Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Lean into it;
more shoulder!
Physical drudgery
does not suit me
Ill-equipped
sculls lacking
But I will try
begrudgingly
Back leaning into
monotonous task
Prayed for a lifeboat
never imagined this.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Foresight
Optimal, but
Rare
Everything
Shifts
Insight
Gains
Hindsight
Taunts
(For Eugi Causerie’s weekly prompt: foresight. Image mine)
A cruel master
the ticking clock
So much potential
Get it done!
I rush past shadows
crumple the pages
failed attempts
mounting
What of dreams?
Of life’s destiny?
How I worship
at the altar of should
Even with positivity
fantastical notions fall short
I argue against uncertainty
meet only disapproval
There is no magic
no pre-destined fame
just dust gathering
the dead are unimpressed.
(Linking up with Reena’s Exploration challenge: follow link for video prompt. Image my own.)
Empty spaces hold
wonder, I drop emotion
focus on present
open mind to mystical –
creativity takes flight.
(Written for Eugi Causerie’s weekly challenge: mystical. Image my own.)
Emotions a mess
no security in words
page invites finesse
thoughts tumble, filters falter
longueur of sentences bore.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image mine.)
(Disclaimer: I am submitting this poem for Reena’s Exploration challenge: horror. The poem arose from a nightmare, and my be triggering for some readers.)
They always take the back roads,
virginal snow-covered lanes
lined with trees: pastoral views
Unmarked routes, out of sight,
use the innocence of landscape
to blot out their dark intentions
Pristine picture perfect scenes
lull the unsuspecting; breath-
taking vistas: secret keepers
The roads still exist in my dreams
the trees like soldiers, stiff and stark
stripped of their magical allure, now
guard the memories, painted red
with loss of purity; I had not
guessed the danger of woods
child mind incapable of conceiving
what wolves roamed in nature
the blood of their victims crimson
stains forever etched in silhouette
the shrillness of their screams
now silent echoes in the night.
(Secret Keepers first appeared here September of 2016. Art my own.)
Fickle, I am –
life cycles catching me
unaware, unstable –
Lessons I appreciate
opportunities to expand
heart…mind…
But this isolation
this carrel-based living
limits perspective
Still, I try.
I am a dog, or so
horoscope tells me…
certainly been referred to
as the mother of…
Private lives fascinate me
tenderness tossed away
in the courtship process
Some prefer on screen
interaction – erecting
false intimacy
I am tired of it all
bark the right of refusal
no encores for me…
…except I’m a damn dog..
man’s best friend, so they say
loyal companion… shoot!
Lend me that crystal ball…
(A bit of light humour for this first day of October. Inspired by Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt: crystal ball. Image my own.)
Quiet now, places
harbouring my memories –
river dreamcatcher –
nostalgia floats on swan’s back
past bridges linking time lapsed.
(Tuesdays I borrow from my Twitter account #Vjknutson. Image my own)
These shackles may be but illusions
but the conditioning lingers –
I’m not enough
lack the look
the chic
fall short of acceptable
Add age and I am
forever sentenced
to monachopsis –
an outsider,
circling.
(Image mine)
