Is this inherent restlessness,
a fiery blue spark
of eternal angst
igniting passion –
a call to write?
(Image from personal collection)
Is this inherent restlessness,
a fiery blue spark
of eternal angst
igniting passion –
a call to write?
(Image from personal collection)
There is chaos inside –
of course, there is –
we did not emerge from the womb
fully enlightened…
I release the chaos
brush stroke by brush stroke
word by forming image,
unravel the mystery,
find new depths.
Anchored, no money –
lack has a way of turning
dreams into fool’s gold.
(Dug up this haiku from August 2015 for today’s prompts: Ragtag Community and Fandango both choosing ‘fool’. Image from personal collection.)
Stitches, I’ve had a few
Casts and splinters and slings
Avoided the C-word
Radiation not needed
Surgery did the trick
Some scars invisible
Underlying lesions
Remnants of
Volcanic-sized disruptions
Instinctually I strive
Visualize a better day
Accept life’s challenges
Live with fullness.
(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge: 
Sugar!
Luscious morsels
tantalizing taste buds,
elevating blood counts, craving
sugar!
Sweetness filling
lack, and emotional
high – chocolate as substitute,
sugar…
savour, swallow,
deny empty spaces,
forget no-one ever calls you
Sugar.
(Written for Dark Side of the Moon’s 5-line poem challenge: Â Cinquain Swirl.)
When dawn,
an earthly murmur,
I walk, light
Soon, heat climbs,
the verdant blanket
grass, rose, blossom
I offer water,
hot, relax.
(Friday is Magnetic Poetry online.)
Creativity’s
an eight-legged
life-sized terror,
has me cornered –
those menacing eyes
and crushing mandibles
paralyzingly frightful –
about to be consumed,
I throw her some cheese.
Narrow passages,
spiritual spires set bar –
minded not teachings,
constraint of hypocrisy
oppressed connection to God.
(Written in response to Willow Poetry’s “What Do You See?” challenge, with the promptings of Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge: narrow/ minded.)
Beneath mossy beards
weathered faces watch, listen –
silent witnesses.
Jumbo Jet
they called her –
fast on her feet,
zooming in,
swooping up trays,
delivering with flight
attendant flair.
When did she turn
to autopilot,
stop paying attention
to her destination?
Didn’t she know
she was set
on a crash course,
headed for disaster?
Tried to warn her,
wake her from stupor;
told me she’d reset,
but danger remains.
She is cruising now –
over-sized
turbo-lacking
under-fuelled,
no longer able
to soar – trapped
in a treacherous game.
Waits tables,
tries to keep
a clean house,
caters to others,
lends an ear,
has squeezed
every drop of self
into a low flying life
needs to land
a space of her own,
with room to breathe;
take life in shorter
intervals, refill
her jets.
(Portrait of a Waitress first appeared in April of 2016. Â I am re-introducing it here for Ragtag Community’s prompt: jet.)