Tag: imagination

Not Everything Is Defined by Age

As a child, I knew no limits, setting out on adventures with never a fear for how I’d find my way back home.

Now, nestled in my home, I limit myself to certainties, fearful of risks.

Some days, I wonder about that child, and how it would feel to wander freely, and it makes me smile.

The body may be hindered, but the imagination remains forever young.

(Post originally appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, May 2022)

Colouring Lessons

Favourite colour?
Black, says she
without hesitation

I falter, stumble,
mind reaching –
who likes black?

Is that a colour?
It’s all colours!
She’s nonchalant

intent on task –
carefully keeping
within the lines

Of course it is...
ill equipped am I
to disagree, images

of dark somber
corners, sorrow
and death crows –

Why black? ask I,
composure forced –
had anticipated pink

equate childhood
with primary shades,
splotches of yellow

and rainbow skies,
candy red apples
on lollipop trees

But black? No –
black obliterates,
negates, destroys

It holds the colour
inside, she explains.
It’s the outline.

Not annihilation –
order; her mind
conceives of order

So much to learn
from innocence,
have long forgotten

the art of staying
within lines, finding
good in all things.

(Colouring Lessons first appeared here June, 2017. Image my own)


Keep Imagining

Elaborate, the tree forts
imagination envisions

Indifferent, the rationale
that overpowers inspiration

I balk, abandon hope,
build a wall instead,
forgetting…

Creativity is not linear,
tolerates input, planning,
some alternatives preferred.

(Featured image from personal collection.   Doesn’t it just say:  “Climb me!”?  This image is a Live Oak, in Texas, and is available on various products at Society6.)

 

 

Colouring

Remember when lines meant challenge
and colouring was not confined to
parameters, but an invitation
to explore, and days spent
contemplating invited
song, and nothing
really mattered
except the
moment?

There is a place
balanced between
the bustle of doing and
the edge of non-existence
where fantasy beckons,
where aged minds, content
with past accomplishments
come to rest, to ponder –

who once again recognize
that lines hold no significance,
that colours know no limits,
that music uplifts the mind,
and that memories are places of
exploration, and the moment
is all we ever have.

 

 

Nested

Nestled in with childhood truths –
second-hand, missing perspective –
nursing a creeping creativity:
insignificant clarity expanding
measurably, hurried.

Once social, now retreating
papered over failure, have fallen
frigid waves infiltrating, overtaking
chronically pained, over and over
contemplating flight, freedom

voiceless, expressionless, flat
even revelation muted, unmoving
boundaries, discussed, protective
currently crumbling…underestimated
the struggle, the pervasiveness

have considered a military approach
strident restrictions to nullify passions
but I am a weaver, open to uncovering
blessings in failure, employed in soaring,
grounded, yet questing, unsettled

disease is not a repellent for the mind,
objects conjure movement, creatures
undoubtedly defensive, renewal motivated
I am dank, moist, lacking burning passion
in this explosive personal nest.