Category: ME/ CFS

Snakes at My Door

A preacher dominates
six o’clock news
megaphone voice
commanding protest
mask-less hordes roar

A young repairman
offs his mask with distaste
claims it’s all a hoax,
the cure is withheld
a ploy to control –
read it on the internet.

A friend whose wisdom
and words have inspired
confesses she’ll not accept
vaccination, as her life
is in God’s hands.

And from behind a curtain
of despair, I observe
as words, like snakes
gather on my front step
nest in a writhing menace

The virus’ venom
a poison I’m not sure
I can defeat

And what am I to do
when abstinence from public life
makes me conveniently invisible

and fear that if I speak up
will reveal a truth I cannot bear
that the devout, the young, the compassionate
care not a wink for the likes of me.

Solitude (3)

Solitude.
I dream of
panoramic
silence –
breathtaking
boundless
sanctity.

Solitude.
Wrapped in separateness
cardboard walls fallen
curling corners of instability –
no refuge in stillness.

Solitude.
Smothering starkness
madness reverberating
canyons of aloneness
overbearing.

Solitude.
Persevere
regale moments
feathered encounters
faces on screens
tenderness
in voices.

Solitude.
Grace finds me
mercy lifts soul
possibility
opens the door
panoramic.

(This is a rewrite of an older poem, last appearing here in August, 2018. I submit it for Reena’s Exploration challenge #163. Please visit her post for a most inspiring video. Art my own.)

Ride Along With Me (2)

Passenger, am I
backseat traveller
input unsolicited

I ride along.

Passenger, am I
view limited
direction speculative

I am not driving.

Driver is motivated
self-assured
I relax…until
temptation boards

Wait a minute; who invited temptation?

Driver is distracted
ego taking the wheel
Who’s paying attention?

I am not alone.

Lackadaisical dropout
sits with me – mooch
and weekend boozer

How did he get here?

Vehicle is outdated,
I warn, not a lot of room
ride at your own risk

They don’t make them like this anymore.

Crazy sister is here too
or maybe it’s me, ’cause I swear
I saw the ghost of another

It’s a good thing I’m not driving.

Darkness falling and out of gas
we stop and neon lights blare
Make a break for it!

Or… I could find a new driver.

Maybe put God at the wheel.
Would have to pay attention.
Oust the adulteress and sloth.

Be on my best behaviour.

Turn my vehicle into a golden chariot
powered by horses with wings of white
fly above all the obstacles

Headed for the Promised Land.

All fantasy, of course
I’m a backseat passenger
until vitality is restored

Then I’ll park this old model

And get a new one with GPS.

(Ride along with me first appeared her November 2014. This version is edited. Image my own.)

I Wave, Maintain Distance

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)

Survivor Instinct

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.)