I mine fragmented images
of nighttime forays,
grasping for a gem –
subject to trickery
impatient and unwise –
ego shields illumination
abhors vulnerability
distracts me with logic-
Still, the dreams continue
enticing a deeper dive
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Formation of swans
blaring advance, lift my lens
spectacle captured
ennui momentarily
broken – contemplate message.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. This time, it’s a tanka. Image my own.)
Risk-taking equates with freedom,
an affirmation from my iced tea’s cap
manna, I decide – message welcome
encouragement in life choices apt.
An affirmation from my iced tea’s cap
I overlook the mass produced twist
encouragement in life choices apt
consumerism’s ploy I can’t resist.
I overlook the mass produced twist
sensibility to magic will succumb
consumerism’s ploy I can’t resist
Risk-taking equates with freedom
Sensibility to magic will succumb
empowered by assembly-line crap
risk-taking equates with freedom
inspired, my spirit does readily adapt.
Inspired, my spirit does readily adapt
sensibility to magic will succumb
even a message from a bottle cap
enough to risk in favour of freedom.
(This month dVerse poets are examining the Pantoum, a form I am finding difficult to follow, but willing to keep trying. I have rewritten the original Magic In a Bottle to fit this form.)
Eyes shut, she speaks to me,
limbs shivering in the cold,
rustles a forgotten melody.
Like a sapling, soul responds,
trembles with anticipation,
reaches for ancient blessing.
Found my first love
holding hands
walking home
from school –
grade one.
Father’s grip
crushed,
controlled,
warned against
disobedience,
held on until
compliance
was assured.
My sister’s hand –
frail flesh stretched
over aching bones –
clung to mine
until her internal heat
burned the touch
and I had to let go
while she surrendered
her last breath.
A lover’s hand
lacks stillness –
strokes and cajoles,
employs sensuality
to invoke desire.
Held my children’s hands
with my heart –
never wanting to let go,
prideful possession.
My granddaughter’s fist –
still pink from birthing –
wrapped around my finger
gripping the unknown
with the ferocity of
one hungry for life –
My husband’s hand
reaches out for mine
conveys support
for unsteady legs
offers strength
to propel me forward.
Hands convey
what the mind cannot –
a secret language
nuanced for life’s moments,
leave deep impressions.
(Tonight is Open Link night at dVerse, and our host Lillian has invited us to celebrate with her, as August 9th marks many National celebrations, one of which is National Hand Holding Day. To see the others and join in, visit here.)
My iced tea declares
that risk-taking equates
with freedom, and I cheer
at the synchronicity of a sign –
like manna from heaven –
that empowers my journey,
confirms the righteousness
of present life choices
a sentiment struck down
by the absurdity of
assembly-line bottlers
stamping encouragement
on bottle caps,
sealed and packaged
for mass consumption –
a blatant attempt to capture
the magic of a message in a bottle.
I have been invited to Scott L’s house and even though I haven’t seen him since high school, I am excited. I first met Scott in grade school, and fell in love immediately. While we would be best of friends throughout our school years, our love would never blossom. I am hoping the invitation now means that he is ready to reciprocate feelings and we will be together. I arrive at his home to find my cousin Serene. I am delighted to see her, and surprised that she and Scott know one another. Scott is not here yet, and while we wait for him, we are connecting the dots. How they know each other and why Serene is here. It turns out that they are about to get married and that is why I have been invited. I try to be happy for them, as I love them both, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. I have wished for this for so long.
We’ve all had those dreams of unrequited love from which we awaken sure that we are missing something that only the other person can give us. Wishful thinking is one of the evils that spiritual teachers will caution against. While the emotional pull is so strong, the temptation is only that: a threat to the self.
There is no moment but now, and how we respond to what we have is all that counts. The more I dream about a love that never was, but could be, or wish for that perfect job, or dream home, or other life, the less I am contributing to my current circumstances. I am unhappy because I am choosing to be.
When we remember an old love, we are remembering a person frozen in time, unchanged. We have not allowed for the fact that they, like us, have lived life, suffered losses, had successes, and built lives for themselves. We are not considering that their current life and self may not even resemble the person we once knew. Wishful thinking is all about the ideal and nothing to do with the reality. It is wasted energy.
If I look at the dream metaphorically instead, I will consider what I loved about these two people and how fitting this dream is for my life today. Scott was loyal, straightforward, and trustworthy. Serene is bubbly, optimistic, and warm. If the Scott part of me, the loyal, trustworthy side, were to marry the fun-loving, warm side what possibilities could that open in my life? Well, I finally made the commitment last night and joined Weight Watcher’s. Could this mean that with the right level of commitment and attitude, I can make it work?
Sounds like a marriage of success! Now, that I can get excited about.
One Woman's Quest 