I called you
that one time poured my heart out such despair
I called you.
You weren’t there. Left a message – garbled words rushed to beat inevitable beep.
then panic ineradicable the outpouring of a lonely heart fantasizing.
I called you.
You didn’t answer. You never called back. Thank you for that.
(I found this
poem on my other blog, and have given it a new title. Image my own.)
My memory of you –
distorted by childish exuberance- distant and disinterested
Translated vacant eyes
through the lens of my needs child that I was.
Failed to notice
the aura of defeat, the battered heart the robotic responses masking unbelievable sorrow missed it all
Till death knocked
and I saw you anew – adult lenses now fully secured.
Wonder at the fortitude
that kept you upright the love that served us both.
No fault here –
on either side – just a bittersweet understanding.
first appeared here August, 2019. Image my own) Distorted Lenses
I try to draw the curtain
on your ominous darkness, as if emotions can be delegated to black and white; as if love can be anything other than this shadowy meandering – roots of your uncertainty roots of my deception – a tangled path indeed.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twiiter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
day bids adieu
Night has it own
Dawn and dusk –
Wait with anticipation
for the gratuitous show.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknuton. Art my own)
My son used to burn himself
press the lit end of a cigarette against his bare flesh
an attempt to penetrate
the numbness – this I know
because I did it too
walking barefoot in the snow cutting till blood oozed
there is a pain
familiar to adolescents that bears no explanation
a hellish limbo –
suspended between innocence and adult expectations
unable to articulate
the wrongs endured or separate shame
an inexplicable grief and longing…
…longing to understand
at least for a moment the pain one dare not feel.
(Image my own)
Wish I could converse –
one harmonic voice blended in a symphony of birdsong – but my tongue stumbles reveals me as interloper
As much as I tread softly
over forest floor, my missteps crackle, alert the denizens danger is about – no imploring can reverse the impression
Nature’s sensitivity is finely tuned
and I am urban-scented, barely tolerated, seldom trusted – must bear my reverence for this sacred space more deliberately. (Image my own)
A Girl Named Moose, received honorable mention in the Navigating the Change essay contest.
Thank you to K E Garland for the opportunity. Read the essay
On doctor’s orders, I will be taking things easy for a bit. Have a few posts scheduled here, and will check in when I can.
Wishing you all a blessed holiday season. I hope you know how much you mean to me.
Where the clouds of yesterday pierced by the hope of tomorrow linger over today’s shores.
7(For Eugi’s Weekly prompt:
paradise. Image my own.)
Heart beats uncertainty
aspires to full ignition but spark-plug corroded motion sputters
Society abandons wrecks
junkyard-strewn forgotten easier to turn a blind eye than face cold reality
Not all vessels were built
for speed or showmanship.
(Image my own)