These hovering lows
how does one escape the pull?
Defensiveness a useless tool
I cannot read intentions
I self-animate
a contrived endeavour
Shine reduced
I am humbled
off colour
Grief, on repeat
I want to disappear
like Peter Pan
childlike, armed
with illustrious fantasies
Could this be metamorphosis –
A paralytic calm
a spell-binding ponder
cracking righteousness
till clarity fades the gray
Oh, how I pray it is
the light of love
chiseling a new path
(Inked sketch my own)
Fragmented
as this soul may be
fear not this disarray –
I flow with a rhythm –
emphatic beats tuned
to love’s call.
(Art mine)
That day we strolled riverside
Wild poppies in full bloom
guiding us
The reassurance you needed
stuck on my tongue –
age and language separating us
We walked in silence –
a regret I carry
Now the poppies remind me
that you were less than naive
that life had wounded you
and that what I had to offer
was so much more than
a voiceless presence
But I was afraid too
And I let you go
My heart bleeds
the colour of poppies
My breath catching
every time I remember
That day
when the river guided us
and the poppies bloomed
and I failed to listen.
(Dedicated to my dear Alina, who had to be brave at a vulnerable time, and whom I miss dearly. Image my own.)
Sloth-like she shuffles
each stride an argument
against unwilling muscles,
ignores spasms, lips pursed
in concentration, advances
Cockeyed he totters,
step…hop…step, poker-hot
stabs punctuating his effort
moves swiftly as if to out run
pain, face set in determination
They are out of sync, oddball
awkward sightseers, obstacles
for the fast-moving able-bodies
that whir past unable to fathom
motivation in crooked spines.
The race here is against time,
propelled by insatiable thirst,
they forage for snippets worthy
of hoarding, squirrels readying
for winter’s harsh call, days
when minds still alert will hunger
despite bodies inert, they will
dine on memory, boast about
the daring, reminisce fondly
over adventures hard won.
(A portrait of aging, first published in 2017. Image my own)
Can we acknowledge the richness of our resources:
that which sustains and endures? Always looking for the next shiny thing,
craving the exotic, the surprising… pushing purpose, movement… toward what? Telling ourselves we want lifelong commitment, and then moving on… emotions depleted. How do we define standards, intuit and reassemble a frame, counsel a collective, when expectations, creeping and woven into consciousness, resemble oppression? Hope -as sold by patriarchal mindsets, striving to mutilate common sense – is useless to revive when society teaches us to blindly follow the unintelligible…
Full moon a warning –
reverence for mystery
not conspiracy
Society’s light
waning on the back of lies-
hopelessness surreal
Hate is born from fear
disinformation a tool –
We are being played.
Step back! Cautions moon
observe under a new light –
reconnect with love.
(This poem, derived from a dream, started as a haibun – prose followed by a haiku – but the haiku multiplied. Guess we will call it a variation on a haibun. Image my own.)
Yearning for renewal
we wrestle dragons –
unsuspected passages,
like time machines
scattering ticket stubs
We distract
seek nourishment
percolate meaning
Nostalgic nuances
succumb to
jagged memories –
Cubism in motion.
(Art mine)
Gathered up all the love
I’d previously rejected
pulled it to me
like a well-worn cloak
Imagined the comfort
such a vibration would bring
oblivion amounting to bliss
But love –
my interpretation of it –
does not nullify pain
And I writhed in its intensity
pain physically ingrained
burdened by memories
How can this be? I cried
In darkness I turned to love
projected nirvana
uncovered such an ache
Rejection, I surmise
allots protection
Love reveals
source of suffering
depth of denial
neglect of self
I’ve conjured only what-ifs
and could-have-beens
deluded attempts at restoration
Love does not dwell
in fantastical places
but here, in the moment,
when wide-eyed, I embrace
what is, walls down
vulnerability inviting compassion.
(Art mine)
Creativity partners more with chaos than clarity
It craves colour, light, darkness
movement not supported by 2 dimensions
I delude myself into thinking that words,
cleverly positioned, can decipher the compulsion
fail to understand that soul, unchained, has no words
It is the free-flowing expression of music, dance
It follows the murmuration of birds, and
crawls along the earth, serpent-like
I seek the intimacy of knowing other –
raw and unblemished – but how can this be?
We are form emerging from mystery
That I should find you, Love,
there amid the noise of awakening
then I am more than blessed
Your mind reaches for the definable
while I drowsily bask in sensations
our coming together never akin to wholeness
Yet explosive in its imperfection
Oh, if we could see the artistry
 arising from two souls seeking unity
Comprehend that we are the instrument
the vessel through which creativity speaks
a magnificent tribute to Life’s source.
(Art is a combination of my own effort and AI.)
How many winter walks
ended with burrs matted
in curly Wheaton hair?
How you wriggled
to escape the grooming;
how we laughed at
jokester antics?
Your spirit still fills
the empty spaces
I hear the jingle
of your collar, catch
a whiff of terrier fluff
Pull on an invisible leash
whenever I encounter burrs.
(For our former, cherished companion, whose memory still lingers. Image mine)
Pockets of light
illuminate the shore –
day submitting to dark
I trace the lines
of our passage,
remembering
How winds and tides
shaped us, how carelessly
we wasted time…
Danced around
our solitudes
imitating intimacy
(Once upon a time I wrote poetry for Twitter. This is one. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 