aging · health · Humour · poetry · writing

Conspiracy Theory

The floorboards,
imagining themselves waves,
undulate,
throw my balance
off kilter…

The lemonade,
ignoring my thirst,
refuses to open –
holds fast to top
rendering me weak

Even the frying pan
fights my efforts,
twisting my wrist as if
arm wrestling,
rather than cooking,
is the game called for here.

Surrendering, I sit,
and with propped up legs
pull out the laptop,
certain that perusing
blog posts will meet
with less upheaval,

but the keyboard
is a trickster,
misreads my commands
and windows open and close
without reason, and
frustrated I push it aside.

This house is conspiring
turning a perfectly capable
human being, into a fumbling,
doddery old fool.

(Written for V.J.’s Weekly Challenge: personification)

Image from personal collection.

blogging · creativity · culture · poetry · spirituality · writing

Sacred Fire

Set the stones
with reverence
for the directions
for the spirits
for the elders –
stories,
like sacred threads,
weave legacy,

Bodies decline,
but spirit is fire –
built with sacred intent,
sparks become flames;
fire has ears
hears our prayers
transforms
the message –
praises
for the gods,
inspiring peace.

(Sacred Fire is dedicated to my mentor and friend, Emmagene, who taught me the importance of ritual and ceremony.  I am linking up to 50 Word Thursday, dVerse Open Link, Fandango’s inspire, Ragtag community’s elder, and Daily Addictions’ decline.)

 

blogging · creativity · poetry · writing

Protesting is Pointless

Go ahead, spin
your yarns –
convince me
not to persecute

Can you not see
my skin is naught
but tin; I am metal
inside and out

You are looking for
sympathy – requires
a being with a heart –
I am no such fool.

Hush your mournful
pleas, quit dragging
on me; I’ve no time
for nonsense, child.

(Today at dVerse, Mish has challenged to write from the perspective of either the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, or the Tin Man.  Using the daily prompts of Fandango (being), Ragtag Community (yarn), Manic Mondays (hush),  and Daily addictions (persecute), this portrait of the Tin Man emerged.  If he sounds presidential here, it is purely coincidental. Image is from my personal collection, and seemed appropriate.)

aging · blogging · creativity · nature · poetry · writing

Cricket Cacophony

Clouds cluster, warn of coming storms.   Having been shut in for days, I am anxious to get outside.  Trusty camera carefully secured around my neck,  hands firm on walker’s grip, I begin my slow stroll through the neighbourhood.   A gust of wind disrupts the flight of a bumblebee, and we collide: he striking my cheek.  I step back, startled.  No damage done.

I follow a walkway, built between the houses, leading to our community center. This route takes me past rows of flourishing gardens – a feast of vibrancy.  I slow to watch the bees delightedly dancing from bloom to bloom.  At the edge of my friend’s house, I hear the crickets, loud and raucous, as if they know that she is currently away.  I pause to listen, surprised to hear such unabashed chirping mid-day.

Lingering, I hope to catch a glimpse of one, maybe even a photograph, but the creatures are securely tucked in the shadows of the overgrown foliage, oblivious to my presence.   I capture the flight of a bee, and the elegant profile of a mourning dove, and then turn back. A white winged moth brushes my hand in passing and then stops long enough for me to take a picture.  The crickets keep on singing.

Midday crickets sing –
revel in nature’s bounty,
as storm clouds gather.

(Written for dVerse, hosted tonight by Victoria.)

blogging · creativity · poetry · writing

Reverse Solitudes

Loneliness –
abandoned and rejected,
grieves unrestrained,
then hesitantly,
willingly,
opens to possibility,
discovering hope,
connection,
in solitude –

not alone

in solitude
connection
discovers hope,
opens to possibility,
hesitantly,
then willingly,
grief releases,
abandons and rejects
loneliness.

(Frank Hubeny is the host tonight for the dVerse Pub, and he challenges to write a reverse poem.  I found this one in my archives (2015) and with a little tweaking, I think it work.)

abuse · culture · poetry · writing

Sacrilege

How to separate oneself
from church, from religion –
the indoctrination, like skin
so firmly attached…yet…

there is testimony,
and doubt stirring,
encircling –
stories of violations, and
a niggling disquiet…

a memory…no…wait –
surely it is only the sway
of this modern outcry,
the power of suggestion
influencing mind…

(Abuse perpetrated in the name of religion continues to surface.  I submit this piece in response to the gracious promptings of 50 Word Thursday, Fandango,  and Ragtag Community. Picture is from personal collection.)