Happiness worship
an unmonitored highway –
numinous moments
catalyst for earthbound soul –
church impulses, breathe spirit.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter. This poem is in the form of tanka. Image my own.)
Tag: poetry
Syntax
Behind the veil
of political maelstrom
lies a modicum of humanity
Or, is it humanity is belied
behind a maelstrom of lies,
politics always falling short?
A Convertible Summer
Summer of ’67
British invasion
Canada claiming 100 –
Dad arrives home
in a powder puff
blue convertible.
Back seat sisters
long hair flapping
bellowing along
with 8-track tunes:
Loving Spoonful
“Do you believe in magic?”
I, barely nine
idolizing a sister
sixteen – a model
with go-go boots
and hippie style
Cottaged at Sauble
muscle cars prowling
oiled bodies lounging
and all eyes lit
on sister, and I
wondering at the draw
made castles in the sand.
Surfing the waves
avoiding the baby
whose brash cries
and quick, chubby legs
keep Mom distracted,
I am observer of the life
Neil Diamond is promising:
“Girl, you’ll be a woman soon.”
Ah, to be 9, in summertime
few the cares, and ideas
like popcorn, burst and pop,
forgotten in each watery plunge
still content to be a child.
(A Convertible Summer first appeared here in June of 2018. I submit this edited version for Eugi’s Causerie Weekly challenge: summer. Image my own.)
Reset, Please
We define our lives in acrostics
while nature audits the damage
We bemoan isolation
while Mother exhales
A sigh of hope –
all praying for reset.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter, @Vjknutson. Image my own.
Keep Compassion Alive
Hope’s a robot
marching along
endlessly sourced
Compassion is flame
ignited by love
kept burning by care
Fear annihilates
dampens the flame
darkens the path
Hope persists
follow her lead
keep compassion alive.
Urgency
I weave words
with alacrity –
on a mission
Foreign forces
infiltrate brain
cells scrambling
Must write
till ability wanes
thoughts hang
Disconnected
brushed away
like cobwebs
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Quarantined Thoughts
Oh, the plans I make –
swept up in sudden quietude –
art, writing, books to read –
creativity leaps with excitement
And yet, there is a somber tone
ringing in my head – an anxious
whirring – reframing solitude
as social aberration…
And in this dance of light and dark
how shall I weave the threads
braid together a semblance of order
find a balance I can live with?
(Inspired by the prompting of Reena’s Exploration Challenge: quarantined thoughts. Image my own.)
In Dreams, She Awakens
I dream of a woman
Mother-centred
grey-haired essence
oozing strength –
a vessel, rain focused
decoding political lies.
Leaders are locked
targeting anxiety
selective stances
patriarchal bedmates
ending unsafe
Rioters blow up
martyr consciousness
metamorphosis in throngs
chemicals insignificant
when innocence ignored
temples violated.
What is next?
A future gatekeeper
spouting personal freedom
recalling pleas, charming
ghosts of the past?
We need
discernment,
a woman
Mother-centred
grey-hair wise
leading the way.
(I dreamt of a goddess figure, and attempted to capture her in the pencil drawing featured. Working on that dream, many things have emerged. The poem above is just on example.)
I Am Shadow
I am shadow
darkness clouding light
sun’s alter ego –
I speak of hidden
truths, altered lies
guard broken places
Crack my surface
I am ice, will thaw
reveal patches
I am shadow
fear me not –
a path to wholeness.
(Tuesday, I borrow from my Twitter poems @Vjknutson. Image my own)
The Show Must Go On
Waiting in the wings
absent an audience
what play will unfold
when the next curtain rises –
and who will hold centre stage?
(A tanka for Reena’s Exploration challenge in which she references Shakespeare’s: “All the world’s a stage….”. Image my own.)
