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.)
Tag: aging
Liberated?
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.)
Need A Verb
Movement abandons
I grasp for something…
concrete…
…air to breathe
… am fast becoming
…sedimentary
…an object
Need a verb –
transitive –
to drive me –
The wind lifted her
The sun inspired her
The day healed her…
(Image my own)
Beat Goes On
Big band galas
Seaside dancehalls
Swing dancing
Men in uniform
Memory-soaked
daydreams like
shots of adrenaline
arthritic fingers tap
to a distant tune.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
Bridges
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.)
Marital Dance
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.)
Illumination
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.)
Focus on Colour
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)
Perspectives Shift
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.)
Re-Cycling
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.)
