birds · nature · poetry · writing

Welcome Visitor

Mercy bore wings
graced my doorstep
her cheery song nectar
for a weary heart –
initiative all hers.

(Image mine)

creativity · dreams · poetry · psychology · writing

Talking To Myself

Tripping over guilt
how I need to make amends

Meanwhile, charity
leaves me vulnerable

Lose credibility,
momentum

No longer a pick up for others
ditched without a lifeline

***

These are but feelings
I’m more comfy couch
than utility vehicle
and credibility –
well that’s earned

Pick myself up
wade through vulnerability
grateful for giving hands
some amends best left
to the lessons gained
guilt not worth the trouble.

(Much of my poetry is derived from dreamwork. Dreams use exaggeration and humour to evoke understanding. In this poem, I am able to see both at play, leading me to the more empowering response. Thanks for reading. Image my own.)

Family · life · poetry · relationships · writing

No Idea!

Girls are lucky: just need to find the right man –
looked after for life.
Advice from a teenaged brother.

Right! I yell back, fifty years later.
It was all a vacation –
raising the children on my own
looking for God in the midst of chaos
partners with wandering eyes
or absent…always absent…
still waiting for that “looking after”

And how did you make out, Brother Dear?
Oh, that’s right… married
… woman with a good job
willing to let you putter in the background

Guess we were both misled.

(Image my own.)





disability · Humour · ME/ CFS · poetry · writing

Ride Along With Me (2)

Passenger, am I
backseat traveller
input unsolicited

I ride along.

Passenger, am I
view limited
direction speculative

I am not driving.

Driver is motivated
self-assured
I relax…until
temptation boards

Wait a minute; who invited temptation?

Driver is distracted
ego taking the wheel
Who’s paying attention?

I am not alone.

Lackadaisical dropout
sits with me – mooch
and weekend boozer

How did he get here?

Vehicle is outdated,
I warn, not a lot of room
ride at your own risk

They don’t make them like this anymore.

Crazy sister is here too
or maybe it’s me, ’cause I swear
I saw the ghost of another

It’s a good thing I’m not driving.

Darkness falling and out of gas
we stop and neon lights blare
Make a break for it!

Or… I could find a new driver.

Maybe put God at the wheel.
Would have to pay attention.
Oust the adulteress and sloth.

Be on my best behaviour.

Turn my vehicle into a golden chariot
powered by horses with wings of white
fly above all the obstacles

Headed for the Promised Land.

All fantasy, of course
I’m a backseat passenger
until vitality is restored

Then I’ll park this old model

And get a new one with GPS.

(Ride along with me first appeared her November 2014. This version is edited. Image my own.)

life · poetry · writing

Down Is Right

Been riding the down elevator too long
a slight detour, I once, long ago, thought

Ambitions set on Penthouses
and upper echelons of success

First, there is a trip I must make
a downward pull insisting –

See, it isn’t true what they say
that we can be whatever we want

It’s time to stop running,
stop chasing empty promises

I’m getting down to roots
causes and influences

history revealing a legacy
here in the depths of self

a final reckoning that bears light
seems I’ve miscalculated directions

I’ve been riding the down elevator
about to alight on revelation.

(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge #160. Image my own. Hayes is my maiden name.)

art · childhood · poetry · writing

Secret Keepers

(Disclaimer: I am submitting this poem for Reena’s Exploration challenge: horror. The poem arose from a nightmare, and my be triggering for some readers.)

They always take the back roads,
virginal snow-covered lanes
lined with trees: pastoral views

Unmarked routes, out of sight,
use the innocence of landscape
to blot out their dark intentions

Pristine picture perfect scenes
lull the unsuspecting; breath-
taking vistas: secret keepers

The roads still exist in my dreams
the trees like soldiers, stiff and stark
stripped of their magical allure, now

guard the memories, painted red
with loss of purity; I had not
guessed the danger of woods

child mind incapable of conceiving
what wolves roamed in nature
the blood of their victims crimson

stains forever etched in silhouette
the shrillness of their screams
now silent echoes in the night.

(Secret Keepers first appeared here September of 2016. Art my own.)

Humour · poetry · relationships · writing

A Dog’s Heart

I am a dog, or so
horoscope tells me…
certainly been referred to
as the mother of…

Private lives fascinate me
tenderness tossed away
in the courtship process

Some prefer on screen
interaction – erecting
false intimacy

I am tired of it all
bark the right of refusal
no encores for me…

…except I’m a damn dog..
man’s best friend, so they say
loyal companion… shoot!
Lend me that crystal ball…

(A bit of light humour for this first day of October. Inspired by Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt: crystal ball. Image my own.)