Let It Go

It’s not intentional
this accumulation
amounting to clutter

It”s inevitable, given
the emphasis on chasing
material happiness

Its impotency is ironic
all superfluous now
that health teeters

Weighs heavily
on my mental state
craving simplicity

The sentiment
we treasure beats
in heart’s memory

Objects age,
lose relevance
generationally

I let go of fear,
the guilt, find
blessed relief

New space inspires
openness, excitement
ensues – freedom.

(Image my own)

Midnight Encounter

Midnight
and moon casts an eerie light
shimmers of white-kissed fields

Headlights off,
I pause to contemplate the glow
endless skies here beyond city limits

A herd of deer graze
ignore the hum of idling motor
celebrate the lunar flood

What drove me here,
I cannot say; perhaps clouds
relentless in February skies

Or may it was another pull,
a knowing, a grace, calling me
to open spaces…an offering

Surreal this suspended moment
stars dispersing sombre greys
tides of emotion releasing

I am transported,
uplifted, encouraged –
Heaven’s stellar promise.

(Image my own)

Marriage Potential

What if loyalty purchased this house
and commitment co-signed?
We’d take out a mortgage
based on love – interest only

What if our foundation was spiritual
and our walls cornerstones of faith?
We’d furnish our home with joy
and leave room for wonder.

Can you imagine the possibilities
if we dedicated this life to service,
if we made our marriage the hub,
found a reason for being?

The ingredients are all here –
so where’s the hesitation?
Let’s turn off the screens
and tune into what can be.

(Image my own)

The Last Train (Sonnet)

We wait at the station, Mother and I,
one final stop for her – painless she prays;
I busied at bedside – prolonged goodbye –
memories and regrets filling our days.

“We live too long,” she wearily proclaims
“Why must suffering linger till the end?”
I plea and bargain, call angelic names,
yet the will to survive refuses to bend.

The urgency builds as my time dwindles;
must I leave her in this compromised state?
She rallies and stands on wobbly spindles
dismisses fears – has accepted her fate.

Some destinations are clearly defined –
Death is a train whose schedule’s unkind.

(The Last Train first appeared January 2019. Image my own)

Mouse Massacre

There are mouse bits
splayed across the sunroom
stuck to my favourite throw rug
and great globs of glue

The trap my husband set
to catch the recent invasion
apparently lured the hunter
for she, stiff legged and
face matted, is skulking
elsewhere

I stepped on a gluey bit
eyes not yet open
before noting
the disarray

Hard to concentrate
when a tail detached
from a thigh (foot intact)
lie stuck to one’s rug
and entrails drip down
the freshly painted
off-white wall.