Shoreless

I attempt to predict
but the future is blank

Snapshots only portray
the past, fragmented

Sunsets might suggest,
birds leak probabilities

But I want to peek
behind the final curtain

Cut through the noise
of popular currents

Life is two-faced
deception paired

And row as I might
fighting the flow

Manna follows its own rhythm
nips at my fears, like a tail wind

Nothing in it but to breathe
Lighten this intense need to know

(Image my own)

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On Moving Forward

Curious by nature
and driven by hope
we push forward

Spring ourselves
from mud-mired traps
of psychological undoings

Focus on a horizon
where sunrises
and sunsets
offer glimpses of glory

Optimist and pessimist
alike, daring to believe
that the beckoning future
bears equal promise.

(Image my own)

Filters

Age
masks the depth
and breadth of ability –
houses more than anticipated
room for expansion, however;
current state of disrepair –
walls buckling, wiring faulty,
and security systems failing –
compromises output.

Old
holds a certain charm,
character well-earned,
but it would be useful
to install a mechanism
for locking out the past –
perhaps the future too –
eliciting and validating
the fullness of present.

Shoebox Dreams

A simple shoebox, repurposed
with plastered images of dreams –
paper affirmations of aspirations –
shelved and forgotten, its contents

snapshots, faded and torn, remnants
of another time, a different future –
captured when potential was prime
and possibility untainted by illness

this one was retirement – a supposed
celebration – but note how the colour
has drained, the cracks obliterating
pride of accomplishment; and notice

how this one crumbles to the touch –
the fragments dissipating even as
my life has dissipated, the image
lost before memory resurfaces, so

much loss when circumstance dictates
direction, overpowers will, and plans
like snowflakes, vanish in the heat
of reality – pain and insult burning

but wait – this one looks promising –
the edges only slightly torn, the image
discernible – could it be that there is
hope yet – a future author I might be?

That’s the thing about times to come,
we fill them with imaginings, and pray,
our hope, like balloons set free in a sea
of unforeseen challenges, and seldom

does the end result reflect projected
plotting, and yet, there is power in
the dreaming, and so I’ll replace the old
with new photographs to store away.

(Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge asks us to consider future.)

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A Call To Teach

They set up classrooms in malls,
call them “alternative”, cater to
those who have fallen through
proverbial cracks, teens unfit
for institutional learning…

I was wayward once, could not
value education while teenage
angst pushed me overboard –
home life too quixotic for
reasonable expectations of
comportment …

My heart reaches out
to those displaced, for whom
common curriculum does not gel –
I long to meet with them on concrete
benches, over cups of Tim Horton’s
lending a sympathetic ear…

School is not the defining moment
the last stop before our final destination;
it is a stepping stone, one of many paths
that lead to discovery, to definition,
troubled souls crave soothing…

maybe, if I could light a torch
for just one child, build a bridge
of hope, the girl in me would be
quieted, reassured, healed –
validation ensuring a future for all.

(Image: classroom.synonym.com)

Suspended

What options for long term care?
Will life linger, abandon me, alone?

If unconditional love exists, then let
it talk to me, gesture desire, offer

support – safety only comes with sleep
despite this troubled unconsciousness;

oversensitive, naive perhaps, will make it,
if only I push outside the comfort of my bed.

suspicious of following, consuming, believe
that outsiders have forgotten me, worried –

security lies in the hands of loving, attentive
companion, otherwise; trying to trust life.

(Image: perfumeonherpassport.wordpress.com)

Haunted Corners

There’s a place, at the intersection
of break downs and choices ahead,
where I have ownership, but avoid.

Courage resides there, and other
parts of self unnamed – I haunt
the place by night, intrigued by

the camaraderie, lack the guts
to venture into the unknown –
decidedly a criminal element;

need a sense of adventure to aid
escape, squeeze me past seedy,
neglected, cracked pane spaces;

lack wheels, coordinates confused –
am located who knows where –
war for independence my identifier.

In daylight, I am redeemed, visited
by semblances of normalcy, sweet
offerings of obligation, distraction;

revel in youth’s exuberance, pretend
that gifts of kindness sustain me,
ignore the relentlessness of corners.