Tectonic, the force
required to move
this wall of shame
Erasable, the missives
I write to defend my worth –
pencil strokes that only mock
Unsustainable, the hope
that life should ever receive
my efforts as more than folly.
(Art my own)
Tectonic, the force
required to move
this wall of shame
Erasable, the missives
I write to defend my worth –
pencil strokes that only mock
Unsustainable, the hope
that life should ever receive
my efforts as more than folly.
(Art my own)
Call myself liberated
but this modern woman’s
shadow arches backwards
finds its reflection in legacies
How can I forgive my own failings
when their tale takes root in
oppression and abuses long passed?
Liberated a misnomer.
(Image my own.)
Considering
refurbishing
childhood home
Unrecognizable now
numerous makeovers
and even re-purposing
But my heart is invested
and well, I can see potential
and, oh…I know it will take work
All the walls I’ve torn down
and the excess furniture
and how I’ve imagined duplicity
Is this folly on my part
this revisionist thinking
see…I’m sure there is treasure
hidden amongst the forgotten
buried perhaps in the attic
or other overlooked nook
And as I remember it,
the backyard is an oasis –
Yes! I think I’ll do it!
Reflection and a good dose
of elbow grease, and I’m in!
Recreating an upbringing.
(for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: reflection. Image my own.)
Nostalgia casts rainbows
over stormy passages
Why is darkness so alluring?
I breathe passion into losses
soul revolting against the light
committed to seduction of perhaps
Where is the wisdom in this brooding?
Naïve rumination seldom begets the gold
best to look away when rainbows appear.
(For Eugi’s Weekly Challenge: rainbows. Image my own.)
In essence, you are neither
lover nor demon, but
the temperate wind
stirring my sorrowful
past – conduit of unrest.
(Tuesday, I borrow from my Twitter poems. Visit me @Vjknutson.)
Scarred existence
seeks a patience
born of peace
Cannot find the path
tainted ruts of blood
line a minefield.
(Poem originally appeared on Twitter. Visit me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Treading water
where barracudas swarm,
inject a drop of kindness
incite a ravenous threat
Quick the decision to bail,
shed contamination,
resulting terror –
shame exposed.
Now tread slough
longing floored
robed in foreboding
trembling in shadows.
(I have made poor choices in my life, which still haunt my dreams. My therapist says to focus on the “quick departure”, honour myself for making the right decision in the moment. Still, guilt lives on. Such is the nature of trauma. It lingers in our psyche. Image from personal collection.)
Sporting crisply pressed regrets
and tight-assed judgments,
the past happened upon me,
caught me mid-mediocracy,
eye-balled me with a sneer,
and then strolled on by as if
I wasn’t even worth a ‘hello’.
Wait a minute, I cried out
trying to pull myself together,
noting too late, my lack of
grooming, how unfairly
I’d been caught off guard –
Wait! I’ve been wanting
to tell you…I mean… I was
just too young…
All in vain, he’d vanished,
left me gaping and rattled –
damned he looked good –
foolishly pining after
righteousness, imagining
the past as something
tangible, curable….
Age
masks the depth
and breadth of ability –
houses more than anticipated
room for expansion, however;
current state of disrepair –
walls buckling, wiring faulty,
and security systems failing –
compromises output.
Old
holds a certain charm,
character well-earned,
but it would be useful
to install a mechanism
for locking out the past –
perhaps the future too –
eliciting and validating
the fullness of present.
(Written for Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge: poison & past)