Category: writing

Tenuous

It’s not like I didn’t know
that life is tenuous
and death a given

I chose to ignore the signs –
seems that which we avoid
has a way of catching up

I pin-balled my way
searching for something
undefinable

A break from responsibility?
a Saviour?
Condemned myself as failure

Sentenced to a lifetime
of love lacking
How does one traverse such margins?
Re-engage in the face of rejection?

I have pen,
and thoughts,
and maybe
if I bleed enough,
the path will be revealed.

(Image my own)

Pestilence of Words

Words, like crickets, leap inside my head –
chirping pests whose trajectory eludes
my dulled reflexes, scuttles about
the periphery of awareness.

Harmless in the singular,
a cacophony of multitudes
threaten any semblance
of sanity.

I strive to intuit their rhythm
define the notes in workable phrases
capture the message before
it all disappears again.

(Art my own)

Light in the Night

What light is this
illuminates the midnight clouds?

I have risen from my bed
lured by this oddness

Suspecting menace,
but finding only wonder

How the walnut radiates
her presence conspiratorial

Pine tree and brush
surely giggle at my confusion

The yard, a marvel in white
glows in the unexpected brightness

I sense, but cannot surmise
a message in this nocturnal glow

Feel only the inadequacy of my awe
and the inferiority of humble words.

(Photo captured at 1:30 am, three nights ago)


Tongue Tied

Two-tongued –
speaking both heart and mind –
complex languages
whose nuances
I’ve never quite mastered,
yet believe myself
to be conversant in.

It’s a constant learning
to nail enunciation –
linguistics a tiresome topic

the mind –
a guttural dialect –
leans towards equation
and absolutes –
hard consonants and long vowels

while heart-speak
rolls off the tongue –
soft, cooing syllables,
elongated tones, and
whimsical passages

I’d happily demonstrate
the extent of my proficiency
but the two tongues
are currently contradictory –
the clamour of their discord
drowning out the peace
requisite for translation.

(A fun piece I originally wrote in 2018. Edited for this version. Image my own)

Compulsive Clotheshound

I would befriend hesitation,
take her shopping with me,
invest the time, but impulse
is my constant companion.

Hesitation, born of shared
trauma, labours over pain-
filled decisions; my need is
palpable, throbbing, must

suffocate it beneath layers
of numbing fabric, weight;
afraid to show myself, afraid
that she will find me, block

any progress, or worse, make
me pay for these layers of
stolen moments; encounter
crazy reflected in her eyes.

(Found this little gem hidden away in 2016 poems. Art my own. Current theme is ‘Women Entangled”)

Hiss

Wrapped in reptilian attire, change
climbs aboard my well-intentioned scheme
like a boa constrictor – disarming me

I am more inconvenienced than repulsed –
after all, snake is my power animal,
Or so the seer said…many years ago

Days when I would wear the scaly
comportment of power – invite
transformation- my essence a seeker

But I am trying to settle here –
embrace age and its complications
and yet the serpent persists

Sibilance insisting on co-navigation-
and what will be the outcome, I wonder
if I were to surrender to such a calling?

Change does not heed our fears,
our ego-driven agendas…
It bears its fangs and taunts

I exaggerate the threat, of course-
imagine being consumed or suffocated –
disregard the potential for healing

Have no time for reflection or pause –
the course is already set –
I hold on and feign control

(Art my own)

Distractions

How am I to work today
as a black squirrel navigates
precarious saplings
with death-defying sure-footedness?

And the Red-bellied woodpecker
thrums outside my window,
having mistaken brick for walnut bark
his bright red cap catching my breath

And how can I ever hope to focus
when a flit of yellow coming to rest
at our array of feeders, indicates
that the Goldfinch is declaring Spring?

The Chickadees are calling “you-who”
and the Blue Jay dares to ask
“Where are the peanuts?”
and I am feeling a tug of guilt

Even a starling,
perching on the windowsill
peers inside and ponders
what attraction keeps me glued

I’ve papers to write, blogs to read
and, well, a need to fulfill expectations
but how am I to concentrate
when Nature is so full of promise?

(Sketch my own)