A single, blow-up bed
claims my stake
on this house
mostly empty –
dust remnants
of former occupants
rise at my passage –
I chase them
Renovation
will precede
settling in
yet, I will not leave
wrapping myself
in these walls
waiting for
the revelation
that this is home.
(Linked to V.J.’s weekly challenge: home.)
Outside, clouds hover,
heavy, threatening.
Inside, men haul –
china cabinet,
weathered couch –
accumulation
marking years,
exiting under duress
echoes fill in the spaces
scent of soured sweat lingers
kitchen counters
glare, empty
layers of our lives
stripped away
our vacated shell,
an emotional tug
Is it fear? Â Sorrow?
What was it all about anyway?
closing the door behind us
locking memories in the past
we load our small boxes
essentials for a simpler life –
a home on wheels life
point our nose forward
and drive away
as the sun breaks through.
(A year ago, we sold our bricks and sticks house, along with its contents and moved into a motor home. Â Now we are reversing the process – accumulating and setting up house again. Â Apparently, we like change. Â V.J’s weekly challenge is fittingly about home.)
Solitude.
I dream
of expansive landscapes,
crave your panoramic
silence, thrill to the ideal
of your boundless sanctity.
Solitude.
You wrap me
in separateness, strip away
my cardboard walls, tear
at the corners of my instability;
no refuge from the stillness.
Solitude.
I am smothered
by your starkness, by my
starkness, cries of madness
reverberating through vast
canyons of aloneness.
(Solitudes first appeared here in May 2017.  From 2014 to 2017, I lived in isolation and silence due to ME/CFS.  I examined the phenomena often through poetic expression. This edition has been altered from the original.  I submit it here for dVerse’s “Sounds of Silence” challenge.  Thank you Dwight Roth for hosting.)
Chance encounter,
a simple “hello”,
and I reel
backwards,
grasping…
blank
the mind a trickster,
memory inaccessible,
panic pulses
a response…
hovers
out of reach
expectancy
a deadline…
Am I smiling?
Or just an inert fool,
this brain fog
a cruel master.
(Ran into an old friend today. Â Could not remember her name, nor where I knew her from, only that we knew each other quite well. Â This is has been happening frequently – maybe as I get out more. Â Very disconcerting.
Prompts today are from Fandango: Â deadline; Ragtag Community: pulse; and Daily Addictions: access.)
She dresses for company,
every day –
just in case.
Keeps a puzzle at her side –
a distraction for lonely times,
entertainment for guests.
Body failing,
eyes challenged,
but mind is sharp.
At ninety-one,
how she keeps going
remains a mystery to most.
(Mish is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight. Â The challenge is to write a poem in 44 words (quadrille) using the word puzzle. Â Thanks Mish!)
Comfortable is the state
I aspire to today –
lounging pants,
a weathered tee,
and a pace to match.
Tomorrow, we prepare:
finish up packing,
load the vehicle,
await the signal –
the house is ours!
Small town living
is the setting of choice –
Stonetown – quaint
shops, cottages of lime,
a river running through it
We’ll settle in amongst
other seniors, register
for local activities, walk
along the trails, and
visit nearby theaters
take the grandchildren
swimming in the quarry,
blue as it is deep –
water trampolines
and kayaks ready for fun.
Yet another adventure,
in our life of many –
so today, I rest, make plans,
nap – save my energy
for busy tomorrows.
(Thanks to Fandango for the daily prompt: comfortable, and to the Ragtag community for quarry. The focus of my weekly challenge is home. Love it if you’d join me.)
It’s like cycling uphill
in three lanes of traffic
in a snowstorm
trying to communicate with you
I keep peddling –
sending signals –
but you’re like the SUV
spraying slush in your wake
hindering  progress,
ignoring my needs…
Aren’t we soulmates –
in tune, hearts beating as one –
words superfluous between us?
Then why am I about to expire
and you’re just revving up?
No telepathy at work here.
Empathy lacking, too.
(Sammi Cox’s weekend challenge is telepathy in 72 words)
Old houses exude charm:
walls whispering nostalgic
wonder, eliciting yearnings
buried deep within the soul.
Purchasers are spellbound,
transported to simpler times,
read mystical forecasts in
archways and carved nooks.
Committed, they settle in,
noting too late cosmetic
fixes, startled to uncover
structural faults, despair
to learn that the dreams
which built this place have
now crumbled and cracked,
repairs needed extensive.
Overhauling beyond means –
physically and financially –
old houses not only offer,
but test, character – beware.
(Originally posted July 2016.)
Yesterday’s vibrancy
now faded markings
on boarded up facades
I stand on the edge
of loss, of ghostly
memories and ponder
what lies below –
perched as I am
on a precarious throne
have ignored the call
of the river, the beckoning
horizon, preferred comfort
over adventure, and now
in bitterness, blame those
distant shadows, certain
that the enemy lies
in foreign places,
never on home soil.
(Photo from personal collection was taken along the Rio Grande. Mexico sits across the way. Â The town we stopped in had many abandoned buildings, reflective of the economy, my guess.)
One Woman's Quest 