Marry Well

Can we talk? said he
chest burdened,
bursting to confess

It’s about our living
situation, you see…
well, maybe you don’t

It’s just that, I have
noticed things are
getting out of hand

and I know you try
hard, and all, but
I’m having trouble

seeing, and I thought,
well, wondered if,
maybe we could…

Whatever are you
rambling on about?
she snapped, clearly

disgruntled; get to
the point – she wasn’t
listening, mind fixed on

task at hand – needed
to find a solution to
growing dissatisfaction

could not longer tolerate
the hellish conditions
of their cesspool lives

to be perfectly candid
she said, we are swimming
around in our own shit

it’s time we moved on!
I couldn’t agree more,
he sighed with relief

content again that he’d
made the right choice
wedding a frank woman.

(The Daily Post prompt is candid.  Photo from personal collection)

Off-Track

Met him on the way to tomorrow,
pitched a tent on his front lawn,
both ignoring impermanence.

How is it the heart’s drumming
blots out the soundness of mind,
negates former promises to self?

The weather changed and with it
sentiments cooled, tempers heated,
a tempest ensued, she packed up

hitched a ride on a passing train
headed in the wrong direction,
her heart still a discordant drum.

Anti-Social

Murmurs from the past –
tied to a former identity –
question my social absence

I have divorced that life,
that self, and yet, memories
dangle, challenge my validity

Once facilitator, now I shy away
hidden behind the curtain of illness
could offer suggestions for gathering

have a repertoire of ideas, stashed,
no doubt out-dated – so much of life
having surpassed me, even old selves.

(Photo from private collection)

Intuition

The body has a voice –
not silent, nor harsh –
it is a knowing.

When ego drives hard –
screaming ambition
demanding to be heard –

Block it out!

Let your body speak –
waves of understanding,
gut feelings, truth.

Logic has no place here –
book learning seldom serves
the needs of the soul –

Set it aside.

Listen to your body –
that pounding in the chest,
that sudden surge of vertigo.

Intuition is cellular –
ancient, ancestral instinct;
trust the voice within.

(I originally wrote this in October of 2014, while contemplating how I let myself become so ill.  Admittedly, I had for years ignored my body’s signals.  Be well all.)

 

 

The River

There’s a river runs between us,
you and I; our thoughts, like tears,
are liquid carried by the current.

But you, and I,
we stand on the banks, oblivious,
ignoring the connection,
proudly touting our individualism.

Still the river flows
and all you’ve suffered
and all I’ve suffered
or dreamed, or imagined, or hoped
flows with it.

Step into the water with me,
feel our connection;
do not be afraid
for it is sacred –

wade deeper and know
you are not alone
for I am here
in this river
that runs between us.

(Originally posted in October, 2014. Edited here.)

 

Devilish Young Men

Young men are pursuing me,
in my dreams, I am too old
and wily not to recognize
the evil of this intent

wonder if I’m being stalked
by a stroke, or worse –
I wake up, overheated
fling the bedclothes off

as if they are the offending
infiltrators, dismayed to see
how little I have slept, knowing
that the relief will now pass me by

Young men possess a virility
redundant in my life – sexuality
long ago sacrificed on the altar of cancer –
their presence is disconcerting at best

stirring up old emotions, luring me
into nostalgic memories – trickery, I say
to think that masculinity would entertain
intimacy with a mad old hag like me.

(The Daily Post prompt:  entertain.
Image:  Daily Mail)

Joy Is a Bird

How is it, little one,
that you evoke such joy,
unaware that I stand idly by,
too preoccupied to care?

You flit about as if seconds
matter, and standing still
is blasphemy, and my lens
aches to capture you.

Stay with me, but a moment,
sing to me of wings and light,
let our hearts be one, two
souls in fleeting communion.

(The Daily Post prompt:  evoke.
Image from personal collection.)

Stand Out

Obnoxious, I’ve been called
and overly exuberant, and
“no-one-will-ever-love-you”

usually by spurned lovers
or morose types too afraid
to speak for themselves,

dependent on, but loathing
my social ease – I wore it,
of course, the shame, that is

self-chastised, tried to tone
down, dim my hue, but
yellow is yellow, shines,

finds joy in darkness,
laughter in hard times,
even upside-down, radiates.

Turn away, if you must,
wear shades – I’m done
apologizing for standing out.