Age’s Rant

What if days were berries
growing bright, whose sumptuous
juices blossomed only in Summer?

How sad it would be –
such limitations, disrespectful
of the creator to surmise
an inevitability of dormancy –

I will not believe it!
Our days are like seasons –
motivations and movement
fluctuating, weaving into
a tapestry of greater glory

There is no single season
of bloom – even berries resurrect.
 

Foundational Flaws

Proficient at constructing frames,
I plaster over old mistakes,
convinced that survival equates
with marble – am I not a living
example of metamorphosis?

Yet, my doorways lack locks
and there are intruders in
the basement – confidence
dissipates as rage heightens –
optimism evanescent.

(Penned for the prompts of Ragtag Community – marble; Fandango – plaster; and Manic Mondays Three Way Prompt – evanescent.)

Closed Off

I search for sustenance
with indifference –
have difficulty navigating
the aisles of available options.

Divorced from former dreams,
I hunger for renewed inspiration,
encounter only loss and confusion.

Goddess advises, and I,
ear-closed irritated,
hear only assertions
of inadequacy.

I exit possibility,
have lost the vessel
that once propelled me.

(Linking up to Reena’s Exploration Challenge #70)

End of Day

Sun blazes before it falls,
slashes the day’s sky –
blue guarding against blaze.

Golden grasses absorb
the fire, brazen in their
clay-baked fields.

Branches blacken –
forlorn bristles –
stark against light.

I stand on the precipice,
day’s end beckoning,
taunting, my spirit alive

Will blaze before it falls,
lashing against the heavens
who dare to threaten darkness.

 

Darn Finances

Money –
that vital ingredient –
threatens to rebuke us,
these haphazard habits
equating to negligence.

Investments –
retirement’s foundation –
falter, then plunge,
a mini crisis hitting
too close to home.

Change –
prodded by re-evaluation –
commands control,
scoffs at ideal’s naiveté,
imperfection highlighted.

(Written for dVerse’s quadrille night, hosted by Whimsygizmo, whose prompt is change.  All submitting to Ragtag Community’s, vital; Fandago’s, rebuke; and Manic Mondays 3 Way prompt, imperfection.)

January’s Frost

As Mother counts her last days, and I open my heart to forgiveness, a daughter calls, reaming me out for wrong-doings – January is not cold enough to freeze tempers – family coals burn and shatter, and all we can pray for is metamorphosis.  Soon, I will return to warmer temperatures, attempting to elude this frigid climate, save the scorching for the sun.

Hearts have seasons too –
I lumber through chilled air,

crave a touch of warmth.

(A haibun for dVerse, hosted by Kim tonight.  I am also submitting this for Ragtag Community’s lumber, Fandango’s metamorphosis, and Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt, shattered.)