birds · Humour · poetry · writing

Laughing Gull

Craving compassion
I seek the wisdom
of the river –

Her glimmering waters
reflect sun’s warmth
I am at once calmed

and uplifted –
seagull raises his wings
emits an ungodly chuckle.

(Image, my own, is not actually a Laughing Gull, but the title fits.)

aging · Humour · life · poetry · writing

Victim

Can’t take responsibility
for what gets laundered here
my vehicle has no steering wheel

I am merely seeking understanding –
comfort, like support shoes  –
and I get flack, indifference
slapping me in the face.

Why did I put myself in this position –
revert back to old ways, think
I was destined for anything
but penniless devotion –

should have been a nun.

(Image from personal collection.)

aging · creativity · Humour · life · poetry · writing

Re-Purposing The Garage

It’s complicated, really, but so much
is defined by the presence of a garage.

Here is a stand-alone, connected by
a breezeway, single-car with storage;

could have been so much more –
had planned for it, but life changes.

Once had an oversized garage – direct
access, housed two vehicles, custom

built – but the cars are gone now, and
the single stands vacant, like my mind.

Except, the other day, I swore I glimpsed
an animal there, perched on the shelving

fierce, cat-like eyes caught in the dim
light of an open doorway – a tigress,

body crouched – I backed away, but
not before claws pierced my imagination

tended to the bleeding, chastising my
foolishness – of course, she isn’t real –

I lost my feminine prowess long ago,
am more of a groundhog now – slow

moving, podgy, sniffing the air for hints
of change, burrowing in the face of trouble.

A family lived here once: a tightly knit
portrait of three, lulled by the protection

offered – no storms to weather –
until the husband left, daughter

in tow; ducked beneath closing
of the automated door –

me, trapped beneath layers of regret
choking on their fumes, homeless.

Would ignore her, except for
those grasping, white-knuckled

fingers pleading for rescue; would
shoulder her, but shudder to host such

destruction within my walls,
already robbed of equilibrium

this state of heightened vigilance
a cause for neglecting self – have

humoured one too many advantage-
taker, cannot trust my own instincts

am disillusioned, no longer content
with inconsistencies, need to

confront the condition of my garage,
clean out the accumulation of stored

nonessentials – maybe hold a sale –
whitewash the interior and buy a car.

(Reena’s Exploration challenge this week is the long and short of it.  The above poem is the long.  The short follows.)

If life is defined by a garage,
then mine is single, attached,
empty and needing work.

(The original version of this poem was published in August 2016.  It has been reworked for this edition.)