Flowers awaken
imagination – magic
paints the garden bed.
(Image my own)
Category: poetry
Sky River (tanka)
River in the sky
exudes an eerie glimmer
cloud forms orchestrate
haunting melody – music
eliciting soulful tears.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Ocean-gazing
Blue expanding
crisp white
of tiny sails –
horizon
The lull is gentle
lucidity swelling
serenity present
How safe it is
to imagine limitlessness
when I am grounded
breast to railing
anchored ashore.
(Image my own)
Tugging
Is it selfish
this chosen solitude?
How I treasure silence,
stillness baiting my muse
And is it my calm
that attracts chaos?
The sorrow of others
landing on my doorstep
What if I rejected pleas,
locked out the troubles?
How long can I sustain
peace until need answers?
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Discord
Does illness have a voice,
and if so; is it melancholy,
or dark and dank, divulging
deepest despair, or revealing
a vileness of nature?
Discord creeps along my veins,
disrupts muscles, systems failing
under the oppression –
“Stay strong,” friends counsel,
cannot hear the gathering storm,
feel the heaviness cloaking me.
I am not myself, but then;
who am I? Is disease a mutation
of the original sin – punishment
for fatal sins, or redemption
wrapped as trial – the whispers
gain clarity – I am faltering…
(Discord originally appeared here May, 2019. Image my own. Living with chronic, often debilitating disease, is an ongoing challenge. There is no cure, no end in sight, and yet, we must go on. This is for my fellow warriors, wondering, some days, what it is all about.)
Save Us
Discharge the gun –
protection a vessel
through which our depths
are undefined…adrift
Fear is a burrower
wears a false crown
births loss
trusts danger
Hearts beg,
amid this trigger-readiness
for a guardian – unafraid
to court this meaningless
Futility unchecked –
to study productive options
unimaginable in the current
state of chaos on repeat.
(Art my own)
I Am Willow
These bones, they say
will finish me – too brittle
to withstand the race
But I am Willow
recollection wispy
my dance defiant
Porous as a sea sponge
soaking up each day
mettle despite the rattle
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Whose Earth Is This?
Whose Earth is this?
ask the trees reaching
to kiss mountainous sky.
Who cares for her?
ask the creatures all,
grateful for her bounty.
Machines rumble
forests fall – a stand
for progress answers none.
(Image my own. Poem first appeared here May of 2021)
Climbing Out
Bottomed out
sanity failing
nerves MIA
mind akimbo
Ladder building
walls of abyss
lack footholds
airless desperation
Rung one: faith
believe in God
believing in me
climbing blindfolded
Rung two: children
a reason for living
grasping strength
carving a path
Rung three: writing
ink bleeding pain
expunging futility
clawing for purpose
Rung four: friends
holding space
remembering self
blotted forgotten
Setting goals –
minimize focus
count progress
millimetre milestones
Surviving:
knuckles scraped
ego bruised
perspective altered
Sullen
Sinister motivations
thoughts cascade
emotional waterfall
Hope plants herself
on the banks of this torrent
like succulents, sturdy
I will ground myself
on solid shore – revive
this water-downed spirit
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 