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)
This ache,
this searching
how rawly
I feel your absence
Selfishly ignoring
your heart
reaching out
trying to connect
a lifetime of circling
without closing the gap
Ironic
illusion
of distance
Positioned scapegoat
remind me why? This exile
arid, confusing –
did not create the chaos;
merely tried to rescue you…
(Tuesday, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Do not apologize –
the fault lies not with you
Love, while lauded for its cures,
is not always compensation
for a life of turmoil –
I know you loved her
Watched as you let your dreams slide
heart wringing with your own sorrow
There was just something about her
men lined up to grasp… to make her
What? Theirs? Happy?
It was not to be
She barely possessed herself..
Even in death, I reach for her
try to define the ruse,
but her essence is elusive
No, you are not at fault…
for she was never really there.
(Mirage first appeared April, 2021. Image mine)
Melancoly drags –
one young lovelorn foot stuck in
regret’s muddy path –
ignores what is near, mistakes
what if for what is. Tragic.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter. Image my own)
Sister was a hurricane –
destruction her path
Tried to calm, encourage
but her core was damaged
Try to reach her now,
across death’s abyss
understand before
her legacy swallows me.
Snapdragons transport me
back to Father’s gardens –
the pleasure of pinching
delicate floral lips
Forbidden, was I
tiny feet banished from
tiers of ordered colours –
how he worshipped those rows
Hours spent on knees,
as if in prayer… attention
lavished on nurturing growth
while I shrivelled on sidelines
Longed to dig beside him,
sully my hands and share
his passion, ignorant of
an inner drive to weed
Felt only walls of separation
the coldness of perfection,
so in my wilful way,
I rebelled against taboos
On tiptoe, stepped between
the bobbing arrangements
marred the well-tended soil
and pinched the snapdragons.
(Snapdragons first appeared here in March, 2018. Edited for this edition. Art my own)
Division, the determining factor
in their relationship –
who can understand
the dynamics of blood ties?
Cracked images suggest
a camaraderie, at least
once upon a time, and who
recalls the cause of the rift?
Fixated on the anger
distance a monument
to the breach, till one dies
and the absence is cemented
(Image my own)
Even in togetherness there is distance.
I am alone.
A central figure, distracted,
aiming for contact –
unable to eviscerate control –
repeatedly producing a singular confusion.
Define success
Is it the one on the top,
the know-it-all,
or are these the mechanisms
of estrangement?
I am unable to discern-
stability never more than a dalliance.
The pavement ahead whispers
promises of a sense of belonging…
Can I tolerate the quest?
Unfulfilled, I am protective
fear off-shoots of depression,
shield tender inner places…
Bring on change, there are others
watching, looking to me
as an example.
I can strive
on their behalf
Never alone.
Always distances to cross.
(Distance first appeared here February, 2017. Image my own)
We wait at the station, Mother and I,
one final stop for her – painless she prays;
I busied 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.
(The Last Train first appeared January 2019. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 