creativity · Love · poetry · relationships · writing

How Does the Heart Choose?

Set me on a lonely road
and I will shine –
solitude a strength

And yet, I have an inner pull,
a need for connection,
a longing for depths of love.

But what of these dreams –
do relationships deter direction,
and must I always wait on another?

Intimacy is complicated,
the route undefined,
I am chilled, fatigued

How does the heart decide
when love challenges
arrogance, and fear takes hold?

(Connecting to Eugi’s Weekly prompt: complicated, and Reena’s Exploration Challenge – featured image.)

 

 

 

adversity · aging · life · poetry · writing

Lost Directions

Partnered once, with compassion –
believed in power of human touch,
dedicated self to caring, certain
I’d found my body of work

Time and circumstance intervened;
I drifted, lost in an eddy of confusion,
marital fray ending in separation –

Life moves in circular cycles, and
I revisit that work now, wonder if
parts are salvageable, viable –

fragments outdated, irrelevant –
compassion still holds merit,
what if I let it drive, put ego
in the passenger seat –

would she steer us down one-way
streets, against the flow to traffic,
rattle elusive confidence –

without trust in process, I lack
assurance of youth’s glory –
would not survive the scramble

Circular lines bypass, spiral;
we are not meant to go back;
must breathe and stop grasping.

(Lost Directions first appeared here in October 2017.  I have edited it and resubmit for my weekly challenge: compassion.)

adversity · aging · blogging · creativity · poetry

Losing Direction

Certain, are we,
of the direction chosen,
authoritative in our drive…

yet, impulsivity rides along
and our assets are but plastic,

and these dreams of ours
are they even realistic?

Oh how adversity casts aspersions;
how easily plans crumble

focus deteriorates, threatens
to abandon, desire takes a back seat
to the dictates of old agendas…

we revert, wait for endings –
certain closure will refuel purpose…

and fret: is resolution even possible?
and is it necessary

or can we reload,
set course anew,

let faith keep us afloat?

(Inspired by a dream and written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing prompt #63: crumble, which challenges us to write a composition in 88 words.)

aging · disability · life · poetry

Lost Directions

Partnered once with compassion,
believed in the power of human
touch, dedicated myself to caring,
certain I’d found my body of work

time and circumstance intervened
I drifted, lost in an eddy of confusion
my partner and I separated in the fray
but life moves in circular cycles, and

I revisit that work now, wonder if
parts of it are salvageable, viable –
fragments of that former time now
seem so outdated, irrelevant, what

if I let compassion drive, put ego
in the passenger seat, would she
not steer us down one way streets
against the flow of traffic, rattle

my elusive confidence, jeopardize
this vulnerability; I have no trust
in processes, lack the assurance
of youth’s glory, would not survive

the scramble; time and circumstance
have intervened, circular lines bypass
in spirals; we are not meant to go back,
I need to breathe and stop this grasping.

(Image: scorpyorising.blogspot.com)

 

 

dreams · health · Humour · life · poetry · recovery

Need A Road To Follow

Heading somewhere,
chauffeur unreliable –
treacherously absent
direction – any road

would be better than
these curb-hopping,
tendencies, head-on
into snowy banks –

Common sense –
usually a stabilizer –
is off duty, lacking
appropriate attire,

his willowy, tree-like
composure relaxed;
nonchalantly shrugs
off the current drama.

It’s not that I don’t
have dreams – have
birthed projects –
lack the stature to

move beyond the
laneway, ambition –
reduced by concern –
imagining catastrophe

death by recklessness,
or worse, attacked by
loyalty – vicious end
to a goal-less journey.

disability · health · recovery · relationships

What Scars Remain?

Should I escape these shackles,
manage to re-surface, swim
despite this weakened condition
against the currents of disability,
find myself once again on the
solid grounds of civilization;
will I be embraced with cheers
of victory, or slotted into some
back room, reserved for the fallen,
spoken to in hushed tones,
forever handled at arms length,
an object to be feared?

And if I manage to fight these
bonds that for so long have
threatened to annihilate,
will I have the bravery to face
the calling that once defined me,
shake off the cobwebs of
disorientation, defy the
certainty of unpreparedness,
draw from the well of past
experiences and rise to
a new battle, proving the
validity of my return?

Or, with freedom, do I look
to opportunity, clear the slate
of former ambitions, rewrite
the pages of my destiny,
embrace an attitude of
rebirth, decide to relinquish
the sword, cut my losses
and redefine a new, gentler
way of being in the world,
less dependent on a system
which undoubtedly propelled
this descent in the first place?
th-1
(quoteko.com)

blogging · creativity · life · nonfiction

Mapping Life

If you could make a map of your life, what would it look like?  Have you walked one path, or several?  Has the terrain been flat or rocky?  What would the road ahead look like?

Let’s see if I can describe the map of my life.

My beginnings were in the east, at the edge of residential land, bordering on industrial.  The path I was born on was bordered by rosebushes, but despite the flowery hope, the thorns were painfully evident.  Not yet able to carve my own path, I was often passed over fences and imposed upon others.

At four, we moved west as a family and the path seemed to open up, and brought the fertile promise of new topsoil.  It was here that I began to picture a direction of my own, and dreamed of writing, teaching, and fighting for children’s rights.   But the richness of the soil proved superficial, and the foundation started to crack, and suddenly,  we veered off course.

The new road took us out of town, away from the familiar, and on the edge of an escarpment.  The way was marked by rocky crevices, and treacherous footings.  As strong and independent as I tried to be, there were too many dark places here, and my confidence was shaken.

By the time we ventured back to my hometown, I had already disengaged myself from my parents’ path, and began to carve my own.  The beginnings were not auspicious.  I was headed into a dark, overgrown forest, which would trip me up many times over the next couple of years, causing me to grasp at any beam of light, desperately looking for a way out.

I came to clearings from time to time, and if  you look closely, you will see the areas that I clear cut myself, out of sheer determination to make that time of my life count.

Then there are the moments where the path lifted me out of the woods and onto the sunny, green hilltops, and life was good again.  And I resumed my dreams, and pursued my studies, and became a mother.

Until the earth opened up and swallowed me momentarily, but I climbed out of that, and for awhile I walked along the beaten path, not really sure if I belonged, but not wanting to miss out either.  See my footprints there, hesitant, beside the road?

And see where I started to carve out yet another new route?  There, where the trees are not so dense, and the wood is new, and spring green.  Notice how the path begins to develop, wobbly a bit, at first, then straightening out, making it’s way in a slow ascent along that mountainside.    There are the plateaus I have talked about, and look there, where I took a steep climb.  Those were good times.  I had purpose then, and felt so alive.

The path goes underground for awhile.  You can’t see it, but it winds its way through the caves.  I can tell you, I tried a few different trails while I was under there, but eventually settled on the one I’m on now.  You can see it emerging, there at the top of the map, where the mountain opens up to a green valley.  I’ll be resting here awhile, but the journey is not over yet.

Just over that next hill there is a village, and beyond that village, on the horizon, an ocean.  Looks like there will be a few more peaks to master, and that the road might double back once or twice, but I am hoping for a beautiful landscape ahead, and a lot more ease of travel.

Try it yourself.  Draw a map of your own life.

(Image: yourlifemapping.com)