Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Craving compassion
I seek the wisdom
of the river –
Her glimmering waters
reflect sun’s warmth
I am at once calmed
and uplifted –
seagull raises his wings
emits an ungodly chuckle.
(Image, my own, is not actually a Laughing Gull, but the title fits.)
Rehearse my role –
charm-school warmth
intellect engaged,
an air of mystique –
Tongue trips
brain backfires
a fool emerges
chagrinned again.
(Tuesday I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. In this case, edited. Image my own.)
Fast-paced
moving targets
explosions
and obstacles –
a gamer’s rendition
of the quest for love.
(Tuesday is borrow from Twitter day. My words. My account: @Vjknutson. My image.)
Words seduce –
I respond
with alacrity
Tingling fire
infatuated
as I am –
Creativity’s whore.
(Tuesday’s Twitter day. Visit me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Intrusion’s clatter
peaks adrenaline – armed
I investigate
encounter winsome smile –
masked bandit, unabashed.
(For Eugi’s Causerie Weekly Prompt: winsome. Image from personal collection.)
Can’t take responsibility
for what gets laundered here
my vehicle has no steering wheel
I am merely seeking understanding –
comfort, like support shoes –
and I get flack, indifference
slapping me in the face.
Why did I put myself in this position –
revert back to old ways, think
I was destined for anything
but penniless devotion –
should have been a nun.
(Image from personal collection.)
A morsel of truth
and I am off
like White Rabbit
chasing meaning,
convinced that intellect
is just the tool I need
to decode the mystery –
bruises testament to
holes I’ve climbed out of.
Armed with plans
and guidelines, we
ready for life’s climb,
unaware that childhood,
untamed and intact,
takes the lead.
In Mallard’s wake woe –
with clipped wings, I watch and yearn
for Winter sojourn.
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day, and RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: wake/wail)
Like Mary Quant
sister had the look –
groomed in etiquette,
poise and fine dining
while my boyish antics
merited mixology prep
one destined for the catwalk
the other a life of servitude
She was swank,
I was bistro.
(Image from personal collection)
