Erasing the past –
collecting ash with chopsticks –
infertile practice
embrace, learn, and recreate
we are clay – artist’s magic.
Dialoguing With Other
I offer Rage a chair
invite a conversation
She rants about childhood
and neglect, powerlessness
in the face of abuse
And I nod and remember,
suggest she’s also feeling grief
And she talks about crying
alone, no one caring, and how
I don’t let her cry anymore
I put up walls, I agree,
and ask how I can help
Stop leaving me out, she says
touting her values, and learn
to be more assertive
She says she feels abandoned
to which I reply that feelings
and reality are not the same
The conversation tires me
we’ve been around and around
the subject before…
And then I realize, I do need her
and venture to ask for forgiveness
I’ve screwed so many things up
Admitting you’re not perfect,
she smiles, definitely helps
besides…together we make ‘me’.
(Written for VJ’s Weekly Challenge: the other side. Image my own.)
Night Porter
Wee rowan lad
drums me into night
a fabled rhythm
conjuring mystical
oneiric encounters
There is freedom
in dreaming
slipping ego’s hold
soul taking flight
There is sorrow too
for when the drummer’s
song is done
morning must come.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Re-Cycling
Age, a rocky tor
begs attitudinal shift
more wonder
than fortitude
Cyclical, actually
wisdom allotting
childish valour
a dash of mellow.
(For RDP’s prompt: mellow. Image my own.)
Sustenance Rekindled
It wasn’t the knowledge of stability –
chaos had the upper hand back then.
It wasn’t even that love was expressed –
unconditional an unheard of concept
It was an unspoken presence
the reassurance of rocks
the irrepressible allure
of a freshwater stream
How a child’s heart
found encouragement
in the whispering wind
solace in arbored shelter
Naturally the din of home life
overpowered this self-assured
passage, disrupted kinship
and shattered childish faith
But all that is behind now
and when I clear cluttering
thoughts, disperse static
emotions, still the heart
The rhythms are still there –
presence offering sustenance…
(Image my own)
Neglect
Oil glistens
contaminates
drinking water
250 evacuated
25 years of
boil-water advisory
an elder recites
and now this
We’re not animals,
adolescents rally
but ears turn away
government wheels rust
Neskantaga First Nation
want to go home
to live with dignity
know their human rights
Do they know
a .05% increase
in corporate taxes
would suffice
For the 73%
of First Nations
also lacking
this basic need
Acknowledge
prioritize
address
It’s all they ask.

(Written for Reena’s Exploration Challenge #168. Image and information sourced from :
ctvnews.ca
and Government of Canada: https://canadians.org/fn-water)
Soul Pulls
“What in your life is calling you, when all the noise is silenced,
the meetings adjourned…the lists laid aside,
and the wild iris blooms by itself in the dark forest…
what still pulls on your soul? “
– Rumi
I dwell in silence
meetings adjourned
list groceries
Former self faded
sorrowful shadow
definition slipped
I am the wild iris
pushing forward
in darkness, unseen
In contemplation
future doors heavy
snowy the path
If I follow light
I find promise
a verdant valley
I am guided
no destination
only presence
Physical constraints
merely distraction
I am the message
Light, shepherd
dreamer, woman
warrior, goddess
My soul pulls
invites passage
I am ready.
(Written in response to my weekly challenge – opening quotation. After meditating on Rumi’s words the image emerged and later this poem.)
After the Storm
Silent aftermath
sanctity violated
nuance exploded –
Will democracy endure?
What grows beneath the ashes?
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknuston. Image my own.)
Gnawing
I’m gnawing on possibility
the suggestion that my dabbling
could amount to something
What? my gut protests
reminds me of limitations
physical constraints
But I’ve had room to breathe
and resources at hand
and creativity, expansive
dwells in possibility
nibbles at suggestions
mind scrabbles to find
excuses – laundry,
a drawer that needs sorting
but the door has opened
and I’m seeing a path
a way through the noise
a sliver of light beckoning.
(For Ragtag’s daily prompt: gnaw. Image my own.)
Sun Knows
Find hope in sunsets
bursts of magnificence
momentarily absolve
worry, guilt…
When did fear gain
such hold, and how
do I demystify its lies?
The setting sun knows,
I am certain, will follow her
into darkness…
(Image my own.)