I drink the backwash
of hollowed out promises
Is it me, invites indifference
expectations so low, self
gowned in layered shame?
How do I learn otherwise
break this toxic pattern
if not in pursuit of love?
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
She looks over my shoulder
that sister, born dying –
whom I mocked, cajoled
and judged so harshly
She breathes down my neck
that sister, I despised
for her sin, and mistakes
how she always abandoned me
She taunts me constantly
ridicules my failing ways
her thoughts poisoned darts
attack me at my core
My eyes are opening,
compassion too late
“Karma bites”, her ghost
hisses as illness seeps in.
(For Reena’s Xploration Challenge: karma bites. Image my own)
Has no jugular
sandstone grit
keeps his hell
well barricaded
She is melody
beauty flowing
sees only light
Classic tragedy
about to unfold.
(Image mine)
Ground beneath
shifting
once solid
now swirling
dissolving –
gritty eddies
of sand…
Would be
a desert storm
if not standing
at water’s edge;
nothing for it
but to leap
take a risk
and fly…
(This poem first appeared here as Flying Fish, in 2016. Now edited and retitled for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: swirling. Image my own.)
Cardinal cares not
for human noise, her sweet song
a sprightly muse
even the meanest of hearts
turn skyward at her bidding.
(A tanka for Thursday. Image my own.)
This shield of granite
birthed from grief
no match for vibrancy
of heart – her song
bright as cardinal
must be heard –
love outwitting loss
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Today is Thursday
I’m certain of it
Thursdays Mom calls
after her hair appointment
But she hasn’t called
and I can’t find that show
I watch on Thursday nights
Did they change the programming?
And then I remember
that garbage goes out
Thursday night
and so I scramble, but
everyone else has forgotten
how can this be?
Today is Thursday
and nothing is going right.
(For Reena’s Xploration Challenge: featured image is prompt. I suffer from inflammation on the brain, which at times affects my understanding of reality – especially when I’m overtired. During these times, my mind will lock on to what it believes to be true, even if I’m totally off base. Reena’s image reminded me of those days.)
Stalwart evergreens
like sentinels guarding
passage – this road
at times treacherous
has tested faith
The wind taunts
threats of storms
and still, the tall pines
stand their ground
steadfast harbingers.
(Image my own)
Nostalgia casts rainbows
over stormy passages
Why is darkness so alluring?
I breathe passion into losses
soul revolting against the light
committed to seduction of perhaps
Where is the wisdom in this brooding?
Naïve rumination seldom begets the gold
best to look away when rainbows appear.
(For Eugi’s Weekly Challenge: rainbows. Image my own.)
Talk to me of horses
the young man says
thin locks of blonde matted
on a sweaty brow, flashes of blue
that fade as eyes succumb
to weariness, the constant
whoosh, whoosh of respirator.
Talk to me of horses:
the world is losing its grip
and I care not about
the weather or car mechanics,
but I dream of horses
and I am feeling so emotional –
help me understand.
So, I come daily to his bedside
wait for moments of lucidity
ponder the implications
of his questions, wrestle with
my own inadequacies –
I am merely student here.
We discuss horses –
the power of their bodies
their beauty and grace
their role throughout history –
decide they are ferrymen
transporting souls across worlds –
an explanation that satisfies, then…
I am seeing things, he strains
embarrassed even in these final hours
to describe what seems inconceivable,
between sleep and awake, figures
grey and frightening hover over
my bed like body snatchers….
A chill runs over me, as if icy
fingers have caressed my skin
and I shudder despite myself
scramble to maintain calm
wonder aloud if it is not just fear
projecting grey into light
clouding his vision.
I missed his passing the next day
arriving to find his mother waiting
“He left you a message,” her eyes
quizzical, “says that you were right
about the visions; there was nothing to fear”
I smile through the grief –
ever the teacher that one
now dead at twenty-one
“Oh, and one more thing”, she adds “
“Could you talk to me of horses?”
(Talk to Me of Horses first appeared her in April 2018. This version has been edited slightly. Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 