Night Porter

Wee rowan lad
drums me into night
a fabled rhythm
conjuring mystical
oneiric encounters

There is freedom
in dreaming
slipping ego’s hold
soul taking flight

There is sorrow too
for when the drummer’s
song is done
morning must come.

(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)

Talking To Myself

Tripping over guilt
how I need to make amends

Meanwhile, charity
leaves me vulnerable

Lose credibility,
momentum

No longer a pick up for others
ditched without a lifeline

***

These are but feelings
I’m more comfy couch
than utility vehicle
and credibility –
well that’s earned

Pick myself up
wade through vulnerability
grateful for giving hands
some amends best left
to the lessons gained
guilt not worth the trouble.

(Much of my poetry is derived from dreamwork. Dreams use exaggeration and humour to evoke understanding. In this poem, I am able to see both at play, leading me to the more empowering response. Thanks for reading. Image my own.)

Childhood Home

The place remains in my dreams
like a movie set preserved…

Have assigned each room
a critique – disclosed the crimes

Yet, it remains, like a beacon
draws me to it, begs reflection

What if I could go back
now that I can breathe

Now that I’ve laid claim to maturity
would I discover a sudden windfall

makeover conditioned motifs
reevaluate ceiling heights

with resources to remodel
heart open, connected

might I uncover abundance
like a personal embrace.

(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge: featured image.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What We Really Need

We purchase boards
imagine roots –
dream bigger
ignore the dawning

The higher the fence,
we tell ourselves,
the better the privacy.
Work hard, earn big.

And the longing grows
it’s the heart that seeks roots
hungers for connection
love like sunshine

Would knock down walls
throw open the doors
bask in the expansiveness
of kindred moments shared.

(For Eugi’s Causerie Weekly prompt:  sunshine.  Image is my own – a common merganser basking in sunshine.)

Grey

Lured by azure waters,
the promise of carefree days,
I cruise ocean’s waters,
dream myself exotic.

Grey clouds loom, mock
this pretence – waves swell
crash, blacken horizon –
delusion loosing ground.

What force is this,
drags me into aphotic depths,
insists I swim in darkness?

Have I not proven tenacity,
claimed a place amongst the willing?

It is not light, I seek – too sinful
for redemption – just the solace
of familiar grey….