Weekends at cottage
we’d linger over coffee,
dew sparkling on primroses
How we’d race to the lake
laughter emerging
from cool depth
Flowers scowl now
Lake’s chill hardened
Do you wait for me
in the eternal darkness?
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Some memories
too dark
lie buried
beneath this hide
Secreted
to forgotten chambers
I obsess over ideologies
crave peace
Only an archeological dig
can set that dream in motion.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own.)
Summer of ’67
British invasion
Canada claiming 100 –
Dad arrives home
in a powder puff
blue convertible.
Back seat sisters
long hair flapping
bellowing along
with 8-track tunes:
Loving Spoonful
“Do you believe in magic?”
I, barely nine
idolizing a sister
sixteen – a model
with go-go boots
and hippie style
Cottaged at Sauble
muscle cars prowling
oiled bodies lounging
and all eyes lit
on sister, and I
wondering at the draw
made castles in the sand.
Surfing the waves
avoiding the baby
whose brash cries
and quick, chubby legs
keep Mom distracted,
I am observer of the life
Neil Diamond is promising:
“Girl, you’ll be a woman soon.”
Ah, to be 9, in summertime
few the cares, and ideas
like popcorn, burst and pop,
forgotten in each watery plunge
still content to be a child.
(A Convertible Summer first appeared here in June of 2018. I submit this edited version for Eugi’s Causerie Weekly challenge: summer. Image my own.)
The place remains in my dreams
like a movie set preserved…
Have assigned each room
a critique – disclosed the crimes
Yet, it remains, like a beacon
draws me to it, begs reflection
What if I could go back
now that I can breathe
Now that I’ve laid claim to maturity
would I discover a sudden windfall
makeover conditioned motifs
reevaluate ceiling heights
with resources to remodel
heart open, connected
might I uncover abundance
like a personal embrace.
(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge: featured image.)
Memories shift, haze
like grains of sand dispersing –
sentiments heart set.
(For RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Challenge: haze/sand. Image from personal collection.)
Take me to the desert
with mountains at our side;
walk with me in shadows
let nature be our guide.
We’ll stroll amongst the cacti
pay homage to the quails;
take me to the desert,
help me gather tales.
The seasons are passing,
we’re running out of time;
take me to the desert;
heal this heart of mine.
(Desert first appeared here in November 2018. Â As Winter blows in around us, I think longingly of our time spent in warmer climates. Image from personal collection.)
Soft, the day’s fading light,
hushed, the manic pace –
my heart’s rhythm lulled
beats a nostalgic melody –
love’s memories bittersweet.
(Tuesdays, I post a poem from Twitter. Â You can follow me @Vjknutson. Â Image from personal collection.)
Creativity lands in unfamiliar,
communicates with the unknown –
unformed connections invite themselves in
I am open
Religiosity emerges from the crypt –
impoverished, depraved, and hungry –
overwhelmed, I am embarrassed, enraged –
should not have let my guard down.
Grateful for the wilder times,
days when daring ruled –
amassed fodder for stories,
harmless antics eliciting
laughter – ever more sweet
as body fails, nothing left
but to reminisce.
(Twitter Tales. Â Visit me @Vjknutson.)
When you were Eden,
that longest prairie night,
warm with verdant moss
on trunk, no soft cover,
river shine vivid –
Me, a bee,
would eat from a tree berry,
seed this animal nature,
stroll a watery song –
Soon they come at dawn,
give peace.
(Another poem courtesy of online magnetic poetry.)
One Woman's Quest 