Across the miles, our words convene, threads of our lives intertwining to form a tapestry. Stories of sorrow and kindness, humanity restored – of observation and empathy of inspiration through resonance of brilliance and artistry. Each thread as colourful as another, delicately added, thoughtful musings. Of generations and legacies, misunderstandings contributing to […]
via Together a Tapestry – V.J. Knutson — FREE VERSE REVOLUTION
Vultures come
sharpen talons and beaks
tear at necrotic flesh
pick this carcass clean
I need a committee
to rid me of parasitic past
trauma’s cadaver
weighing me down.
(Linking up to Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day. A macabre bird and poem to fit the season. Image from personal collection)
Cupped hands gather tears
dreams once clear now misted, gone –
nostalgic ideals.
(Written for RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: water/ smoke. Also for Reena’s Exploration challenge – image featured.)
Expectations safely stowed
pursed alongside judgment,
I am bent on finding an outlet
for already disgruntled disposition.
Encounter inexperience
fumbling responsibility –
an overwhelmed innocent
lacking in accountability
I offer a suggestion,
to roll up my sleeves
and before I know it
compassion’s employed
This was not my intention –
I am ill-equipped for such
a commitment, surely
I am of no practical use.
Yet, here I am, engaged
expectations tossed
in favour of service –
please don’t judge.
The world, I’d say,
is struggling to endure –
upheaval the new norm
old protocols redundant –
insane the political thrum.
Surely hope has remained,
a constant flickering might.
(Warning: trigger)
It wasn’t for want of terror –
inexplicable horror
caused me to quake
There was no one to hear –
a remote lair, boarded
ensured the perfect crime
Even in the aftermath –
self erased, movement
adrenalin automaton
Even then, no sound,
voice stifled by guilt
certainty blame was mine
Art of dissociation
keeps me now, surface
calm – shame numbed
The scream a silent
reverberation
tearing at my soul.
(For Ragtag Community’s daily prompt: scream.)
Autumn dons a mask,
regales the changing season,
ignores Winter’s threat –
and I too, dance, brightly clad,
deny the nearness of death.
In Mallard’s wake woe –
with clipped wings, I watch and yearn
for Winter sojourn.
(For Granny Shot It’s Bird of the Day, and RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: wake/wail)
Bent –
life’s tribulations weighty
do not confuse this folding
with weakness, I am
worn –
tested resilience
nourishes creativity
I am muse rich,
alive –
alone my story
an illustration,
my life art.
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”
Source: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot
I line my spoons on the counter –
measures of the day’s reserves
one spoon for morning tea
with a side of emails read
a shower requires two or three
with a guarantee of needed rest
I’ll linger horizontal – added care
when an outing is in the plans
the thrill of venturing, and delight
of conversation shared wipes
the counter clean – I’ll crash
and crave for one spoon more
enough to get me into bed
pray tomorrow’s count the same.
(For Reena’s Exploration challenge, in which she challenges us to use one of the given lines of poetry. Spooning is the term used for those of us with chronic illness who have limited energy. Myalgic Encephalomyelitis is characterized by exhaustion after exertions. My day starts with depleted energy, and I work from there.)
One Woman's Quest 