adversity · disability · ME/ CFS · poetry · writing


Educated in curriculums
qualified to lesson plan
and structure evaluations

far reach from current course –
platform inaccessible, only student
self – a disagreeable sort

take my grievances higher –
no response, boss is asleep
indifference snoring.

abuse · Family · Love · poetry · recovery · relationships · writing

Keep Learning

Tyrannical,  my father’s reign; the ensuing understanding of relationship dynamics twisted.  Violence and threats peppered with “I love you”, as if one was synonymous with the other.  I cowered with the rest, shame a heavy weight.

Oppression dictates
warped sense of love, intimate
nightmare – relearning.

(For Reena’s Exploration challenge #89.  Relationships have been the theme of my dreams lately – thus the reversal to childhood.)

art · creativity · new project · poetry

In Praise of Watercolour

Art, like a compass,
guides my soul – watercolour
inspiring life force.

(Written for Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge:  art & compass.  The image is a piece I recently started.  It did not turn out so well, but I like the idea. Maybe I’ll start again. Also, I’m linking up to dVerse poetics, which tonight is all about journeys.  Since I don’t leave the house very often, and when I do, my husband is driving, my journeys these days are more ethereal – into the realm of imagination.)


adversity · creativity · Love · poetry · relationships · writing

Washed Ashore

Was willing to settle
even before casting off

anchorless, with no compass
to guide me, no oar to steer

left fate to the currents
a vessel adrift, naïve

trusted those with power
to rescue me, unaware

of the target vulnerability
made of me, that sharks

like to circle wayward
boats, certain of a catch

no wonder, when finally
I came ashore, wrecked

I had lost faith in love,
turned hope to cynicism

had failed to register
the dangers of sailing,

into uncharted waters,
the necessity of navigational

resources, and a life jacket,
the knowledge to stay afloat

and safe, in a sea where
discernment saves hearts.

(Inspired by the image and Laura’s Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt: wrecked)

aging · dreams · life · poetry · writing


If life was an English class
I’d enroll again for high school,
concentrate on the editing,
hope to gain something
the second time through

I’d excel at the assignments –
experience adds so much maturity
to the written word – and teachers
would deliberate and decide
that I don’t belong, and where

would that leave me?
Both the rigidity of self-judgment
and my softer, creative side
lecture me on the futility
of repeating past success or failure,

but; what else is there in life
to desire; what options lie ahead
for this diseased self: imposed
rest feeds my reflective side,
my mind regresses unwittingly.

I could study psychology, finish
a program once started, then
abandoned (a pattern I loathe),
but what merit lies there –
another backwards movement.

And what is this damnable urge
to perfect what has been, rewrite
the past, excel in the literature
of my own story?  I am destined
play a secondary role, foibles

contributing to the charm of
my character – maybe I should
enroll in a course on acceptance
learn to embrace the folly of
my youth, point myself forward.



disability · health · life · poetry · recovery · relationships


Testing social waters –
that cherished state of interaction –
prone to revealing too much, learning

have been homebound, studying life
without a facilitator, now attempting to
penetrate invisibility – see me now?

gathering the salvageable bits –
minimal fragments of a once whole woman –
reaching out, reconnecting – mixed receptions

admittedly much has passed me by –
no amount of homework can undo the stain
of my cluelessness, I am slow, needing a driver

as achievement focused as ever –
would go back to work – my heart space –
bursting with eloquence, unleashing enlightenment

on adolescent ears:  tales of survival,
recovery from the depths of loss, except it seems
I am still growing, the few tidbits I’ve gleaned unusable

must be selective about my memories –
am met with disregard, my story, like a gunshot,
causes others to duck, not listen, lack of scarring

a disappointment for those expecting grand
acts of heroism; scars command respect – visual
metaphors telling a linear story – my journey, marked

neither by timelines nor terminal projections –
origins of disease unknown – defies medical
knowledge, research lacking – I am estranged

who dares to question beyond the trembling
exterior, behold the opportunity that has blessed me,
witness the gift of joy that comes with re-evaluation

when character overcomes strife,
and simplicity replaces frenetic ambition –
the outcomes of enrolment in this life class.


culture · disability · dreams · education · poetry

Always a Teacher

Set me on the open road,
encourage me to cross borders;
I am hungry for knowledge,
to hear a higher calling.

Cannot tolerate chained-to-
chairs education, imposed
immobility, socratic hierarchy
demanding conformity

spoon-fed compliance –
am too much my father’s
daughter, born rebellious
unable to mold myself
to prescribed slots

would rather initiate
discussion, engage, listen –
let shoes emote, tell their
story, develop compassion

never felt more than a visitor
in institutions, marks adequate
but brain absent, spirit numbed –
more punishment for delinquency
than awakening..

How can we convey the future,
instill optimism in prospects,
when the language of education
is secondary to how students
communicate in real-time?

Minds are energetic, curiosity
a given, youth crave elevation,
opportunity, measure themselves
against a system defined by rows.

How can I cross this barrier
of disability, open the dialogue
to ignite passions, propel learning
to open road scenarios, encourage
minds to cross borders?