Rapture
aging · change · life · ME/ CFS · mental-health · poetry · writing

Rapture

V.J. Knutson31 Comments

Odd, this gift of solitude.  Perched canal side, I affirm my connection to the earth, and offer thanks. Late afternoon sun casts a glow on the foliage across the way, lighting up the mirror-still water.  Vibrant reflections.

Two winters ago, I fought to breathe as temperatures fell below zero.  Impassible walkways trapped me indoors.  Depression fought for possession. Hope struggles in imposed isolation.

“There are no absolutes in life,” a professor once told me, and I think of that now –
how just when it feels as if one sentence has been handed down, sealed, an opening appears.  I am fortunate, savour the moment.

Heron’s watchful stride
invites reflection, respect –
Winter’s solitude.

(Rapture first appeared here February 2019.  I offer an edited version here.

Fear vs Faith
aging · change · poetry · spirituality · writing

Fear vs Faith

V.J. Knutson29 Comments

All is movement
all is change

Why then am I stuck
a rock holding its ground?

Each moment flows
into the next
then is gone

Calm unsettles me
I stand upon the bank
and search for rapids

Let go of worry
trust process
Life is a river

Take me to that river
bathe me in faith
for now, I fear the flow.

Toxicity
adversity · Family · poetry · relationships · writing

Toxicity

V.J. Knutson27 Comments

Sold my soul for union –
destruction built-in

Narcissism is a bastard
luxuriates in self-catering

Did not anticipate loss –
innocence slaughtered

Force to grow sensibility
don a tough shell –

Would not let betrayal
call me by name.

It was not meandering
that shredded my heart

but the loss of a child
caught in the crossfire

too young to discern
parental alienation.

(Image from personal collection.)

Isolation’s Hold
disability · health · ME/ CFS · mental-health · poetry · writing

Isolation’s Hold

V.J. Knutson41 Comments

Disability covets isolation –
this stripped-back, box-like state.

Rustic serenity, with room
to breathe would be preferable

but old memories creep in, and
lack of self-worth leaves the door open

phantoms of former torments
unwanted visitors, shadowy

invaders target loneliness,
misconstrue lack of health

for neediness, prey on weak –
hearted, presume incapability.

I am unwell, not unwanted, effort
to protest ignored, I grow wary of

fellow travellers, am vandalized by
nightly attacks, attempt to reach out

aim for strength, logic, clarity,
dial-up past abuse instead, cannot

fathom the purpose of unsolicited
persecution, grasping at isolation.

(Isolation’s Hold was first written in June of 2017.  I am resubmitting it here for Reena’s Exploration challenge: isolation.  Seems to me is also reflective of the times.  Image from personal collection.)