Mercy bore wings
graced my doorstep
her cheery song nectar
for a weary heart –
initiative all hers.
(Image mine)
Tag: poem
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.)
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.)
Light of Day
Failures, like eel grass
lurk in slumber’s waters
entangle me in regret
I’m drowning in should’s
and what if’s, until gasping
I awake with a start
The light of consciousness
releases me from emotional bog
illuminates the rational
I am restored, set upon the shores
of revelation, ready to step
forward with forgiveness.
(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge: light. Image my own.)
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Vehicle is outdated,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.)
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.)
The Trouble With Sight
Foresight
Optimal, but
Rare
Everything
Shifts
Insight
Gains
Hindsight
Taunts
(For Eugi Causerie’s weekly prompt: foresight. Image mine)
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.)
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.)
Word Farmer
I farm reflection
plant seeds of wrath, soil black –
insatiable words
nurtured by mind-storms and rays
of passing enlightenment.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image mine)
