In essence, you are neither
lover nor demon, but
the temperate wind
stirring my sorrowful
past – conduit of unrest.
(Tuesday, I borrow from my Twitter poems. Visit me @Vjknutson.)
In essence, you are neither
lover nor demon, but
the temperate wind
stirring my sorrowful
past – conduit of unrest.
(Tuesday, I borrow from my Twitter poems. Visit me @Vjknutson.)
Set me on a lonely road
and I will shine –
solitude a strength
And yet, I have an inner pull,
a need for connection,
a longing for depths of love.
But what of these dreams –
do relationships deter direction,
and must I always wait on another?
Intimacy is complicated,
the route undefined,
I am chilled, fatigued
How does the heart decide
when love challenges
arrogance, and fear takes hold?
(Connecting to Eugi’s Weekly prompt: complicated, and Reena’s Exploration Challenge – featured image.)
Married addiction
adopted denial
settled for basics
Espoused spirituality
ignored infidelity,
pulled down the blinds.
Believed compassion
could compensate
for indifference.
Limited my outlook
to windows, too insecure
to de-smudge the pane.
Missed the gaping doorways,
the blatant rudeness
of belligerent disrespect
Till withdrawal prompted
accountability, commanded
ownership, changed the lock.
(Image from personal collection.)
Euphoric, wrapped
in silent aftermath,
love’s vibration
still aglow
Push aside
the fear
the effort
it took
to get here
Bask in the moment –
tomorrow, I’ll cry.
I trace the fibre
of each of your lies,
note the intricacy
of their overlapping –
marvel at the depths
of your scheming,
still suffering aftershock
of deception’s braid.
(Tuesdays I borrow from my Twitter poetry. Visit me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Kindness encourages stories
from those too reluctant to share
from youth full of inspiration
from musicians just developing
even from the discouraged
unaware their tale lacks worth.
Each one a record-keeper
harbouring intricate plot lines
uniquely brewed, the telling
a revelation – find a good ear,
or a patient pen, and express.
(Image from personal collection.)
We laid beneath the stars
our youth tingling, dared
to dream cosmic –
Thought I landed in love’s lap,
till summer waned and
you were gone, carried
by the wind, my heart
in your pocket.
(This poem appears in the VSS365 Anthology, untitled)
He craves Wiener Schnitzel
and egg rolls –
complicated request –
they settle on
Austrian, forgo
the Chinese.
Noise of the place
disconcerts her –
rather be home
or somewhere quieter
(though she’d never say),
insecurity slides in
as resentment
pulls up a chair –
How is she dining here
with indifference?
Restaurants take her back
when the heat of the kitchen
consumed her –
yelled orders,
yelled at,
rush to cater
tip or no tip
A real education,
her Father said,
but sore feet and
a broken back
left her none the wiser
Stuffiness of ochre walls,
brocade upholstery
close in, reminder
of former lovers,
She doesn’t even like milk-fed calf
Mind wanders to other walls,
now crumbled, remnants
of dreams, boundaries
set when pup- like
loyalty won hearts,
shattered her own.
So many failures
she is ashamed
feels like a stray
living off scraps
It’s a rocky path
she travels these days
solid ground a forgotten
concept, teetering
on brink of flight
no legs to carry her
Resigns herself
to Wiener Schnitzel
convinced that compromise
matters more than
personal fulfillment –
Takes a bite of baby cow and smiles.
(Eating Wiener Schnitzel first appeared here November 2016. Â This edition is edited. Â Image from personal collection.)
That tone –
teeth clenched
lips taut
the coldness
in your gaze
I swallow
anxiously
shifting
foot to foot
await
raise of hand
fist clenched
in ball of rage
smugness
vanquished
in ominous wait
but you pause
step back
straighten
mouth relaxing
into a grin
with a twinkle
admit
you might have
done the same.
(Written for All The Shoes I Wear, whose prompt is ominous.
We’ll buy a boat,
he promised,
spend our days adrift
on a sea of possibilities.
So, she waited,
tethered her hopes
with ropes of whimsy
to a future with sails.
But years passed and
time revealed that words
hold no water, and lies
are no vessel for love.
Now, she contemplates
oceans, photographs
sailboats, docked –
possibilities set aside.