Great Blue Heron

Blending in
the gift of stealth
only your voice –
woodsy reed  –
alerts me to your presence.

You are grey sky
and rushing waters
tall reeds and
wind-swept banks

And when my heart
beats off tempo
given to spells
of malaise
you are metronome
reseting my rhythm.

(Friday I join in with Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day. Photo from personal collection.)

 

Re-Purposing The Garage

It’s complicated, really, but so much
is defined by the presence of a garage.

Here is a stand-alone, connected by
a breezeway, single-car with storage;

could have been so much more –
had planned for it, but life changes.

Once had an oversized garage – direct
access, housed two vehicles, custom

built – but the cars are gone now, and
the single stands vacant, like my mind.

Except, the other day, I swore I glimpsed
an animal there, perched on the shelving

fierce, cat-like eyes caught in the dim
light of an open doorway – a tigress,

body crouched – I backed away, but
not before claws pierced my imagination

tended to the bleeding, chastising my
foolishness – of course, she isn’t real –

I lost my feminine prowess long ago,
am more of a groundhog now – slow

moving, podgy, sniffing the air for hints
of change, burrowing in the face of trouble.

A family lived here once: a tightly knit
portrait of three, lulled by the protection

offered – no storms to weather –
until the husband left, daughter

in tow; ducked beneath closing
of the automated door –

me, trapped beneath layers of regret
choking on their fumes, homeless.

Would ignore her, except for
those grasping, white-knuckled

fingers pleading for rescue; would
shoulder her, but shudder to host such

destruction within my walls,
already robbed of equilibrium

this state of heightened vigilance
a cause for neglecting self – have

humoured one too many advantage-
taker, cannot trust my own instincts

am disillusioned, no longer content
with inconsistencies, need to

confront the condition of my garage,
clean out the accumulation of stored

nonessentials – maybe hold a sale –
whitewash the interior and buy a car.

(Reena’s Exploration challenge this week is the long and short of it.  The above poem is the long.  The short follows.)

If life is defined by a garage,
then mine is single, attached,
empty and needing work.

(The original version of this poem was published in August 2016.  It has been reworked for this edition.)

Empty Vessels

We’ll buy a boat,
he promised,
spend our days adrift
on a sea of possibilities.

So, she waited,
tethered her hopes
with ropes of whimsy
to a future with sails.

But years passed and
time revealed that words
hold no water, and lies
are no vessel for love.

Now, she contemplates
oceans, photographs
sailboats, docked –
possibilities set aside.

 

Letters and Words

Letters jostle for position
back-up
attempt to regroup
get detoured

Frustration builds
and obstacles
pop-up –
cognition faltering

Circuits are jumbled
pathways rerouting
patience exploding
expression lost.

Word recall
out of order
Word recognition
under construction

Is there an exit
from this nightmare?

(Brain fog affects cognitive functioning.  I first wrote this piece in 2015 and the condition continues today – one of the reasons I keep writing.  I resubmit it here for Ragtag Community’s prompt: jumble.  Image from personal collection.)