Re-Cycling

Age, a rocky torbegs attitudinal shiftmore wonderthan fortitude Cyclical, actuallywisdom allottingchildish valoura dash of mellow. (For RDP’s prompt: mellow. Image my own.)

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Teach Me

Teach me reverenceam losing groundchildren adultingmothering in a void Teach me acceptancedisability’s waters floodI’m in the marginsan afterthought I concede life changesrelease control – passionbegs an outlet; I am wornbut I am open. Teach me. (Image mine)

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Desert

Take me to the desert with mountains at our side; walk with me in shadows let nature be our guide. We’ll stroll amongst the cacti pay homage to the quails; take me to the desert, help me gather tales. The seasons are passing, we’re running out of time; take me to the desert; heal this […]

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Bent, Worn, Alive

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.

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Even Ghosts Yearn

Natural light preferable to artificial – not the harsh fullness of noonday sun but softly filtered rays – luxurious, inviting. Love too, should be subdued, gentle as a zephyr, not mythical but yielding, mindful; not worshipful nor boastful, but comforting, warm I am waning light, the mistral wind wafting, no longer a force of nature […]

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Losing Touch

Sure-footed she navigates forest floor leaps over obstacles, scales inclines knows each nook and cranny every sound a greeting but seasons pass and time erodes landscapes and senses lose sharpness   the nuances of the woods fading  memory the wind’s whispers elusive signals inner nymph silenced. (For Ragtag Community’s Daily Prompt: elusive.  Image from personal […]

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Grandmother Vase

Pot-bellied, am I: misshapen by age and gravity – more rot than plump ripe pear – still, a vessel for love – grandmotherly vase.   (Image from personal collection)

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Lingering Laughter

Grateful for the wilder times, days when daring ruled – amassed fodder for stories, harmless antics eliciting laughter – ever more sweet as body fails, nothing left but to reminisce. (Twitter Tales.  Visit me @Vjknutson.)

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Love Matured

Words are leaves, poignantly bold when sprouted, destined to wither lose their hold – thank goodness our love is a trunk, solidly rooted, steadfast – no need for words.

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Losing Ground

In corners, I scrounge – resilience fading; hope, it seems, is sleeping. Living a quarter life, even ascents depressed; dubious that alternatives are worthwhile. Walls would suffice – once dreamt of co-habitating with abundance, now housed with constraints. Age losing preferences, counting worries either way.

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