Curious by nature
and driven by hope
we push forward
Spring ourselves
from mud-mired traps
of psychological undoings
Focus on a horizon
where sunrises
and sunsets
offer glimpses of glory
Optimist and pessimist
alike, daring to believe
that the beckoning future
bears equal promise.
(Image my own)
Whoa now!
Don’t settle too quickly
Opportunity is about to knock
What’s that you say?
You’re not ready.
All this work you’ve been doing
all these seeds you’ve been planting
Really? You’re not ready.
Too late
the door is open
and you will have to contend
with possibility, and I warn you,
it will not arrive alone
For success is certain
to stir adolescent reaction –
inappropriate entitlement
Oh, you say you’ll keep it simple
but emotions are organic
and the tea is spilling –
complexity a given
So, stop with the excuses
Breathe and pace yourself
This is your moment
Embrace it accordingly.
(Image my own)
New perspective sorely needed
current one rubbing raw
How can I cope with change
when life fields me no support?
The Hangman leers
his upside-down frown
mocking self- pity
I sense a barrage
of platitudes
headed my way.
(Image my own)
Islands define us –
attempts to stave off
a ruthless invader
Heritage dictates
reclusive behaviour
shame driving pain
Finding comfort
in solitude, uncertain
if I’ll ever vacate again.
(Tuesday I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
I lied.
The initial seed of disappointment has fermented,
and in the absence of confrontation, grown roots
written sorrowful chapters
conclusion: unworthiness
Why couldn’t I just have said:
I don’t understand
this makes me unhappy?
Where did I learn that prevarication protects
that I alone am responsible for emotions
that I do not matter?
Decades later
I still cannot uproot the weed
the lie remains.
(Image my own)
Morning melee
with coffee pot –
canister escaped grip
contents scattered
clean up ensued
sharp warnings
to dogs eager
to help –
second round
forgot to empty pot
hot liquid seeping
everywhere –
I’m a tea drinker.
Need I describe more?
Trapped inside
two-dimensional torus
backward spinning
Not even my pulse
emits an echo – would need
a third dimension for that
Am geometrically disfigured,
an illusion, I fear, for human
substance seldom adds up.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own,)
I am gregarious
initiator
risk-taker
eagerly anticipating
the unknown
But the subconscious
alights on old stories
gathers sanctimonious
rumours of unworthiness
spits out shame
and rage
Reveals the truth –
I am vulnerable.
(Facing Truths first appeared here July ’19. This version is edited from original. Art my own.)
House creaks
ferocious
decries starkness
of bare walls
absence of furniture
finality of boxes
stacked and sealed
Sleep eludes me
mind recalling
passages –
his cancer
my fear
twist of fate
that left me housebound
We could not stay here
this place chosen for healing
turned prison
“You’ve been good to us”
I whisper, “Now
you’ll favour someone else”
She grumbles in response
this old house, sharing
my trepidation
of unknowns, change
always precarious
Another groan
and I concur
we grand dams
need extra TLC
but I have faith –
an injection of
new life
will do us both good.
(This is a found poem, excerpted from a post of the same name which appeared on my second blog in July of 2017. Image my own.)
Natural light preferable
to artificial – not the harsh
fullness of noonday sun
but softly filtered rays –
luxurious…
inviting
Love too, should be subdued,
gentle as a zephyr –
not mythical, but yielding…
mindful
not worshipful nor boastful
but comforting…
warm
I am waning light
the mistral wind wafting
no longer a force of nature
but smoke, spiralling
vanishing into non-existence
And yet,
even as shadows spread
I yearn – heart
beating true
not lost,
not forgotten,
but withdrawn…
humbled
passion mellowed
by years of constructing walls –
grit and tar –
scar’s long buried
save the limping gait
of a ghost.
(Even Ghosts Yearn first appeared here in July, 2018. Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 