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.)
Tag: past
Explosive
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 Trauma
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.)
Unfair
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….
Filters
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.
Intervention Needed (Haiku)
(Written for Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge: poison & past)
What Lies Ahead
What lies ahead,
when pain has clouded the past
and fear is choking the present?
Is it possible to glimpse the future
without projection, without prejudice,
or do we need to clear the heart
before we can be guided by hope?
Adjust the Focus
What purpose is served
in going back – and yet,
I find myself revisiting,
expecting what?
Revelation…
apology…
renewal…
I am no more than a guest
in history’s halls
powerless to undo
the drama, only
risk further complications.
Past equates with inequity,
no point turning on
the faucet of resentment
unleashing floods of anger.
Best to focus on tomorrow
forgive the past and self
and open to the new.
Sleeping Alone
Sleeping alone –
so intrusive –
a child born of
so many intentions
awash in a trail
of barricades
I cope, cook up
breezes, strike
wet ground,
stuff myself
to satiate
the onslaught
ground rapidly
shifting –
Earth Mother
exerting presence –
too stubborn,
I turn away
Look for
God, but my
cup keeps moving –
I am unreachable,
charmed by
a broken tale
aimless,
oppositional,
overwhelmed –
cry out but
absence holds
no listeners
need adhesive
to fix this urgency –
a peerless torrent –
if only I could simplify
these wounds
find a stopgap
emotion
bubbles up
overflows
manifests
external turmoil
replaying sorrow
sleep offers
no repair
alone
tormented
by the issue
at hand.
(Image: blogs.voanews.com)
Bundled Memories
I carry my past
in a long, white sack –
canvas like a sailor’s –
as if my life depends on it…
or a laundress toting
bundles, tied with string,
promises of toil and
recompense to come.
My contents are not
sustainable, though,
only sorry tales,
entangled woes
mutated into plastic
figurines, more comical
than menacing,
torment born of
pretense and shame.
I am eager to set
this burden down,
loosen the binds,
but self-assurance
and management skills
are just out of reach
a level above me
preoccupied with
organizing
appearances,
disinterested
in healing
old hag’s haunts.
Common sense says
let go, but I’m not sure
I can handle the repercussions,
fear there is more to suffer
for their release
can’t be sure I won’t be
feeding these frailties
to a bigger beast –
the stuff of nightmares –
once exposed will become
bait for a lascivious predator
who toys with ruffled emotion,
a vulture for vulnerability.
Is it not better to cast the
damned so far as to be
forgotten; to be free
for once and all, board
a bus on out of here
find comfort in masses
following a common drum?
My husband has license
to drive a bus, if I take
my chances, could we
prevail together?
How I wish I knew
the protocols of social
etiquette when involving
baggage, am so afraid of
igniting rage in anyone else
but me.
(Image: www.ebay.co.uk)
