Sun blazes before it falls,
slashes the day’s sky –
blue guarding against blaze.
Golden grasses absorb
the fire, brazen in their
clay-baked fields.
Branches blacken –
forlorn bristles –
stark against light.
I stand on the precipice,
day’s end beckoning,
taunting, my spirit alive
Will blaze before it falls,
lashing against the heavens
who dare to threaten darkness.
Downy blankets of white softly settle,
Nature gratefully submitting to slumber
as the Earth bids a seasonal adieu.
Inside, my body craving hibernation,
curls into layered bedding, draws shades
against the snowy scene, wills respite.
My soul, a cat, lulled by the miracle
stretches wide paws, arches, ready
to discover some mystic wilderness.
She is primordial, a snow leopard,
camouflaged, elusive, a silent stalker
instinctively hungry for nourishment.
Weakened, I yield, certain she will prey
on this near lifeless flesh, leaving me
bloodless, hide-less: a mere carcass.
Then I shall lay down in the frigid warmth
of winter’s illusion and surrender rotting
self to the Earth’s core; pray for rebirth.
(Soul Stalker first appeared here in January of 2016. I am submitting it for dVerse’s prompt: Confessional poetry, hosted by HA.)
Money –
that vital ingredient –
threatens to rebuke us,
these haphazard habits
equating to negligence.
Investments –
retirement’s foundation –
falter, then plunge,
a mini crisis hitting
too close to home.
Change –
prodded by re-evaluation –
commands control,
scoffs at ideal’s naiveté,
imperfection highlighted.
(Written for dVerse’s quadrille night, hosted by Whimsygizmo, whose prompt is change. All submitting to Ragtag Community’s, vital; Fandago’s, rebuke; and Manic Mondays 3 Way prompt, imperfection.)
We wait at the station, Mother and I,
one final stop for her – painless she prays;
I linger at bedside – prolonged goodbye –
memories and regrets filling our days.
“We live too long,” she wearily proclaims,
“Why must suffering linger till the end?”
I plea and bargain, call angelic names,
yet the will to survive refuses to bend.
The urgency builds as my time dwindles;
must I leave her in this compromised state?
She rallies and stands on wobbly spindles
dismisses fears – has accepted her fate.
Some destinations are clearly defined –
death is a train whose schedule’s unkind.
(Penned for dVerse’s poetry forms – the sonnet.)
Words encased,
mysteries bound –
their secrets unlock
neon possibilities –
light exploding,
neurons swirling
no containing
the magic unleashed
when pages turn.
(For Willow Poetry’s What Do You See? challenge. Photo supplied by Hélène Vaillant.)
If I appear to function,
it is testament to adaptability –
I am socially awkward,
with a side of dreamer –
wandering, spinning,
need someone to bring me back –
not adverse to fairytale kisses
or happily-ever-afters –
please, somebody beam me up,
set me down where life is
a festival – music, costumes,
the joyous sensation of belonging.
Dove sings of morning,
dew gathers on grass, scents air –
invites wakening.
(Written for Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge. Photo from personal collection.)
Imperceptibly
they disappear
no ghostly trace
I am a doorway –
open, transparent,
absorbing
teleporting
extinguishing
souls, spirited away
Eden-bound
no return.
Framed perspectives –
I see shelter, a friend
whose branches shield;
you see obstruction,
prefer sunshine to shade –
our differences, like windows,
portioned previews
of a life segmented.
(My weekly challenge this week is to consider the symbolism of windows. Won’t you join us?)
As Mother counts her last days, and I open my heart to forgiveness, a daughter calls, reaming me out for wrong-doings – January is not cold enough to freeze tempers – family coals burn and shatter, and all we can pray for is metamorphosis. Soon, I will return to warmer temperatures, attempting to elude this frigid climate, save the scorching for the sun.
Hearts have seasons too –
I lumber through chilled air,
crave a touch of warmth.
(A haibun for dVerse, hosted by Kim tonight. I am also submitting this for Ragtag Community’s lumber, Fandango’s metamorphosis, and Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt, shattered.)
One Woman's Quest 