Tag: life

Dance of Redundancy

Re-
dun-
dant,
these
rituals
by which 
I define myself –
find purpose, validate
my being – I create herculean
tasks, ignore God’s role, the cycles
of nature; script myself responsibility –
a dramatic starring role with no applause,
and in the end, when light has given over to dark
and this body has failed me, will objectivity set me free
or shall I return to do it all again…a hypnotic spiral dance?

(Inspired by Willow Poetry’s Challenge:  What Do You See?  Featured image is the prompt.)

Don’t Tell

No one told me,
in my haste to grow up,
that adulthood, awash
with responsibility,
would still be lonely.

And, no one told me
that the days and nights
of sweating over papers
would likely not lead
to the life imagined,

nor that commitment –
the kind portrayed in movies –
does not exist – the word, itself,
bearing more substance
than the act – a fickle sentiment.

No one told me that
motherhood – the act
of giving birth – would alter
my reality permanently,
colouring it with unfathomable
pain and joy – such juxtaposition.

And, no one told me that
every battle I ever arm myself for,
regardless of its justification,
is really a struggle with self –
inner demons the most menacing.

I never imagined that age –
with seismic force,
would alter my perspective so –
leave me barren and yet enriched,
enthralled with the ordinary,
and unfazed by the rest.

And, in the end, as I watch
vernal rains announce a new season,
in the quiet of my solitude, I am
amazed and grateful for all
that this crazy, driven life has become,
and that no one ever told me.

As Water Flows

Water flows, and my mind wanders,
relinquishing thoughts and worries.

Water flows, and I surrender
to the blessing of life’s journey.

Water flows, and I acknowledge
the fluidity of emotions, change.

Water flows, and I experience
the continuum of life’s cycles.

(It is Springtime here in SW Ontario, and this is the first morning since we returned that I could get out and photograph one of my favourite places.  I wrote the poem some time ago, and revised here to fit the image.  That’s my shadow on the water’s surface.)

Good Woman

Cater,
Good Woman; keep your pantry full –
there are mouths to feed, and
whims to answer,
smile on.

Smile on,
Good Woman, feed the children young
and old, their needs cry out
for nourishment;
be strong.

Be strong,
Good Woman, tending your oven,
concocting recipes,
born to serve, raised
to please.

To please
Good Woman, be sure your own pot
is overflowing, lest
fatigue sets in,
and then

And then,
Good Woman, who caters to you –
the children are gone and
husband retired –
what now?

(This is a Crown Cinquain written for Dark Side of the Moon’s challenge.)

Accustomed to the Dark

Nine months of incubation –
dark, watery womb of life –
emerge to blinding brightness,
learn to covet the light –
yet our soul struggles, defies
ego’s hold on certainty –
fights against conformity,
draws us back to the tomb –
deep into the mysteries,
where discomforted, challenged
we grow accustomed to the dark.

(For Reena’s Exploration challenge, which this week asks us to end our work with: “We grow accustomed to the dark.”  Image from personal collection.)

(Self) Portrait of a Waitress

Jumbo Jet
they called her –
fast on her feet,
zooming in,
swooping up trays,
delivering with flight
attendant flair.

When did she turn
to autopilot,
stop paying attention
to her destination?

Didn’t she know
she was set
on a crash course,
headed for disaster?

Tried to warn her,
wake her from stupor;
told me she’d reset,
but danger remains.

She is cruising now –
over-sized
turbo-lacking
under-fuelled,
no longer able
to soar – trapped
in a treacherous game.

Waits tables,
tries to keep
a clean house,
caters to others,
lends an ear,
has squeezed
every drop of self
into a low flying life

needs to land
a space of her own,
with room to breathe;
take life in shorter
intervals, refill
her jets.

(Portrait of a Waitress first appeared in April of 2016.   I am re-introducing it here for Ragtag Community’s prompt: jet.)