piercing
the thick overgrowth
of this life.
Dare I respond,
or is this merely
the sharp deflection
of light on tinfoil
meant to keep
scavengers away?
(Dare I Hope? first appeared three years ago, when the four walls of my bedroom and the mattress I laid upon defined my life. Â I have polished it a bit here for my weekly challenge which is “anniversary”. Â Looking back to those times, I am able to acknowledge progress and affirm that the hope I was feeling had validity. Featured image is from personal collection.)
Cancer.
The fear reverberates, ping-pongs
through our community –
seniors with hope,
fresh start
desire
after years of toil, children, woes
we congregate, create –
new family,
future,
plans rise
yet, we know, existence is
unpredictable, key
in another’s
hands – God
drives, we
follow, fulfill, crave redemption,
or at the very least,
a few year’s rest,
pleasure
unchecked
before the ‘C’ word is unleashed
and hearts throb with sorrow,
band together,
support.
(Written for Dark Side Of The Moon’s Cinquain Poetry Challenge. Â This is a Cinq-Cinquain. Â Check here to try out this form. Image from personal collection.)