I am sculptor,
shapeshifter –
carve persona
from cold rock –
a master illusionist
elude sharp corners
molded in mist –
pray reputation
does not pursue me.
Ah, Change
Fragile, this existence –
landings temporaneous,
change commanding
continuation, journey
perpetual – moments
alone offer fulfillment –
treasure each precious one.
(Christmas and a cold have worn me down, so I am withdrawing to rest. I do have a few scheduled posts, and will check in from time to time. Wishing you all peace for the holiday season, and no doubt will be back before the New Year.)
ME/CFS
These words illusion
portray vibrancy of life
belie the mundane
wicked exhaustion my truth
drudgery daily routine.
(For Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Challenge: wicked/ mundane; and BrewNSpew’s prompt: illusion. Forgive me for indulging in a moment of self-pity. Post celebration crash normal. Image from personal collection.)
Glorious
How a single ray of light
slips through a thicket
setting a leafy row ablaze,
How the kingfisher’s trill
echoes off the silken waters,
How our love remains despite
the ills that pursue us –
Glorious mystery.
(Image from personal collection.)
In The Moment
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.
Woven Deceit
I trace the fibre
of each of your lies,
note the intricacy
of their overlapping –
marvel at the depths
of your scheming,
still suffering aftershock
of deception’s braid.
(Tuesdays I borrow from my Twitter poetry. Visit me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Christmas Baking
Dates soften in the pan –
I stir with preoccupation
fresh-faced excitement
motivating each step.
I measure sugar, oats,
flour, the enormity
of my heart’s capacity
to love these young ones.
Add butter, and mix,
each stroke a hug,
anticipating enjoyment
a sweet connection.
Pat and bake, timer set,
bright eyes and tiny palms
lift upwards with sparkle –
Christmas cheer upon us.
(For Ragtag Community’s prompt: mix. Image from personal collection.)
Egg-Faced
A morsel of truth
and I am off
like White Rabbit
chasing meaning,
convinced that intellect
is just the tool I need
to decode the mystery –
bruises testament to
holes I’ve climbed out of.
Transformation
As light in darkness
transforms mundanity, so
too am I salvaged –
revelation turning back
the icy pallor of Winter.
(Tanka borrowed from a previous post on One Woman’s Quest II: Resetting the Dial. I have given the poem a title here. Image from personal collection.)
Growth Is Not Placid
Pastoral placid,
tonic for the soul – beware
stagnation, partake
in daring, honour spirit’s
longing for the wild; grow wings.
(For RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: placid/wild; and for BrewNSpew’s prompt: partake. Image from personal collection.)
One Woman's Quest 