Amused

Sky gallery –
anything but banal –
recalls innocence

Geese attempt
an instinctual dance
(few will actually migrate)

Cheers this aging mind,
also prone to redundant acts –
sexagenarian fun.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Wounded Feminine

On entering the tunnel, I see her –
pallor a notable shade of ghostly

Tattered, her dress hangs in billowing
folds of transparency; she beckons

No words pass between us, but
her haunting gaze begs audience

So, I bear witness to her tale –
a gruesome re-enactment of her death

Slow and agonizing, her femininity
scalded and tortured till flesh festered

and infection drove her to madness –
no solace offered, no medicine rendered

No more than a child, I now see –
a tragic retelling of innocence turned victim

Do not look away, her spirit commands,
the suffering continues, and I will haunt

Till justice recognizes the crime
and restitution restores balance.

(Reena’s Xploration offered the opening line, and Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – notable– added to the narrative. This apparition appeared to me in that tunnel between waking and sleep, begging that I share her story. Image my own)

Every Day Serenity

Serenity every day,
I pray from the frayed edges
chaos rattling, pains howling

Laundry waits in piles
of incompletion – like my life –
demands eroding worth

Hush! I scold the voices
of discontent, the discord
exhausting – I am trying!

Serenity! I pray,
my hands are burdened,
my psyche losing ground

I stop and close my eyes
follow breath in and out
will myself to calm

Serenity steps in –
a moment of respite
available every day.

(Image my own)

Note To Self

Checking symptoms for possible diagnosis: tab 1
Searching for gluten free recipes for leftover turkey: tab 2
Black Friday specials on tab 3
Writing a blog post on tab 4
Email on tab 5

Too many tabs open to concentrate
and Christmas is looming
and the fridge needs cleaning
and I got the groceries
but forgot the milk
and potatoes
and guests are coming
and laundry is piling up

and,
and,
and…

Somewhere at the bottom of the pile
is a note to self:
compassion.

(For Reena’s Xploration Challenge: My brain has too many tabs open; and Eugi’s Weekly prompt: compassion. Image my own)

The Leap

Freezing drizzle
and aching joints
elevate doubt

We are forging
into unknowns,
claiming change

His motivation
drive for both –
I quiet objections

Faith, I have in him
Trust, I have in process,
Hope as my beacon

Many a storm
has passed our way –
the choice is easy

Stay and rot
or risk and thrive –
hand in hand, we leap.

(Four years ago, Ric and I sold our house and all our possessions and headed south in a motor home.  Both of us had experienced life-altering medical crises, and the alternative – staying put and waiting for the next health challenge – was not appealing, so we took the leap.  After two years, we returned and settled in a small community not far from family.  Health continues to be an issue, but armed with the memories of our travels, we face each day grateful for our choices.)

Image my own.

Stolen Identity

The woman currently abiding
within this costumed realm
is merely a lethargic version
of the once vital but oppressed
Miss, whose identification
was stolen by means of
unsolicited adversity.

The focus of this recanting
is to invite a perspective
that not only restores, but
aids in the teaching of other
shadow-selves, that to reassert
original nature is more than fair.

(A quirky rant for Reena’s Xploration challenge: a stolen identity ; and Eugi’s weekly prompt: shadows. Art my own)

Martyr’s Lament

I wake before dawn,
drive through blinding snowstorms,
if lost, alter course – without faltering –
even set out on foot when driving
becomes impossible, navigating
treacherous snow and ice, for you

So you can get where you need to be
So you can succeed
I risk it all for you

I keep you by my side
so that you will be safe
so that I can ensure your arrival

But, I grow weary, and my body
won’t go on, and all I ask for
is that we rest awhile,
so that I can catch my breath

And in that instance, you are gone –
no hesitation in your step, no looking back –
and when you finally stop to wait for me
it is too late…

A barrier has grown between us:
like an eight-foot, chain-link fence
separating me from protecting you

And you look at me with that glare
of exasperation that says:
“I should have done it on my own.”

Wait! Wait, I say.
This wall may seem insurmountable
but I can do it. I can do it; give me time.
I’ll just climb to the top.
It’ll be easy; you’ll see!

Don’t walk away! Give me one more chance
to prove my love. I do it all for you.

(Martyr’s Lament first appeared here in November, 2014.
This version is a rewrite. Image my own.)