Heart, craving expression
seeks the aid of paper –
A message with pizzaz
a testament to love
But my pen chokes
on the word itself
refuses the pronouncement
soul balking at the possibility
I toss the note…
…maybe next time.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from my Twitter account @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
She amassed children while
he pursued accolades
Family photos display
northern shorelines
tanned faces, white-toothed grins
parents not represented
Lost her childhood
at the bottom of a ravine
laid beaten and shattered
no one came to rescue her.
Guess that’s what drew her
the his light; money, she hoped
would not abandon her.
But muck tracks the same
and children need feeding
and absent a co-parent
she sleeps most days.
Offspring learn independence
a product of adults’ disarray
outlasting the fickleness of fame.
(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge: prompt is the last line of the poem. Image my own.)
Situational –
term used to describe
this current state –
illness a thief
perpetuates the crime –
loss cavernous
depression real
and still,
Spirit roars.
Cynical of authority –
a dubious task force –
Democracy’s fairytale
under siege
Stalking wealth
expending the vulnerable
This class of clowns
is COVID revealed.
(Image mine.)
Images stir beneath the surface
butt up against unyielding skin
doubts crust interior motives
I am restless, tormented
pray for an opening
a release…
…that creativity
will prevail, break
through stagnation.
(Tuesdays I borrow from my Twitter account: @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Death invites me to dance
extends crooked hand
for crooked hand
takes the gentlemen’s lead
I know his moves –
have watched a time or two
even partnered a few
long, slow waltzes
But I prefer to tango
like the spice and thrill
of life’s lively step
bid him, politely, to move on.
(For Reena’s Exploration challenge: Antidotes to Fear of Death. Also linking up to Eugi’s Causerie Weekly prompt: dancing. Image my own)
Not yet double digits when the sting
of rejection punctured my ego –
“We can’t play with you,” peers
gloated; “our mothers said.”
What did I know of reasons
or replies, just felt a part of me die.
Still trying to win approval,
heal my nine-year-old heart.
Legends make
and legends break
and some are clouds
for truth…
We stalk fame
Wear blinders
Deny greed
Worship lust
Somber propositions
streaked with blood
outsmart watchful eyes
Run to save the children
those vulnerable ones
wounds still tender
No matter how guarded
no matter how impenetrable the walls
expose the beast, fight the devil
Let truth define the legend.
(Written for all those women, men, and children exploited by the famous and powerful. Linking up with Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt: legend.)
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.)
He had lost everything of value to him. There was an empty canvas on the easel, his colors and tools. What would he paint? *
Eyes reddened from tears
he bears his soul, like a wolf
howls into the emptiness
No response
Life shrinks at the sight of him
wounded creatures fearing
his motivations, advances
Entrapped
Escape alludes – walls
structures of his fear
he is his own obstacle
Alone
He will find his bearing
claw his way through faithlessness
Solitude, after all, an ally to his breed.
(For Reena’s Exploration challenge: *quotation captioned. Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 