Moody, these December skies
brooding chill interrupted
by sun’s sudden emergence
To hibernate, or brace
the wind; stiffen protectively
or inhale invigoration
Caution guides my steps
intimate with wintry passages
acknowledging that I am December…
(Image my own)
Ignore the dead
the ocean of grief
capsizing humanity
Keep bailing on reality
conspiracy lacks an oar
we drown without compassion
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Euphoric, wrapped
in silent aftermath,
love’s vibration
still aglow
Push aside
the fear
the effort
it took
to get here
Bask in the moment –
tomorrow, I’ll cry.
(In The Moment first appeared here in December, 2019. Image my own.)
Heron’s wings span six-feet wide
great grey appendages in rhythmic flight
Dragonfly wings are camouflaged,
propel elongated bodies who hover in sight
Monarch’s wings are stained-glass delicate
with each flutter, sprinkle fantasies of delight
My wings, imaginary, give me faith and hope
mechanisms of spirituality, my soul’s fire ignite.
(Image mine)
If we could see the soul
comprehend the construct
outline each contour
sip the sacredness –
Would there then be peace?
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
There is light in unknowns –
at least I project it there –
caught between the current
ashen landscape and the achings
of a solitary childhood…
I like to think faith guides me
but she is muted like the gardens
of my dreams, more ethereal
than palpable and I need concrete
have waited too long for that train
of certainty to carry me away…
course it never comes, there is no easy
just a slow, steady plodding: a pace
that age has settled on; so I turn
to inner landscapes, imagination
remembering colour…and yes, light.
(Image my own creation)
My to-do lists have grown appendages
are teaming up in a huddle
plotting their next play
Wait a minute, Guys! I plead
the afternoon sun has caught me
at just the right angle,
and my chair,
with a mind of its own,
is reclining…
Can’t we save the game day antics
for another time…
(Image my own)
The scenery outside my window
is passing by too fast, and
I’m facing backwards, waves
of nausea disrupting the view
I focus on emotion, animated,
try to discern its origin, realize
it is misplaced; I am disoriented
laugh at the enormity of my blunder.
Girls are lucky:
just need to find the right man –
looked after for life.
Advice from a teenaged brother.
Right! I yell back,
fifty years later.
It was all a vacation –
raising the children on my own
looking for God in the midst of chaos
partners with wandering eyes
or absent…always absent…
still waiting for that “looking after”
And how did you make out, Dear Brother?
Oh, that’s right…married…
woman with a good job
willing to let you putter in the background
Guess we were both misled.
(No Idea! first appeared here November 2020. Image my own.)
I called you
that one time
poured my heart out
such despair
I called you.
You weren’t there.
Left a message –
garbled words
rushed to beat
inevitable beep.
Regret immediate
then panic
ineradicable
the outpouring
of a lonely heart
fantasizing.
I called you.
You didn’t answer.
You never called back.
Thank you for that.
(I found this poem on my other blog, and have given it a new title. Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 