Revisiting capacity –
this old heart
more accommodating
than once imagined
Awe-inspiring
this perspective
wealth undiscovered
the fullness of being
Jealousy, such bile,
gnaws away at resolve
if I am not careful –
challenging, but I am wilful
Stay focused
task by task
there is no loss
in colouring the world
love rose
only endless bounty.
My memory of you –
distorted by childish exuberance-
distant and disinterested
Translated vacant eyes
through the lens of my needs
child that I was.
Failed to notice
the aura of defeat,
the battered heart
the robotic responses
masking unbelievable sorrow
missed it all
Till death knocked
and I saw you anew –
adult lenses now fully secured.
Wonder at the fortitude
that kept you upright
the love that served us both.
No fault here –
on either side –
just a bittersweet understanding.
(Distorted Lenses first appeared here August, 2019. Image my own)
Meandering, a beetle
traverses kitchen floor
redefines distance
as nonlinear
Time, I realize
is relative –
confined by
memory’s lies.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. This one is edited. Art my own)
The ability to alter one’ perspective –
to shift certainty to openness –
allows for deeper engagement,
life affirming and inspirational,
akin to wonder…
To deviate is to dare.
(Image my own)
(Comments are turned off. Hope to be back tomorrow)
Eagle arrives
and I am at once
small, insignificant
Breath held
I am stillness
basking in majesty
Till ubiquitous crow
calls his cronies,
chases eagle off
Everything gains perspective.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Maybe I just needed a new perspective –
like the famed Hanged Man of tarot –
committed to some deep, internal need,
I willed a horizontal shift; landed with intent.
Maybe it is not my legs that are disabled,
but a soul longing to escape the continual
discord of perpetual motion, a never-ending
to-do list of the success-driven persona.
Maybe there is a greater purpose for being
that is not encompassed by outer drive –
a mysterious meaning that is revealed only
in the quiet stillness in which I now dwell.
Maybe I have been called to a personal
pilgrimage – a Camino of sorts – a crusade
of spirit designed to cleanse and enlighten –
the journey is certainly arduous enough.
Maybe it is through acceptance, finally
having released a need to control, move,
achieve, accomplish that I am able to
embrace the true lessons of suffering.
Maybe this cocooning is an act of Grace
demanding surrender before the actual
transformation occurs, and I will emerge,
legless or not, winged and ready to soar.
Maybe, just maybe, this stripped down,
barren existence is not a penance for
shameful living, but a desert crossing,
offering re-alignment: hard-fought peace.
(Maybe first appeared here Feb. 2017. Image my own)
Oh, to soar above the clouds
for just one day –
free-floating, empowered…
What perspective would flight reveal –
the illusion that is civilization?
the fragility of our walls?
Still, let us aspire to ascend…
without regard for the fall…
(Image my own)
Disability corners me
twixt two directions –
the hurried rush
of ambition’s call
and the gentle nudge
of wisdom settling
Confined to four rooms
I am distanced from –
invisible to –
the weekend warriors
whose self-satisfied grimaces
race by my window
I remember that push –
not enough hours to the day
not enough money to succeed
never thin enough, fit enough
always grasping for more…
Legless and exhausted,
I am disqualified
from competing,
immersed in retrospection,
luxuriating in perspective –
I’ve always had, indeed,
continue to have
everything I need:
a home I can navigate,
the endless beauty of nature
and the care of loved ones.
Abundance, I’ve discovered, is attitude:
recognition and acceptance
that life is sufficiency
(I’ve derived this poem from a post by the same name, dated October 2014.
At the time, I was five months into the losses that were Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.
Image my own)
Trade you an ‘n’
for a ‘v’, I said
to the moon
to the sun
to the bird
at my window
All obliged
and now
my lonely day
is lovely,
lovely,
lovely.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson
Art my own.)
Remember youth?
Life an adventure
heart full of dreams
Responsibility made us quartz
working machines, focus
on destination – life as goal
In the gloaming, time blurs
nostalgia and regret dance with
perspective – the irony of it all.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 