memories – One Woman's Quest

Ghostly

(This is not a new post, but I feel it is fitting for the time of the year. It still speaks to me as the author.)

Unexpected Delight

The wind subsided
momentarily
and the river stood still
and I caught your reflection
memories flooding back

When days were warm
and innocence nurtured imagination
and you held me in your arms –
a creature no different than
the squirrels and birds
who shared a branch

I loved you like a mother –
your steadfastness
the drapery of your foliage –
hiding made sublime

Oh, how my heart swelled
recalling the simplicity –
how easy it was to believe
that trees had spirits
and the wind could talk
and the stillness of the day

To climb, to ascend,
to know that sacred ladder
that lifted me high above

The moment passed
the water rippled
but the inspiration remains

Your roots hold the promise
dear Willow, I am sure –
thank you for the reflection

(Art my own)

Burrs

How many winter walks
ended with burrs matted
in curly Wheaton hair?

How you wriggled
to escape the grooming;
how we laughed at
jokester antics?

Your spirit still fills
the empty spaces

I hear the jingle
of your collar, catch
a whiff of terrier fluff

Pull on an invisible leash
whenever I encounter burrs.

(For our former, cherished companion, whose memory still lingers. Image mine)

What My Body Knows: A Tanka

(Another poem written for Twitter. Image my own)

Hindsight

Bubble-wrapped memories –
days when travel was frequent,
wine poured freely,
fitness a given.

Even in those sun-soaked days
we were restless, unsatisfied…
not till health diminished
and money dried up

did we appreciate
the fragility
of those years.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Memories (Tanka)

Physical distance
no remedy for dark past
those childhood bruises
etched on old bones – solid as
the house that bore them witness.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Tainted Memories

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)

Dig

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.)

A Convertible Summer

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.)

Childhood Home

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.)