Disregard the obvious –
I know how time has marred me
Disregard the glare –
eyes clouded with cynicism
A fledgling heart beats
within this disheveled nest
Come closer and behold
a childlike yearning for love.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter. Image my own)
She is young,
this artist-self
celebrating discovery
He chastises enthusiasm,
this intellect-self, favours
logic over emotions
I use disability as an excuse
Accept intellect’s restraints
Ignore encouragement
Refrain from submitting
Halter progress
Youth has ambition
her paint spattered hands
grasp at opportunity –
her tender heart
emits a joyful tune..
…but age,
having abandoned ambition,
is hard of hearing.
(Art mine)
We’ll venture
into the city
Pretend our bones
are not dust
Ignore our fails
Hearts soft
Love nostalgic
Hold hands
like lovers
Location historic
(ours alone)
celebrate resilience.
(Today we celebrate our anniversary. Image my own)
Once believed
not in circles
but in spirals
Life’s dance
continual movement
marking progress
Time’s measure
mocks such optimism
regret unavoidable
Excuses aplenty
none assuaging ambition
incomplete inevitable
Can I stop this spinning
rescue the untidy threads
weave an acceptable ending?
(Image my own)
No one told me,
in my haste to grow up,
that adulthood, awash
with responsibility,
would also be lonely
And, no one told me
that the days and nights
of sweating over lessons
would likely not lead
to the life imagined
nor that commitment –
the kind portrayed in movies –
does not exist – the word itself
bearing more substance
than the act, fickle as it is
No one told me that
motherhood would change
my reality permanently,
colouring it with unfathomable
pain and joy – such juxtaposition
And, no one told me that
every battle I ever arm myself for,
regardless of its justification,
is really a struggle with self –
inner demons the most menacing.
I never imagined that age,
with seismic force,
would alter my perspective so –
leave me barren and yet enriched,
enthralled with the ordinary
and unfazed by the rest
And, in the end, as I watch
the vernal rains announce renewal,
in the quiet of my solitude, I am
amazed and grateful for all
that this crazy, driven life has become
and that no one ever told me.
(This is an edited version of a poem published in April, 2019. Art my own.)
I know that abyss –
swallowed up as I was
punch-drunk on darkness
Bled as I emerged,
each reach a scrape –
there was release too
Revived now, I honour
that passage, recognize
the making of a woman.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknuton. Image my own.)
Sky gallery –
anything but banal –
recalls innocence
Geese attempt
an instinctual dance
(few will actually migrate)
Cheers this aging mind,
also prone to redundant acts –
sexagenarian fun.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Winter defines this stage,
this page, night descending
too early for my taste
If I catch a falling star,
can I shed the excess
layers of this confinement
Follow animal impulses
to a sunnier clime, restore
exuberance of noble youth?
Passion persists, intelligence
intact, just need a brighter
angle from which to reveal it.
(Lighting Call first appeared here January, 2019.
Linking up with Reena’s Xploration challenge: light. I
mage my own.)
Eventuality
of gravity
is bona fide
Flesh is not iron
Minds, however,
can strengthen, if
nurtured with
open compassion
Spirits plummet
and revive, buoyant
as the grace that
serves them.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own.)
Call myself liberated
but this modern woman’s
shadow arches backwards
finds its reflection in legacies
How can I forgive my own failings
when their tale takes root in
oppression and abuses long passed?
Liberated a misnomer.
(Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 