Fierce hunter, osprey
carries his catch
like a prized ruby –
riveting sight
At home, hubby
prepares his pride –
squirt of extra-virgin,
dash of extra spice
I observe them both
bemused by the process,
cooking up this poem.
(Image my own)
Tag: life
Morose
A backlog of beacons
light this pitiful path
Am I too morose to respond,
or is this stubborn arrogance?
Resigned to believe
no good will come
Like a broken record, stuck
on that one sad love song.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Horizon
Life stretches out before us
and all I see is construction –
so many unknowns ahead
Search the horizon
for reassurance
that the road is worthy –
destination in view
In truth,
no matter our choices,
it is peace we seek –
not found beyond,
but within.
(Image my own)
Monochrome
Days like this –
life without spin –
one emotion
one conflict
one moment
colouring response
as if singularity
is all we can bear –
(Photo mine)
Reluctant
Quiescent, the river
that flows through me
nudged on by a sea
I cannot touch
I am bud resisting
the bloom, reluctant.
If this life is spoiler
for what lies beyond,
then leave me,
dormant…
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Eight of Cups
The eight of cups –
an octopus balancing
multi-tasks; I juggle
fog, attempt
to calibrate logistics
but instincts
are dull-edged,
my tentacles lacking
suction – will slither
back into hiding.
(Tuesday, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Maybe
Maybe I just needed a new perspective –
like the famed Hanged Man of tarot –
committed to some deep, internal need,
I willed a horizontal shift; landed with intent.
Maybe it is not my legs that are disabled,
but a soul longing to escape the continual
discord of perpetual motion, a never-ending
to-do list of the success-driven persona.
Maybe there is a greater purpose for being
that is not encompassed by outer drive –
a mysterious meaning that is revealed only
in the quiet stillness in which I now dwell.
Maybe I have been called to a personal
pilgrimage – a Camino of sorts – a crusade
of spirit designed to cleanse and enlighten –
the journey is certainly arduous enough.
Maybe it is through acceptance, finally
having released a need to control, move,
achieve, accomplish that I am able to
embrace the true lessons of suffering.
Maybe this cocooning is an act of Grace
demanding surrender before the actual
transformation occurs, and I will emerge,
legless or not, winged and ready to soar.
Maybe, just maybe, this stripped down,
barren existence is not a penance for
shameful living, but a desert crossing,
offering re-alignment: hard-fought peace.
(Maybe first appeared here Feb. 2017. Image my own)
Staging
To orchestrate
harmony of the whole
banish dysphoric memories
Salvage unraveled bits,
extinguish sulphur stench
of failed flames
The show is underway:
banish past to backstage,
future is in the audience.
(Image my own)
Amused
Sky gallery –
anything but banal –
recalls innocence
Geese attempt
an instinctual dance
(few will actually migrate)
Cheers this aging mind,
also prone to redundant acts –
sexagenarian fun.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Every Day Serenity
Serenity every day,
I pray from the frayed edges
chaos rattling, pains howling
Laundry waits in piles
of incompletion – like my life –
demands eroding worth
Hush! I scold the voices
of discontent, the discord
exhausting – I am trying!
Serenity! I pray,
my hands are burdened,
my psyche losing ground
I stop and close my eyes
follow breath in and out
will myself to calm
Serenity steps in –
a moment of respite
available every day.
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 