creativity · poetry · writing

Questioning Questions

Does the caterpillar question,
eek out the significance of each
puzzling piece, self-impose standards,
before submitting to transformation?

Why then, must I tear at each segment,
consume myself with riddles,
delete pieces of the whole,
in order to fit a mould?

Am I not just part of some divine
journey, tied to a destiny in which
I, too shall find the metaphorical wings
to soar – and why, then, should I question?

(Written for Willow Poetry’s Challenge:  What Do You See?  Featured image is the prompt.)

just because

Souls Are Crossing Over

The night stars glitter over a city asleep,
while a dim light glows from a hospital bedside,
and a woman watches vigil over her dying husband.

Across town in a different medical center,
a thirty-something man squeezes his wife’s hand,
as she labours with the product of their love.

I lie awake, conscious of the irony of life,
anxiously awaiting news of passages:
one life ending while another begins.

I find myself wondering what lies beyond,
and whether they are not both experiencing
the loss of one life and the beginning of another.

What I do know for certain is this:
Lives, at this very moment, are changing,
irrevocably, for the better or the worse.

And that as my mother mourns her loss,
my daughter will be celebrating her gain –
grief and bliss will coexist within these walls.

health

Confessions From The Sick Bed

Before I was sick,
I counted the days and hours,
not because of drudgery –
I loved my job –
because I had stretched myself
beyond normal limitations.

Before I was sick,
I wore responsibility
like a superhero,
and defined by work,
prioritized tasks
above well-being.

Before I was sick,
I joked with others
about the disabled
lounging around,
living the life of leisure,
usurping the system.

Before I was sick,
I prided myself on saying “yes”,
being dependable,
loyal to a fault,
a friend to all.
I thought I was invincible.

When I started to get sick
I trudged from doctor to doctor,
underwent tests,
and humiliation,
learned to doubt myself,
and turned the blame inward.

When I started to get sick,
I chastised myself
for being overweight
and not exercising enough,
and stopped eating carbs,
and pushed harder.

When I started to get sick,
I ignored my body,
failed to set boundaries,
continued to eat on the run,
and felt ashamed
that I had let myself go.

When I started to get sick,
I was wracked with guilt
for the compromises
I had to make,
failing to juggle
so many obligations.

Now that I am sick,
I value more than ever
the importance of priorities,
recognizing that well-being
always proceeds well-doing,
and appreciate my body’s voice.

Now that I am sick,
I understand that work
does not define me,
and disappointing others
is a reality in life.
I am not invincible.

Now that I am sick,
I’ve learned that richness
is a quality of living
and not a figure
in a bank balance.
Happiness, the same.

Now that I am sick,
discernment defines
the relationships I desire,
no longer willing
to negate self
for the love of others.

Now that I am sick,
I no longer pretend,
or reach to meet standards
that fail to sustain me;
I have a new set of expectations
and am learning to be.

Now that I am sick,
I see with compassion
how insecurity
and a longing for approval
drove me to demise,
always failing in my mind.

Now that I am sick,
I pray that wisdom,
and humility
will guide my recovery,
and that life will await
this metamorphosis in me.

health

Day 264 “Do Not Wait”

“What does this say Mommy?”  A two-year-old peers intently at the letters on a page.
“They’re words, Honey.  You’ll have to wait until you go to school to learn to read.”

“When will I have a boyfriend?”  A pre-teen wonders aloud.
“Not until you’re older,” she’s told.  “Wait a few years yet.”

“I can’t wait until I move out!”  A young woman bemoans.
“Living under my parents’ roof is a drag.”

“Will I ever get married and have children?”  The working woman asks.
“I don’t know if I can wait much longer.”

“Wait ’til your father gets home!” A mother tells her naughty son.
“When will my time come to get out of the house?”

“We’d like to travel,” a woman tells her friend,
“but we’re waiting until the kids leave home.”

“I think we’d better downsize,”  a wife tells her husband.
“I don’t think we can wait until retirement.”

“Do not wait!” a widow tells her children.
“Or it may be too late.”

health · Uncategorized

Day 253 Power

Hope glides
on the wings
of the early morning
dawn; awakening.

Whispered
promises:
new beginnings
bright possibilities.

Hope smiles
electric blue,
sunshine yellow
darkness receded.

Reality slams
the door closed
harsh recollection
shatters illusion.

Colours fade
to gray –
nothing
has changed.

Hope trails:
a gossamer thread;
a faint flutter;
refusing to die.

The soul
shuns reality’s
heavy-handed
dictation,
relying instead
on the wistful
subtleties:
a butterfly
in the wind.

Who wins
in this struggle
for absolute reign?

Do I surrender,
resign myself
to what is?

Or heed, what?
An impulse,
a glimpse?

Hope has
deceived me
before,

Reality has
proven equally
as unreliable.

Uncertainty.

Uncertainty
is the only power
that speaks the truth.