Culinary

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)

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)

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)