How the young sparkle
dreams of Santa’s arrival –
I drink of their cup
borrow the giddy whimsy –
Joy a welcome contagion.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
How the young sparkle
dreams of Santa’s arrival –
I drink of their cup
borrow the giddy whimsy –
Joy a welcome contagion.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
I am crow
perched high
observant
obscure
I am crow
loudly proclaiming
righteously incensed
a warning
I am crow
one-eyed, head-cocked
mystery, confronting
pompous pretense
I am crow
foolishly singular
ignorantly insulting
I eat myself.
(Image mine)
I mine my soul
for meaning
for reasoning
for hope..
find a tangle
of old and new…
revelation masked
as struggle
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Mother said: “Look after your sister!”
What she meant was: Take this burden
off my shoulders; I am no longer able to cope.
Father said: “Do as I say, not as I do!”
What he meant was: I don’t have the wherewithal
to deal with my own problems, so don’t bring me yours.
Sister said: “Be a good auntie!”
What she meant was: I am too young to be a mother,
and you are much more responsible, so take care
of my consequences.
So I ran away to build my own life:
met a man and married, bought a house,
had children, and dreamed of a future
that would erase the past… but
Husband said: “If you really loved me,
you’d lose weight, be less effusive, control
your temper, and be more supportive of my choices.”
What he meant was: I’m going to grind you so far
into the ground and then I’m going to cheat and cheat
and you’ll have nothing left inside to do anything about it.
And without a word, I left.
What I meant was: I am a real person
with needs of my own, and despite my faults
or limitations, I deserve better.
(This is an edited version of an older poem by the same name, December 2018. Image my own)
Texas Winter donned a chill
windy days and rainy nights –
funny how I’d forgotten that
I remember coastal waters
the sheer joy of cranes in flight
or Roseated spoonbills feasting
The warm thrill of tortilla soup
and the satisfaction of enchiladas
spices still lingering in my mind
A scrap of Texas memorialized
an endearing image blotting out
the internal, newsworthy, storms.
(Image my own)
Thoughts, no more than grains,
block the path; how did I become
so invested in self-analysis:
a fool’s game, no winners
Light does not trip over molecules
but decorates, celebrates passage;
moves on – a hopeful dance
whose steps I’d do well to imitate
(Image my own. Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson)
Resting, I pray for peace
but it is temporary
guilt intervenes
What if I withdraw
commit to solitude
keep my tongue?
I need angel guidance
this mothering heart
infectious, requires wisdom
My past is soiled
I am stinking, tainted
Can forgiveness help?
Pick me up,
give me strength
I am lacking courage
Teach me moderation
modesty to guide my words
I only want to help…
But this vile thirst
this self-deprecation
reigns me in
What value have I
in a world stricken by need
my offering mere morsels?
I pray for peace
I pray for grace
Forgiveness offers a hand.
(Image my own).
Moody, these December skies
brooding chill interrupted
by sun’s sudden emergence
To hibernate, or brace
the wind; stiffen protectively
or inhale invigoration
Caution guides my steps
intimate with wintry passages
acknowledging that I am December…
(Image my own)
Ignore the dead
the ocean of grief
capsizing humanity
Keep bailing on reality
conspiracy lacks an oar
we drown without compassion
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Euphoric, wrapped
in silent aftermath,
love’s vibration
still aglow
Push aside
the fear
the effort
it took
to get here
Bask in the moment –
tomorrow, I’ll cry.
(In The Moment first appeared here in December, 2019. Image my own.)