Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Feels so clinical
this measuring
of distance
Neighbours congregate
camaraderie a pull
I hide behind glass
record temperature
blood pressure
Underlying conditions
condemn closeness
Laughter of mask-less
trickles through panes
I pray for strength
clarity of purpose
refrain from joining in.
(For Eugi’s Weekly prompt: neighbour)
Inessential am I
ghost of a woman
burden avoidance
Imperfect am I
each flaw a step
towards deepening blue
And yet, I exist
purpose unknown
shadow dancing.
(Image: Self-portrait)
In isolation, I am rock
solid, fearless, present
Memories moon-bows
miracle of love, whispers
of what might have been
Will not let current fear
shape me; I am tethered
to faith, gently gliding
(Submitted for Eugi’s Causerie Weekly prompt: mighty. Image my own.)
I weave words
with alacrity –
on a mission
Foreign forces
infiltrate brain
cells scrambling
Must write
till ability wanes
thoughts hang
Disconnected
brushed away
like cobwebs
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Buried alive
by illness’ onset
only hope for escape
tunnel whose guilt-lined
walls oozed mucous
of neglect, sorrow
so raw, shredded
faith – no light
just a dull
pulse
screaming –
I am alive.
(Chronic illness is a game changer. No amount of ambition can turn the tide. One is left to face the onslaught of that which has been oppressed or skipped over. I wrote this poem early in my journey with ME. Amazingly, no matter what, spirit still clings to life. Image from personal collection.)
Predawn
Poseidon rises
unfurls a blanket
fog, burying shore and sky
I awaken in a cloud,
set adrift
before feet
touch floor –
dream
within
a dream.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Odd, this gift of solitude. Perched canal side, I affirm my connection to the earth, and offer thanks. Late afternoon sun casts a glow on the foliage across the way, lighting up the mirror-still water. Vibrant reflections.
Two winters ago, I fought to breathe as temperatures fell below zero. Impassible walkways trapped me indoors. Depression fought for possession. Hope struggles in imposed isolation.
“There are no absolutes in life,” a professor once told me, and I think of that now –
how just when it feels as if one sentence has been handed down, sealed, an opening appears. I am fortunate, savour the moment.
Heron’s watchful stride
invites reflection, respect –
Winter’s solitude.
(Rapture first appeared here February 2019. I offer an edited version here.
Disability covets isolation –
this stripped-back, box-like state.
Rustic serenity, with room
to breathe would be preferable
but old memories creep in, and
lack of self-worth leaves the door open
phantoms of former torments
unwanted visitors, shadowy
invaders target loneliness,
misconstrue lack of health
for neediness, prey on weak –
hearted, presume incapability.
I am unwell, not unwanted, effort
to protest ignored, I grow wary of
fellow travellers, am vandalized by
nightly attacks, attempt to reach out
aim for strength, logic, clarity,
dial-up past abuse instead, cannot
fathom the purpose of unsolicited
persecution, grasping at isolation.
(Isolation’s Hold was first written in June of 2017. I am resubmitting it here for Reena’s Exploration challenge: isolation. Seems to me is also reflective of the times. Image from personal collection.)
These words illusion
portray vibrancy of life
belie the mundane
wicked exhaustion my truth
drudgery daily routine.
(For Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Challenge: wicked/ mundane; and BrewNSpew’s prompt: illusion. Forgive me for indulging in a moment of self-pity. Post celebration crash normal. Image from personal collection.)
Unnerved by invitations –
isolation equates with security –
fear the onslaught of questions,
the unleashing of a torrent –
emotions flooding, crashing
through this gated illusion –
best to withdraw.
Withdraw my best
when gated by illusion
crashing, emotions flood –
need to tame this torrent
question the onslaught, brave
insecurity, negate isolation
embrace the invitations.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from my Twitter poems. Follow me @Vjknutson. The first stanza is the original poem. I left it here, then unsatisfied, decided to turn it upside down and create a new outcome. . Image from personal collection.)
