How often I’ve reconstructed that wall,
and still it crumbles, the universe
and ever-reaching temptation,
her tentacles tearing at the fabric
of this constraint –
I am losing the battle,
have little left of value
in this black and white world –
conformity does not suit
my disposition –
Unwieldy as I am, I will climb
that ladder, follow the uncoventional,
delve once more into the mystery.
(Written for Hélène Vaillant’s What Do You See? challenge. Featured image is the prompt.)
No sound, no movement
the bullfrog obliges lens –
I am conqueror,
superior – then espy
miniscule me in his eye.
(A tanka for Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Challenge: sound/ motion. Image from personal collection. I am pondering the unanswerable this week, and I think this poem fits – conjures questions about where we all fit within this universe.)
Flight
wondrous, white
uplifting, embracing, alluring,
deeply stirring my soul –
escape.
(Written for Dark Side of the Moon’s 5-line challenge: Didatic Cinquain. Click on the link for further information and to join in.)
Unheralded,
an apparition
in white –
wings enveloping,
uplifting
soul cries,
voiceless,
powerless –
no pause
on perfection
she follows coastlines
while I travel roads,
fades from view
her shadow lingers,
wraps me in melancholy
one minute of rapture –
enough to make me mourn.
(Inspired by the sudden appearance of an egret while shooting this image. Submitted for Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt: roads, and Reena’s Exploration challenge: one minute.)
It’s odd, this gift of solitude. Perched beside the canal that runs behind our site, I affirm my connection to the earth, give thanks for this place and moment, and acknowledge that I am a part of all that surrounds me. The late afternoon sun casts a glow on the foliage across the way lighting up the mirror-still water with vibrant reflections.
Two winters ago, I was fighting to breathe as temperatures dropped below zero. Trapped inside my home by impassible walkways, I was desperately trying to stave off depression. It’s hard to be hopeful when isolation is imposed.
“There are no absolutes in life,” a professor once told me, and I think of that now – how just when we think our sentence has been handed down and sealed, an opening appears. I have been most fortunate. I savour each moment this current state of solitude offers.
Heron’s watchful stride
invites reflection, respect –
winter’s solitude.
(Kim is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight with solitude being the prompt for our haibun.)
Maybe I just needed a new perspective –
like the famed Hanged Man of tarot –
committed to some deep, internal need,
willed a horizontal shift, landed with intent.
Maybe it is not my legs that are disabled,
but a soul longing to escape the continual
discord of perpetual motion, a never-ending
to-do list of the success driven persona.
Maybe there is a greater purpose for being
that is not encompassed by outer drive –
a mysterious meaning that is revealed only
in the quiet stillness in which I now dwell.
Maybe I have been called to a personal
pilgrimage – a Camino of sorts, a crusade
of spirit designed to cleanse and enlighten –
the journey is certainly arduous enough.
Maybe it is through acceptance, finally
having released a need to control, move,
achieve, accomplish that I am able to
embrace the true lessons of suffering.
Maybe this cocooning is an act of Grace
demanding surrender before the actual
transformation occurs, and I will emerge
legless or not, winged and ready to soar.
Maybe, just maybe, this stripped down,
barren existence is not a penance for
shameful living, but a desert crossing,
offering re-alignment, hard-fought peace.
(Maybe first appeared here in February of 2017, three years into my journey with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis. I am posting it today as it fits with this week’s theme: upside-down. Image is the mirror reflection of trees across the canal – from personal collection)
Eyes shut, she speaks to me,
limbs shivering in the cold,
rustles a forgotten melody.
Like a sapling, soul responds,
trembles with anticipation,
reaches for ancient blessing.
Lead the children to the waters’ edge,
let spirits that dwell there enchant,
sun glistening on star-filled eyes…..
teach the essence of dolphin breathing,
the presence of manna, how to question
roots and behold miracles of fish that fly
and colours that shimmer below the surface,
and sons that walk on water – there are stories
to be told by tides, whose rhythmic waves
follow a primal chant; the ocean’s whispers
reminders that survival is a game for the living
and that in death all return to its vast depths.
(Water Tales first appeared here in January 2017. I am submitting it here for dVerse’s Open Link Night hosted by Grace. I am also linking up with my weekly challenge: stillness.)
Imperceptibly
they disappear
no ghostly trace
I am a doorway –
open, transparent,
absorbing
teleporting
extinguishing
souls, spirited away
Eden-bound
no return.
One Woman's Quest 