I navigate sharp twists,
confront rough trails,
steep slopes, swoon
at dizzying heights,
feel my frailty –
this path is for rugged,
mountain-born,
those accustomed
to the sheer immutable
force of  rock –
and yet, my lens
tells a different tale –
speaks of shadows
shifting, witnesses
mutations of colour
describes a giant
whose facade reflects
the day’s passing light,
demonstrates compassion
in earth’s stillness.
How do we recognize truth
in what is reflected back to us
especially when intrinsic knowing
has been domesticated out of us –
servility replacing preservation?
We are drawn by an insatiable
thirst to drink from the well
of human connections, require
acknowledgment, appreciation,
cannot bear to conceive of a life
of loneliness – we are social,
travel in packs, affectionate
souls conditioned to co-habitate,
habits instructing outcomes –
would be lost without mirrors.
A dear soul slipped from life’s grasp this week, leaving a hole in many hearts. Diana’s words, here, say so much more than I could have, still raw with grief.
so frail now
your fingertips in mine
supported gently
parchment paper skin
venous rivers slow, tepid within
..
as the sand slowly sifts
i squeeze
i try to halt the final grains, yet
this maudlin hourglass only drains
to somber clock tick
sentry gated soldiered seconds fall
the war is over
all is lost
that is all
..
a last dawn
this last day
as curtains part
your light slips away
I am losing ground,
disinterest piling up,
suffocating – I moan
childish communication
enraged, and humiliated,
hurt; my opinion more
impulse than acceptable
relatives bitch, correct,
dethrone me – an outsider
sidling in, like a politician
mingling, lingering, attacked
why am I so dependent
on this oddball interaction?
celebration is just a formality
and my enthusiasm misplaced
but at least, I am present.
Attending awards ceremonies
calls for muzzled comportment,
fail to appreciate the adulation
of one over many, tend to believe
these things are tainted, overblown
but this is just the ramblings of
a self-defacing personality, opinions
unacceptable in most circles, and
certainly amongst those whose scoff
at such remarks, view me as common
those who sniff at the asses of the noted
and noteworthy, as if proximity equates
with greatness, ignoring the fact that
success is achieved through hard work
and cooperation, trampling the ‘littles’
in their scramble for accolades –
it’s disparaging – am I alone in feeling
as if I’m watching an out of control
train, headed for derailment, an event
sure to elicit fame – at such a cost?
(The Daily Post prompt is tend. ))
Teach the children to comply,
to learn by rote, to master
the art of performance
encourage them to control
the chatter, their fidgets
behave like little adults
so as adults they may
struggle for authenticity
confuse society with audience
forgo instincts for crowd
pleasing responses – wonder
at the innocence of children.
It’s all about investment, really
life, I mean – make a deposit,
withdraw – hope that in the end
the gain is worth more than
the cost – a healthy balance.
Have been running deficits,
too focused on serving others,
practicing the art of giveaways –
incentives to capture attention
(affection too, if I’m honest.)
I’m every marketer’s dream –
impulsive, in the moment,
disbelieve that time is money –
illness having dumped time
on my lap in massive dollops
I’d say energy equates with
income, begets funds – all
redundant now, overdrawn
as I am, no safety deposit
securing balanced health.
We are guardians,
caregivers charged
with ensuring a future
innocence cradled
in our arms, hope,
like an infant, trusting
our choices, embracing
our decisions; let us fill
our hearts with promise
set our minds to forging
a path worthy of the lives,
not yet weaned, that follow.
Have opted for a minimalist existence –
efficiency dependent on accessibility –
still suffering the effects of disease, age.
Used to dwell in the sarcasm of fixed roots,
keep-up-with-the-status-quo, thought that
swapping furniture equated with renewal
Now the only fitting-in we do relates to
rig size and whether or not the next stop
on the road can accommodate our home
Have sold off the real estate, motivated
by simplicity; seek vistas that restore
our souls, preferably with a water view.
We are comfortable marrieds, adapting
new perspectives, easing out of the shell –
shock of former agendas, rat-race lives.
Murmurs from the past –
tied to a former identity –
question my social absence
I have divorced that life,
that self, and yet, memories
dangle, challenge my validity
Once facilitator, now I shy away
hidden behind the curtain of illness
could offer suggestions for gathering
have a repertoire of ideas, stashed,
no doubt out-dated – so much of life
having surpassed me, even old selves.
(Photo from private collection)
One Woman's Quest 