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.
(Childhood Home first appeared May, 2020. Image my own)
Wind carries Autumn’s song
and I am crawling out of a nightmare
Insides churning widdershins
thoughts grasping for a forward pull
Have been to the edge,
touched the volatile
Birdsong breaks solemnity
I catch a ray of light.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson
Last September, I was in hospital fighting through a life threatening condition. I penned this there. Image my own.)
Open to healing –
create a space for inspiration delve into the subconscious
Enter with pure intentions
ignore limited capabilities – no offerings are meager – Embrace new starts with faith in ability – be spurred into action
Self holds the answers
creative expression is key – no expertise required.
(Open to Healing first appeared here in August, 2015. Edited for this post. Art my own)
Burrs of misadventure cling
I am not beholden to them
Progress, not always visible
requires breathing room
Tenderness heals wounds
patience guiding movement
One by one, I extract the hooks
sigh with each deliverance.
(Image my own.)
too dark lie buried beneath this hide
to forgotten chambers I obsess over ideologies crave peace
Only an archeological dig
can set that dream in motion.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own.)
Raised in a battlefield
quantity doled out in abuse, quality not yet defined
Now I write myself
out of the darkness each chapter an uphill climb
Page by page
reconciliation no shortage of words value between lines.
(Image my own.)
Rebellion rages in my veins, Dreamcatcher,
so tightly wound I have blocked hope I want to be good – a good girl – like that man of God says but his preaching ways violate prophecies a cover for sin and I am so sullied that I fear love will distain me.
How did I get here, Dreamcatcher
childhood a lost notion – I try to minister to the past, but Father’s sermonizing possesses even in death, his will a barricade I need guidance to help me emerge
I’m an unreliable navigator, Dreamcatcher,
oppression’s familiar, no high able to release me suspicion of promises nauseates I’m tired of facades – good girl facades – locked in this nightmare won’t you please help me out?
(For Eugi’s Weekly prompt:
dreamcatcher. Art my own)
Erasing the past –
collecting ash with chopsticks – infertile practice embrace, learn, and recreate we are clay – artist’s magic.
sun’s fiery glow mocks my unrest
I am knee deep
in river’s flow no more than sediment beneath human craving –
a welcome touch.
Adept at uprooting,
conditioned to follow chaos –
know my place there.
Kindness unsettles –
each ray piercing
cracking the crust
unleashing a prism
both painful and joyous –
legacy of dysfunction.
(Poem from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)