Age
masks the depth
and breadth of ability –
houses more than anticipated
room for expansion, however;
current state of disrepair –
walls buckling, wiring faulty,
and security systems failing –
compromises output.
Old
holds a certain charm,
character well-earned,
but it would be useful
to install a mechanism
for locking out the past –
perhaps the future too –
eliciting and validating
the fullness of present.
Life! One day rushing to collect kids, stopping for the dry cleaning, and praying the slow cooker is indeed cooking; and the next strolling down uncluttered lanes, contemplating absence. How did we get here? How did we dream so big and land so humble? Gone are big homes and hefty mortgages. Hell, we’re down to one car. Sunday dinners with the family are memories and nowadays, my head spins to think of cooking for more than we two.
Now we speculate about time left. Ponder what distances will support us. Shall we travel, avoid the winter months, and if so, will our health cooperate?  Will the children understand?   Forgive my melancholy. The silence is echoing off the walls, and I am reflective today. Not in a good way. I’d best get myself outside for some fresh air.
Time slips through fingers
palms reaching outward, hopeful –
Fall’s hues distract woe.
(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 Word Thursday, and dVerse‘s open link night. Photo supplied by Deb Whittam)
Tales of bald eagles
entice exploration,
cameras ready –
Great Blue heron,
a woodpecker,
nuthatches and
chickadee – all
grace our lenses..
.. no eagles.
Then driving into town,
business and errands
distracting, a shape looms,
rises up from the asphalt
black tail feathers
bordered by white
to match its noble head.
We search again,
follow directions
down country roads
into the bush…
… no eagles.
Friends visit,
we tour, show off
our rural beauty,
espy white amongst
autumn’s foliage
two eagles hunting
along river’s flow –
one veers to fly
overhead, in salute,
or mocking…
…no cameras.
She flows,
unapologetic of her girth,
does not flinch
at barges scoring her surface,
nor paddle boats laden with curiosity.
Confident in her fluidity,
she bears the secrets of life –
the sludge of our humanity in her belly –
stirs the minds of merchants, and children,
tolerates those who gather at her banks.
The final word is hers; she knows
no boundaries can contain her wrath –
still waters rise and spill –
she is a dragon –
nature’s force,
and she is magnificent.
(Originally penned November, 2017. Edited here. Â Image is a watercolour view of from our RV site. Linked to V.J’s weekly challenge: Â river. )
Two-tongued –
speaking both heart and mind –
complex languages, whose nuances
I’ve never quite mastered, yet
am conversant in.
It’s a constant learning
to nail enunciation –
linguistics a tiresome topic
the mind,
a guttural language,
leans to equation and absolutes –
hard consonants and long vowels;
while heart-speak rolls
off the tongue in softer,
cooing syllables –
elongated tones and
whimsical passages.
I’d happily demonstrate
the extent of my proficiency
but the two-tongues,
are currently contradictory,
the clamour of their discord
drowning out the peace
requisite for translation.
Purpose –
much coveted,
despair-driven –
has returned.
Energy –
motivation
to proceed –
building.
Willingness –
once vibrant,
now constrained –
resists.
Chasms –
loss created,
unparalleled –
defy bridges.
Purpose –
discovery born,
enthusiastic –
persists.
Ancestral circles
steeped in lore – symbolism
lost, and imminent –
Geometric rhythms play
with destiny, ascribe fates.
(For Willow Poetry’s What Do You See?  Image supplied by Hélène.)
Digging for gold
in an overcrowded mine,
the dust of narcissism
blinding our passage.
Rural roots worship
celebrity – well-travelled
hype overshadowing
common decency –
Powerless, we are
throngs of insignificance –
fraudulence and anti-social
rhetoric failing to elicit pause.
Our screams, ignored, do not
alleviate the suffocation –
How do we blast through
the rage, re-enact a vision,
draw lines that reset respect,
encourage care, listen to needs,
recognize the treasure we seek
is in humanity’s survival?
(Submitted for Ragtag Community’s daily prompt: blast, and Fandango’s: draw. Â Image from personal collection.)
Descended from fire,
I am earth, and spring,
and graciousness –
Oh, that it were so –
fiery yes, with a love
of nature, but grace?
Truth is I am 5th born,
not supposed to be –
naming left to father
who fumbled in the act,
named me incorrectly
and thus my identity
was born of confusion –
rushed and flustered –
a woman with no name.
(dVerse challenge today is write a poem based on our full names. Â Even though I have three given names, thanks to my father, I’ve only been known by initials. Â Photo is of a granddaughter.)
Even as we harvest
the fruits of our endeavors,
as the leaves of summer
give over to golden dreams
and light reaches through
gathering clouds, illuminating,
celebrating; we must not forget
that we are a part of this living
miracle, that our lives, in harmony
with Nature, deserve reverence.
One Woman's Quest 