Tag: poem

Need an Opening

Images stir beneath the surface
butt up against unyielding skin
doubts crust interior motives

I am restless, tormented
pray for an opening
a release…

…that creativity
will prevail, break
through stagnation.

(Tuesdays I borrow from my Twitter account: @Vjknutson.  Image my own.)

Fight For Truth

Legends make
and legends break
and some are clouds
for truth…

We stalk fame
Wear blinders
Deny greed
Worship lust

Somber propositions
streaked with blood
outsmart watchful eyes

Run to save the children
those vulnerable ones
wounds still tender

No matter how guarded
no matter how impenetrable the walls
expose the beast, fight the devil

Let truth define the legend.

(Written for all those women, men, and children exploited by the famous and powerful.  Linking up with Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt:  legend.)

Survival of an Artist

He had lost everything of value to him. There was an empty canvas on the easel, his colors and tools.  What would he paint?  *

Eyes reddened from tears
he bears his soul, like a wolf
howls into the emptiness

No response

Life shrinks at the sight of him
wounded creatures fearing
his motivations, advances

Entrapped

Escape alludes – walls
structures of his fear
he is his own obstacle

Alone

He will find his bearing
claw his way through faithlessness
Solitude, after all, an ally to his breed.

(For Reena’s Exploration challenge:  *quotation captioned.  Image my own.)

 

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.

Birch Trees (with recording)

Strains of Tijuana Brass flood the yard
while father on bended knee tends
his garden, tiers of stone edged rows
encircling a trio of birch trees.

Father points out birches on Sunday
drives, as if the bark is sacred, leaves
whispering a secret I cannot hear –
stirs in me an indefinable longing.

My husband planted birch trees
there amongst the flower beds –
how the leaves shimmer in sunlight,
how my heart quickens, bittersweet.

Imagine Father seated there, mellow
as he was in old age, angst expended,
tyranny of parenting set aside – understand
love unexpressed dwells in birch trees.

(Watercolour image by yours truly)

A COVID-19 Easter

The clouds donned a veil today
robins foraged on thirsty ground
while a trio of doves swept by

Of course, that’s poetic nonsense –
an attempt at finding beauty
in what is really a grey reality.

Nations hunker in against the threat
and Easter morning arrived
without the fanfare of egg hunts
or children’s raised voices –
certainly not the bonnets, gloves
and scratchy dresses of youth.

But that’s how life is, isn’t it?
Compass set on determination
and before we know it, currents
shift, and we are headed into
the unknown once again.

I donned a grey veil today,
thoughts clouded by chirp-less gloom
could not lift my head to find the sky

This is the nature of hopelessness
to find one’s self confined without
power to alter the course –

This is the struggle before resignation
at worst; acceptance, at best, and
either in time for the next tidal change.

(Too dark, my husband says, can you change the ending?  Make it more hopeful.
It’s implicit in the ending, I counter.  Maybe not.  It is how I am feeling after so many days of trying to stay positive.  But here’s what I know:  I have been in this place before – emotionally immobilized and overwhelmed – and I’ve always found my way out.  Writing helps.  Meditation, walks in nature, and a good laugh do too.  I share this here today, so that you know you’re not alone in what you are feeling.  I share it as one who knows that to reflect upon and acknowledge personal turmoil is better than to suppress it.  I share this with the commitment to ride this current wave, openly and honestly, so that when it’s all over we have a true of record of this time in history, from a personal perspective, anyway.  Thanks for reading.)