life – Page 8 – One Woman's Quest

Premonition

A mother wakes, moments
before her baby’s cry, or
reaches with loving arms
just as her toddler stumbles

Call it instinct, or premonition

A sister calls in timely fashion,
was feeling a little concerned,
or arrives with tea just when
a break is exactly what’s needed

Call it instinct, or premontion

A daughter rushes to
her mother’s side, senses
the unanswered calls
are more than busyness

Call it instinct, or premonition

Then, why, when he cheated –
flaunted his courtships
with self-righteous bravado –
did I miss all the signs?

Denial negates instinct,
negates premonition.

(Premonition first appeared here February, 2018. Image my own)

Horizon

Life stretches out before us
and all I see is construction –
so many unknowns ahead

Search the horizon
for reassurance
that the road is worthy –
destination in view

In truth,
no matter our choices,
it is peace we seek –
not found beyond,
but within.

(Image my own)

Monochrome

Days like this –
life without spin –
one emotion
one conflict
one moment
colouring response
as if singularity
is all we can bear –

(Photo mine)

Mediation

“Just like your father!”
Words that chill me
to my core, bile
and self-loathing
follow

I abhor ego –
its need
its pandering
its petulance

Would skin
and exile
the beast
but, alas

Self absent
interface
cannot deal with
what remains

So I wrestle
with the father bits
and bolster the tried –
ego negotiation

(Image my own)

Money

Daddy yelled
and Mommy cried
and new dresses appeared

A pattern
my young heart
vowed to break

Chose a man,
reticent in nature,
pursued a career

Then babies came
and I stayed home
and he withheld cash

Pendulum swings
left to right – money
holds the key to power

(Money first appeared here January, 2019. Image my own)

Eagle and Crow

Eagle arrives
and I am at once
small, insignificant

Breath held
I am stillness
basking in majesty

Till ubiquitous crow
calls his cronies,
chases eagle off

Everything gains perspective.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)

Eight of Cups

The eight of cups –
an octopus balancing
multi-tasks; I juggle
fog, attempt
to calibrate logistics
but instincts
are dull-edged,
my tentacles lacking
suction – will slither
back into hiding.

(Tuesday, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Maybe

Maybe I just needed a new perspective –
like the famed Hanged Man of tarot –
committed to some deep, internal need,
I willed a horizontal shift; landed with intent.

Maybe it is not my legs that are disabled,
but a soul longing to escape the continual
discord of perpetual motion, a never-ending
to-do list of the success-driven persona.

Maybe there is a greater purpose for being
that is not encompassed by outer drive –
a mysterious meaning that is revealed only
in the quiet stillness in which I now dwell.

Maybe I have been called to a personal
pilgrimage – a Camino of sorts – a crusade
of spirit designed to cleanse and enlighten –
the journey is certainly arduous enough.

Maybe it is through acceptance, finally
having released a need to control, move,
achieve, accomplish that I am able to
embrace the true lessons of suffering.

Maybe this cocooning is an act of Grace
demanding surrender before the actual
transformation occurs, and I will emerge,
legless or not, winged and ready to soar.

Maybe, just maybe, this stripped down,
barren existence is not a penance for
shameful living, but a desert crossing,
offering re-alignment: hard-fought peace.

(Maybe first appeared here Feb. 2017. Image my own)

Staging

To orchestrate
harmony of the whole
banish dysphoric memories

Salvage unraveled bits,
extinguish sulphur stench
of failed flames

The show is underway:
banish past to backstage,
future is in the audience.

(Image my own)

Making of a Woman

I know that abyss –
swallowed up as I was
punch-drunk on darkness

Bled as I emerged,
each reach a scrape –
there was release too

Revived now, I honour
that passage, recognize
the making of a woman.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknuton. Image my own.)