Calm Yourself, Woman

Circumstances shift –
breath the fertile air –
let dreams fly; expand

embrace change – hope,
now winged, an explorer
bursting with possibility.

I would move this old
body, relocate to new
beginnings, be reborn

but for these internal
trappings – begging for
extermination – retro

shaded memories –
long past expiration –
skewed accessibility,

stretched without purpose,
reconfiguration required –
history a real estate, I need

to unload; who will buy
a drama-laden, single
story alcoholic’s haunt?

Circumstances shift –
sniff the fertile air –
guard forbidden dreams

change, like wings, unfolds
in its own time; be patient,
possibility is taking flight.

(Poem originally appeared August of 2016)

Defeated, I Turn Away

Back rested against post,
the figure guards the median –
poised with cardboard sign,
a simple plea for help.

Positions himself amid
gridlocked targets – usually,
I look away, disquieted,
but today I do not, wondering

what I could possibly give
this man that would lift him
from his plight –
surely others have tried,
and, yet, here he is
day after day
the same –

and
I am struck
with realization –
that we are not
all that different
he and I

both trapped in unhealthy
patterns, having adopted
personas that once served –
but now weigh heavily
with the stench of permanence

Does he not know it’s all
an illusion – a game we play
wherein we are the pawn?

I don’t know it either –
turn away, defeated.

(Frank is hosting at dVerse tonight and the jive is frustration and heartbreak.)

Good Afternoon?

Rumi’s dawn breezes – once sage advice – now taunt me.  I am loathe to greet the day, not that I despise its arrival, rather that waking has become laborious since the onset of chronic illness.  Daughter of a military man, I am conditioned to rise before the sun, have a lifetime of such anecdotes to my credit, however; while the brain is still willing, the body groans, and aches wail with renewed emphasis as the numbing cocoon of sleep loosens.  Hours dwindle from the first inkling of consciousness till muscles comply with movement, and I am lucky if I’m actually able to utter ‘Good Morning”.

Rays, like razors, slice,
invade sleep’s cocoon – absent
winged emergence.

(Mish is hosting in the dVerse pub tonight with the prompt of morning.  I have also worked in the promptings of Fandango (loathe), Ragtag Community (labour), and Daily Addictions (sage).  Thank you all for your inspiration.)

A Mother Seldom Asks

Where does a woman store her dreams
while children need chauffeuring
and parents’ health is in decline?

What goal does she dare strive for,
that won’t supersede obligation,
nor tax already waning energy?

Why is it that her efforts –
exceeding expectations –
often fail, demanding more?

How does she keep hope alive
when illness usurps functioning
and the off-ramp is miles behind?

Who will carry her when winter’s grasp
makes passage undependable, and
she has no choice but to surrender?

(V.J.’s challenge this week is questions.)

Complacent

So bound are we
by customs,
and customary,
that seldom
do we recognize
absence –

sparks numbed
and motivation
dwindled –

what is awry
morphs into
projection,
deflection –
easier than
untethering
the leash,
the fear
accompanying
Spirit’s freedom –

the rearing up
of wildness,
or god forbid,
the moxy
to make
real change.

(Written for 50 Word Thursday, with added inspiration from Fandango (bound), Ragtag Community (absent), Daily Addictions (awry).)

Cracked Eggs

I have eggs,
she cooed,
here in my basket –
care to have a peek?

Considered his response
carefully, not wanting to
count this chicken, even as
the plot was hatching.

Hesitation,
she scolded,
only ever loses.

Yes, he concurred,
but if I act too early
all you’ll get is a worm.

(Twisted Adages is the theme for Tuesday night poetics at dVerse.  Thanks to our host Jilly for the inspiration.)

Mother

Mother
to a child – barely
able to tie shoes

watching,
listening,
ever-present

through fields,
trees, at
water’s edge

provided shelter,
grounding –
whispered cautions

child grew,
left her side –
pursued dreams

until life
overwhelming –
an adult returns

“Mother?” she cries.

“Here,” Earth responds.

(It’s quadrille night at dVerse, and Kim is hosting with the prompt earth.)

Coddiwomple

He’s an ingénue
don’t you know;
precious time
for lollygagging –

Dressed for success,
polished head to toe,
he’s a sight to see;
look at him stride by

Please don’t ask
for personal favours –
there’s no time for that
he’s an important man

Where is he going, you ask?
No one is ever quite sure,
but I’ve been here all day,
watched him pass ten times.

(Ragtag’s word of the day is coddiwomple, Fandango – ingenuity, Daily Addictions – precious.)