My house is in order!
I shout to a cosmos
intent on ignoring my pleas
chthonic forces insist
on invading dreams
psychic locks ineffectual
no barriers to protect
when soul mocks
purported equilibrium
Order, spirit answers,
is a temporal concept;
continue to grow.
(For Ragtag Community’s prompt: temporal. Image from personal collection.)
Like Quixote
and his windmills,
I chase horizons
Questing after
the unattainable
Like a windup doll
mechanically tuned
set on failure,
motivated, nonetheless.
Write to enlighten –
words are keys,
phrases fodder
We are conductors,
orchestrating ideas,
penning odes to life.
(Happy New Year all!)
Aged and well worn –
history and family
have left their marks –
weakness surfaces.
I tug at the imaginary
unravel essential core –
hearts burdened hide
gilded truths
Uncovering, a collaborative task
housing a trove of potential –
optimism and hope within,
always more room for growth.
(Image from personal collection)
I am sculptor,
shapeshifter –
carve persona
from cold rock –
a master illusionist
elude sharp corners
molded in mist –
pray reputation
does not pursue me.
These words illusion
portray vibrancy of life
belie the mundane
wicked exhaustion my truth
drudgery daily routine.
(For Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Challenge: wicked/ mundane; and BrewNSpew’s prompt: illusion. Forgive me for indulging in a moment of self-pity. Post celebration crash normal. Image from personal collection.)
How a single ray of light
slips through a thicket
setting a leafy row ablaze,
How the kingfisher’s trill
echoes off the silken waters,
How our love remains despite
the ills that pursue us –
Glorious mystery.
(Image from personal collection.)
Euphoric, wrapped
in silent aftermath,
love’s vibration
still aglow
Push aside
the fear
the effort
it took
to get here
Bask in the moment –
tomorrow, I’ll cry.
I trace the fibre
of each of your lies,
note the intricacy
of their overlapping –
marvel at the depths
of your scheming,
still suffering aftershock
of deception’s braid.
(Tuesdays I borrow from my Twitter poetry. Visit me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Dates soften in the pan –
I stir with preoccupation
fresh-faced excitement
motivating each step.
I measure sugar, oats,
flour, the enormity
of my heart’s capacity
to love these young ones.
Add butter, and mix,
each stroke a hug,
anticipating enjoyment
a sweet connection.
Pat and bake, timer set,
bright eyes and tiny palms
lift upwards with sparkle –
Christmas cheer upon us.
(For Ragtag Community’s prompt: mix. Image from personal collection.)
One Woman's Quest 