change · culture · current affairs · life · perspective · poetry · writing

Life Warp

Perusing the hardware store
(shops are limited these days)
nothing to tantalize the imagination
still, I browse, searching for normalcy.

Death loiters in aisle 9
taunts me with visions of life
once vibrant, now stolen
leers at me and I bolt

Grocery store holds more allure
ingredients to stir the appetite
the phantom stalks here too
leaves fingerprints on tin cans

The coffee shop has drinks to go
but the spectre follows, leers
schoolboy smug – I’m not sure
whether to laugh or cry

Unamused by the implications
and yet somehow reassured –
the humour doesn’t escape me –
warped this new norm.

adversity · aging · change · health · ME/ CFS · poetry · writing

Even Trees Fall

Majesty is a tree
quiet strength
and vulnerability

no more sheltered
from acts of nature
than I – none

impenetrable,
although youth
believes it –

days when strength
equates with rigidity,
resistant arrogance

A right fighter, was I,
iron will, in control –
never measuring up

such foolish nonsense –
destructive, no doubt,
took illness to educate

recognize courage in
withdrawal, merits
of inviting understanding

physical limitations
birth potential –
gracious acceptance

surrender of struggle
open, vulnerable,
rooted, like a tree.

blogging · creativity · nature · photography · poetry · spirituality · writing

Revelation

No sound, no movement
the bullfrog obliges lens –
I am conqueror,
superior – then espy
miniscule me in his eye.

(A tanka for Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Challenge: sound/ motion.  Image from personal collection.  I am pondering the unanswerable this week, and I think this poem fits – conjures questions about where we all fit within this universe.)

ME/ CFS · poetry · spirituality · writing

Maybe

Maybe I just needed a new perspective –
like the famed Hanged Man of tarot –
committed to some deep, internal need,
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 in February of 2017, three years into my journey with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis.  I am posting it today as it fits with this week’s theme: upside-down.  Image is the mirror reflection of trees across the canal – from personal collection)

adversity · blogging · culture · life · poetry · writing

It’s Not That I Don’t See…

Somewhere, searchers are combing through rubble
to find signs of life, or remains, while I fret over the
size of my belly, bloated by excess, filled by gluttony.

Somewhere, a mother pleas for the return of her child,
a daughter stolen, held by authority, while another cries
because her toddler’s coiffed appearance fails to win.

Somewhere, their village destroyed by war, families
flee to find peace, encounter rejection, and worse,
while a son murders his sister to honour family pride.

Somewhere, parents wait with terror-seized hearts
as a gun-wielding lunatic holds their children hostage,
while businessman fatten their wallets over arms sales.

Perspective tells me that I am unjustified to complain
over my first world problems, am selfish to bemoan
the trivialities of my self-centered existence, that I just

need to shift my viewpoint, look outside myself, and see
that inequalities and hardships beg for my compassion,
alter my focus and become a beacon for the world; and,

yet, I am overwhelmed by the tragedy that floods my
large screen TV, desensitized by the staged and unstaged
images of brutality, tired of the unsubstantiated claims

of terrorism, and the political garnering for votes; cannot
bear to hear of one more gun attack in a country where
the right to bear arms is confused with personal security;

feel out of control when I listen to stories of great loss,
am compelled to shut off the media, turn my attention to
self-criticism, and find a manageable issue close to home.

(Tonight is Open Link Night at dVerse.  I am also linking this up with One Woman’s Quest II weekly challenge: attention.  “It’s Not That I Don’t See” first appeared September 2016.)