Even the river bleeds
fiery frigid essence
Earth’s watery voice.
**
It is the river
that calls, waters
flowing through my veins
and I, the banks
steadfast and holding
the razor sharp edges
like liquid steel
erode my earthen postures
challenging…
blessedly challenging…
the hardened places.
(Water: Haiku and Free Verse first appeared here in June of 2018. It is has been edited for this version. Image my own.)
Movement abandons
I grasp for something…
concrete…
…air to breathe
… am fast becoming
…sedimentary
…an object
Need a verb –
transitive –
to drive me –
The wind lifted her
The sun inspired her
The day healed her…
(Image my own)
If I measure progress
by “used-to’s”
illness and age win
I used to play tennis
speed and muscle
ease of ambition
This place, the nexus
of how life has changed,
teaches me appreciation
Frost in my veins
permanent, warmth
of memories aglow.
(Image my own.
Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson)
“I’d like to get you know more,”
he said, pulling up a chair
met with stunned silence
“Truly,” he prodded, “I feel
as if we’ve drifted apart,
and I’ve ignored us.”
I might have said “No kidding”
but hope swelled with his words
and I blurted: “Ask away.”
So he listened,
as he had that first night
when tipsy and enamoured
We’d stumbled home
from the bar, and he
into my bed…and stayed
Seventeen years
three children
and five houses
and now he wanted to know
all about me – my interests
my dreams, my fears
And trout-like, I bit
spilled it all, still believed
in turning points and
riding off together
into the sunset, reunited
by undying love
It all showed up,
twisted of course,
in the court affidavit
material to defeat me
in divorce – discredit
my parenting capabilities
He didn’t succeed, still
wish we’d mingled more
you know – actual dates
before I’d committed
my life to this robotic
man, who never saw me.
(For Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: mingle. Image my own.)
Deep within the Hollow
oaken boughs shadow
a brook – swirling
mystical waters
There dwells a spirit
evokes a knowing –
joy/sorrow –
how life’s run erases
soul’s voice
Fleeting the moment
harsh the return
beware the woods.
(Art my own)
Wary of ruts –
lies I tell myself
sprouting roots,
impending progress.
Yet, without roots
how am I defined?
Does impermanence
not also leave a stain?
The ground shifts
beneath me
and I dance
imperfectly
inventing a rhythm
that defies ruts,
mocks impermanence
and eludes definition.
(Dancing first appeared here in May, 2018. Image my own.)
I was the sun
you the moon
till she came
and somehow
you believed
in the syzygy
of three –
Were we sheep
the earth woman
and I, accepting
shoddy alibis
hearts eclipsed
minds sealed by
lunacy of desire?
(Image my own)
Is it the robin whose morning song so sharp and crisp awakens me in this enchanted place, or the warble of Juncos whose hooded faces delight as they forage between the dried, curled aftermath of a cold Winter, now pushed aside by new life sprouting? The absence of raindrops on tin roof offers promise that the sun might appear today, the buds on the oak trees as anxious as I for the warmth.
I raise the window shades to reveal the lush green of Douglas firs, the walls that divide us from our neighbours: nomads like us in the quest to commune with a simpler way of life. We are metal boxes tucked within green pockets, quiet souls hushed by the grandeur of the forest we currently call home, reticent to disturb the wildlife that also grazes here – squirrel, fox, and rumours of cougar. Occasionally bear. We are skirted on one side by marsh, a lush welcoming for geese and goldeneyes; and on the other by ocean, where seagulls and terns claim driftwood as perches. It is the raven who is master here. Large wings casting shadows, the thrumming call – sometimes belligerent, sometimes a purr – a reminder that this land is theirs, that the totem poles dotting the island are a testament to royalty.
Offshore, seals roam in masses encouraged by the schools of trout and halibut, and soon the salmon run. Orcas gather in semi-circular formation, readying the hunt. Spring is a time of proliferation – abundance after the Winter chill.
Arise, old woman
Nature evokes new rhythm –
Spirit wants to dance.
(Vancouver Island first appeared here April, 2018. It is an early attempt at a haibun. I am linking up to my weekly challenge: trees. Image my own.)
If paper beats rock
I win every time
Never mind steely arms
your mineral disposition
Nor that I tear easily – ink
blotting carefully plotted lines
I wrap myself around you
render you powerless….
….ah, love.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own.)
Alternate realities
parallell linear mindset
Ego-less forays into
magical mysteries –
answers secondary
Float in ecstatic
ethereal landscapes
kaleidoscopic hues
Behold irrationality
a mad whirlwind of oneness
convening in momentary flash
The portal’s open
step aboard –
ensure your ticket
is round trip.
(For Eugi’s Weekly prompt: magic.
This is a rewrite of a poem formerly titled: Meet You At The Station.
Art my own.)
One Woman's Quest 