To chronicle a life
to extract truth
separate skin from soul
in search of essence
I try to listen
to the rhythms
diagram a blueprint
am discombobulated.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Stalemate
Invisibility is undesirable
I am flesh craving
in a touchless world
A voice yearning
to be heard, a heart
to listen – compassion
growing cold. This side
of the table intolerable
how long will we continue
Till the rage in me ignites
sets your paper walls aflame
and will you even notice?
(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge: feature image is prompt.)
Just Saying
I wade through the muck
of your vocal excretions
anxious to mend the schism
What species of human
are you, would fabricate
such lies, impose such pain
And what species am I
that would tolerate it;
strive for reparation?
(Image my own)
To Old Friends
There is comfort
in old friendships,
reminders of things
forgotten, of misguided
adventures, and the folly
of youth; and there is hope
instilled by the passage of time
and the evidence that while life
changes, some things endure, and;
it is in the comfort of old friendships
that we find strength to believe in ourselves,
and the will to penetrate lingering angst, and
embrace the possibility of a future with purpose.
(To Old Friends first appeared here in December 2017. Image my own.)
Exorcism Required
It was desire
led me here
buried me alive
Lust borrowed
from loneliness
his heart a tomb
Flesh from flesh
can be extracted
psyche requires exorcism.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Solitude (3)
Solitude.
I dream of
panoramic
silence –
breathtaking
boundless
sanctity.
Solitude.
Wrapped in separateness
cardboard walls fallen
curling corners of instability –
no refuge in stillness.
Solitude.
Smothering starkness
madness reverberating
canyons of aloneness
overbearing.
Solitude.
Persevere
regale moments
feathered encounters
faces on screens
tenderness
in voices.
Solitude.
Grace finds me
mercy lifts soul
possibility
opens the door
panoramic.
(This is a rewrite of an older poem, last appearing here in August, 2018. I submit it for Reena’s Exploration challenge #163. Please visit her post for a most inspiring video. Art my own.)
Welcome Visitor
Mercy bore wings
graced my doorstep
her cheery song nectar
for a weary heart –
initiative all hers.
(Image mine)
Talking To Myself
Tripping over guilt
how I need to make amends
Meanwhile, charity
leaves me vulnerable
Lose credibility,
momentum
No longer a pick up for others
ditched without a lifeline
***
These are but feelings
I’m more comfy couch
than utility vehicle
and credibility –
well that’s earned
Pick myself up
wade through vulnerability
grateful for giving hands
some amends best left
to the lessons gained
guilt not worth the trouble.
(Much of my poetry is derived from dreamwork. Dreams use exaggeration and humour to evoke understanding. In this poem, I am able to see both at play, leading me to the more empowering response. Thanks for reading. Image my own.)
Marketably Obtuse?
I seek the elusive –
organize thoughts
attempt to draw
reason from obtuse
Project possibility
into unattainable
hoping to acquire
marketable commodity
Refuse to acknowledge
happiness is subjective
and bliss reserved
for those who let go.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Stop the Words
These thought processes…
I am inside out, shredded…
on so many levels
out of sync…
hear my own words
nothing but hot air
making me so dizzy
that I’m becoming afraid
of heights….
phobic, actually
Breathe,
I remember somewhere
between gulps of helium
and the hammering
in my head…
breathe…
Platitudes have no place
in this moment
in the inside out
emotionally raw now
So, I’ll quit the words
breathe until I find ground
again….
then repeat.
(Inspired by the prompt of Reena’s Exploration challenge which can found here. Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 