I am Earth
Giver of life
aligned with elements
both protect and ravage
all bear scars
this is the process
I am Mother
womb and tomb
be thankful.
(Tuesdays, I borrow a poem from my Twitter account @Vjknutson. Photo from personal collection.)
I am Earth
Giver of life
aligned with elements
both protect and ravage
all bear scars
this is the process
I am Mother
womb and tomb
be thankful.
(Tuesdays, I borrow a poem from my Twitter account @Vjknutson. Photo from personal collection.)
Flagrant this disregard,
this blatant indifference
I have come before you
broken and desperate
and been received with
loving compassion, openness.
“It was not I who abandoned you” –
the words still echo in my heart.
In shame, I hang head, vow
to prepare my spiritual bowl
to resurrect a prayerful practice
to know once again the light,
the life that fulfills when
self is offered up as instrument.
(Ragtag community has offered the word “flagrant” as prompt today. I have been carrying around scraps of ideas for Reena’s Exploration challenge – featured image. This poem emerged. I do not consider myself affiliated with a specific religious body, but I do consider myself a woman of deep spiritual faith.)
Memories shift, haze
like grains of sand dispersing –
sentiments heart set.
(For RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: haze/sand. Image from personal collection.)
Novice, a word that negates
experience, knowledge, merit –
capability under suspicion.
I novice myself frequently,
as if vulnerability is a sideline
and humility commands denigration.
A tired and weary state –
yes, this is me, new and willing
to learn, but I am not novice.
So before you judge, adjust
your professional spectacles,
snub my potential, hear this:
Value is immeasurable –
unique contributions
enhance collective offerings.
(Reena’s Exploration challenge this week is based on “The Story of An Hour” which challenges us to examine our life and limitations. I dream over and over again that I have returned to teaching only to find that the years I have put in have been negated by my absence and I have to begin again. Starting over is not a new theme in my life, but my attitude about is finally changing, as represented in the poem. Image from personal collection.)
Paint, we vowed,
would negate the haunting,
make the house our own –
selected with care:
sage green and dust of pink –
sanded and scraped,
pulled back baseboards…
same colours there –
ghosts had penetrated
our psyches.
Chill and fog
cloud my senses –
effective distraction
loneliness holds no sway.
Others speed past,
while I advance,
slow, steady –
drawn by an unknown
Presence, who may
or may not receive me well
at this road’s end
I cannot tell.
Pray indifference
does not await me –
have suffered enough
no stomach for more.
Must stop a moment
and rest…darkness
brings its own brand
of cold… I am weary.
Tomorrow,
I’ll begin anew,
perhaps not so alone,
But loved ones
are preoccupied
others long gone
So the task remains
mine singularly
to further this journey
With faith to carry me
and a prayer for clear
passage to see me through.
(Image from personal collection.)
Armed with plans
and guidelines, we
ready for life’s climb,
unaware that childhood,
untamed and intact,
takes the lead.
Bent –
life’s tribulations weighty
do not confuse this folding
with weakness, I am
worn –
tested resilience
nourishes creativity
I am muse rich,
alive –
alone my story
an illustration,
my life art.
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)
Absence fills the silence
with shadowy wings
becomes a raven
sharp-taloned,
razor-beaked
I cower
loss too
immense
for comprehension
would lay my body down
be consumed, but for
the children’e eyes pinning me
their woeful gazes,
begging to be uplifted
I am abandoned
and not
a flicker
called to be
beacon.
(Art from personal collection)