Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Skies draw me –
the allure of wings
the inference of escape
Not afraid to dream –
imagination fully engaged
willingness set on go
Till darkness encroaches –
a black line blotting
periphery
Imperfection an ugly
critique – self flails
doubt becomes certainty
Wrench my perspective
away from the gloom
need to crop the image.
(Inspired by the promptings of Reena’s Exploration challenge: addiction or depression; and Bushboys: Last on card April 3.)
Creativity is a beast
hungers for expression
Ego set limitations
mocks imperfection
At best, I parody talent
nefarious my efforts
Still, I must
feed the beast.
(Image from personal collection.)
Played host to insecurity –
catered to bullying
undermined by warped
agendas, butchered by
provincial minds –
Retreated, convalesced,
sanitized lost vitality,
believed in phantoms
haunted by compulsions
deflected attempted rescues
ignored counsel to let go.
Shell-shocked
aftermaths
incoherent
self-judgment
inescapable.
Where do I go from here?
Ignore criticism
disarm cruelty
sanctify privacy
detach, discern
redefine boundaries
embrace enlightenment
Focus on caring
be receptive –
choose life.
(Turning Point first appeared here December, 2015, a year and a half into isolation imposed by illness. I offer an edited version here with the intention of demonstrating the psychological toll of unexpected isolation. The loss of our routine, life, connections affects us all on many levels. Be kind to self and others. We all respond to that loss differently. Linking up with Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt: enlighten. Image my own.)
“War is hell. You can’t photograph a flying bullet, but you can capture genuine fear.”
The bomb has dropped
control slips from our grasp
We pray for a parachute
for someone to pull the cord
numbers escalate,
lives plummet
We offer encouragement
isolated voices faltering
moment of impact imminent
the implosion inevitable
impact reverberates
responsibility moot.
(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge: the quotation, author unknown. Image my own.)
Robin’s melody bait
for this weary soul –
I hear promise
but nature is fickle
Winter renews onslaught
mocks any hope –
Solution to melancholy
once again delayed.
(Image from personal collection)
Words seduce –
I respond
with alacrity
Tingling fire
infatuated
as I am –
Creativity’s whore.
(Tuesday’s Twitter day. Visit me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Odd, this gift of solitude. Perched canal side, I affirm my connection to the earth, and offer thanks. Late afternoon sun casts a glow on the foliage across the way, lighting up the mirror-still water. Vibrant reflections.
Two winters ago, I fought to breathe as temperatures fell below zero. Impassible walkways trapped me indoors. Depression fought for possession. Hope struggles in imposed isolation.
“There are no absolutes in life,” a professor once told me, and I think of that now –
how just when it feels as if one sentence has been handed down, sealed, an opening appears. I am fortunate, savour the moment.
Heron’s watchful stride
invites reflection, respect –
Winter’s solitude.
(Rapture first appeared here February 2019. I offer an edited version here.
