Captivated by bridges
connection previously
assumed impossible
A grandchild’s love
the loyalty of a dog
the kinship of writers
I watch life pass by
flash on sorrow, till
bridges restore peace.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
We converse in actions
words inaccessible –
have not been schooled
in dialogues for two.
His clutter spreads
pronounce’s a kingly
presence, commands
attention, oppresses
I clean with insistence
shuffle papers, wipe up
crumbs, assert my right
to co-exist, belittle him.
Once we studied dance;
he learning to lead, I
to follow signals – the art
is lost on us now, our steps
more interference, blocking
an inconvenience, not a
strategy; we are rhythmless
tolerating avoidances
How did language fail us
experts now at skirting
delicate issues, retreating
into solo performances
Pray time will serve,
absolve the problem, but
distance grows in silent cracks
we only converse in actions.
(Marital Dance first appeared here in August, 2017.
I submit it here, edited, for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: dance.
Image my own.)
Way forward
but a foggy trail
Who coined these
the Golden years?
Light a candle
will you…better yet
one for each year…
that should illuminate
something…
(Image my own.)
Life’s mountain
a rough climb
body fails to adjust
focused as we are
on destination
Sights a sepia blur
here approaching summit
scree presents new danger
I vote we pause awhile
appreciate our labour
breathe in colour for once.
(Art mine)
Remember youth?
Life an adventure
heart full of dreams
Responsibility made us quartz
working machines, focus
on destination – life as goal
In the gloaming, time blurs
nostalgia and regret dance with
perspective – the irony of it all.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
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.)
Teach me reverence
am losing ground
children adulting
mothering in a void
Teach me acceptance
disability’s waters flood
I’m in the margins
an afterthought
I concede life changes
release control – passion
begs an outlet; I am worn
but I am open. Teach me.
(Image mine)
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 heart of mine.
(Desert first appeared here in November 2018. Â As Winter blows in around us, I think longingly of our time spent in warmer climates. Image from personal collection.)
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.
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 –
but smoke, spiralling,
vanishing into non-existence
And yet, even as shadows
spread, I yearn –
heart beating true,
not lost, not forgotten,
but withdrawn, humbled
passion mellowed
by toil of constructing walls –
grit and tar – scar’s long buried,
save the limping gait
of a ghost.
(Poem first appeared here July, 2018. I am resubmitting for Ragtag Community’s prompt: humble. Image from personal collection.)
One Woman's Quest 