Shifting to Acceptance

In illness, I am passenger –
no matter how venturous
mind’s reach, the raw truth
is that limitations confine

This is not a sentence
for some perceived crime,
but a re-framing – attitude
shifting to acceptance

Choice becomes thoughtful –
time allows for that now –
and gratitude takes hold
in every corner of “I can”.

(Art my own)

In 2021, I Woke Up

This year the plague came
and I blamed the wind
for carrying destruction
and I blamed the sun
for its ineptitude
and the rain,
no friend of mine,
only served to drown
my expectations.

Lockdown
and social distance
masks and antiseptics
how was a soul
to survive?

Pushing 2020
out the door
certain relief
would follow
but change is not
a date on the calendar
a release of circumstance

I turned inward
faced the gloom
and found a spark
forgave the weather
the virus, the news

In 2021, I woke up…

(For Reena’s Exploration challenge: I woke up in 2021… Image my ow

Proposal Response

Aging I am/ but not without wisdom,
and disabled / and in more ways, not –
unreliability / the state of my body
trending / creativity

Escape is proposed / from this hindering attitude
my oozing scars / soothed with tenderness
beg a stand/ that revitalizes
discover determination/ I am evolving

This slumbering/ now awakening
has become impulsive/ suggests renewal;
need discipline / new boundaries
to quiet the pain / still, I thrive

I am whiny / pay it no attention
self-mothering / not selfish
counselling bedrest/ a healthy balance
prone to coddling/ this budding creativity

need to shake off/ revitalize
this disoriented/ clearing
weakened state – / altered strength
escape is proposed / certain.

(This week’s challenge is a wild card.  The catch is to look back over recent postings and find the repetition, that becoming the prompt.  I noticed a repetition of ‘age’ and recognize a need to revisit my attitude towards this inevitability, so I decided to select an old poem which illustrates the issue and readdress it.  Left side of each line is the original poem: Proposal.  Italicized endings are the new response. Image from personal collection.)

 

Authenticity

The freedom to be unafraid,
even alone, connected
to a sense of purpose,
a trust in a higher being.

Never a thought given
to whether the attire is right,
hair just so, or whether or not
there’s enough money to live on.

Unfiltered honesty, a heart
full of wonder, a mind open
and eager to learn – will
unblemished by vanity.

Some call it naiveté
some call it innocence
I call it authenticity

this five-year-old sprite
whose simplicity of being
defies any other reality.

Blessings

Mother’s feet scream –
agony of her miserable condition,
underlying disease eating her.
My feet, free of calluses,
paddles slightly bent and fallen,
carry on with forgiving kindness.

Husband’s knees are red-hot pokers
shooting knife-sharp volts
with every rickety step.
Mine are knots in spindly
trunks that bear movement
graciously, allot me flexibility.

Father’s back grew weak
faltering in the end, hunched,
as if he’d born a cumbersome burden.
My back, not without its moaning,
carries me proudly erect –
like the spring sapling, winter endured.

Uncle’s heart beats erratically,
ceasing despite its mechanical support,
his life a testimony to modern science.
My heart flutters with expectancy,
aches with disappointment,
and soars with each new birdsong.

Sister’s tension rises,
the stiffness in her neck suffocating,
headaches blinding her vision.
My neck, slung now like a rooster’s,
puffs around my face like an old friend,
allows me the comfort of perspective.

Brother’s mind has seized,
lost somewhere between today
and yesteryear – never certain of either.
Mine, a constant churning cog,
gathers information, spews ideas
and bends in the face of creativity.

My eyes have seen suffering,
my hands throbbed with desire to help;
yet each bears their cross stoically,
and so I watch with compassion
and gratitude for the life I might have lived,
had my own vessel not been so blessed.

(This is an edited version of an earlier post by the same name.)