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. Â Image from personal collection.)
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)
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. Â Visit me @Vjknutson.)
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.
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.
Do fiddle together, they say,
as if man lust were in want
when his smooth, cool music
fingers my girly drives
are I ugly – not gorgeous?
Some waxy, like rust,
saying one of thousand
not sad, but like rain
are sky-suited.
(Fridays are Magnetic Poetry day. Â Play online. Image from personal collection.)
Born brilliant,
and good looking,
he had me dancing,
fevered –
red cat woman,
I am porcelain,
prisoner,
cup fishing,
long to explore
dark words –
do not ask though –
sexy sailed –
ate godless
byes.
(It’s Magnetic Poetry Friday.)
Ancient song of Eden, our nature,
as above – light to watch for –
my summer, withering,
her insect breeze vined
would come there and have
harmony – beautifully fresh
in prairie lake,
air vivid.
(Fridays are for Magnetic Poetry. Â Play along online.)
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
in tact, just need a brighter
angle from which to reveal it.
(Lillian is hosting dVerse poetics tonight with the prompt: shed. Â I am also linking up to Willow Poetry’s “What Do You See?” challenge: photo prompt; and Ragtag Community: angle; as well as Fandango’s: noble.)
Life! One day rushing to collect kids, stopping for the dry cleaning, and praying the slow cooker is indeed cooking; and the next strolling down uncluttered lanes, contemplating absence. How did we get here? How did we dream so big and land so humble? Gone are big homes and hefty mortgages. Hell, we’re down to one car. Sunday dinners with the family are memories and nowadays, my head spins to think of cooking for more than we two.
Now we speculate about time left. Ponder what distances will support us. Shall we travel, avoid the winter months, and if so, will our health cooperate?  Will the children understand?   Forgive my melancholy. The silence is echoing off the walls, and I am reflective today. Not in a good way. I’d best get myself outside for some fresh air.
Time slips through fingers
palms reaching outward, hopeful –
Fall’s hues distract woe.
(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 Word Thursday, and dVerse‘s open link night. Photo supplied by Deb Whittam)
One Woman's Quest 