Division, the determining factor
in their relationship –
who can understand
the dynamics of blood ties?
Cracked images suggest
a camaraderie, at least
once upon a time, and who
recalls the cause of the rift?
Fixated on the anger
distance a monument
to the breach, till one dies
and the absence is cemented
(Image my own)
Dare I look for self
in cloud formations, as if
true essence dwells there?
Naturally, I search outward
afraid to find nothing within.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Even in togetherness there is distance.
I am alone.
A central figure, distracted,
aiming for contact –
unable to eviscerate control –
repeatedly producing a singular confusion.
Define success
Is it the one on the top,
the know-it-all,
or are these the mechanisms
of estrangement?
I am unable to discern-
stability never more than a dalliance.
The pavement ahead whispers
promises of a sense of belonging…
Can I tolerate the quest?
Unfulfilled, I am protective
fear off-shoots of depression,
shield tender inner places…
Bring on change, there are others
watching, looking to me
as an example.
I can strive
on their behalf
Never alone.
Always distances to cross.
(Distance first appeared here February, 2017. Image my own)
How can I capture
the essence of loss?
Sunshine scant
darkness falling
No image/words
stark enough
to serve as allegory
for evil taking lives.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
It’s not intentional
this accumulation
amounting to clutter
It”s inevitable, given
the emphasis on chasing
material happiness
Its impotency is ironic
all superfluous now
that health teeters
Weighs heavily
on my mental state
craving simplicity
The sentiment
we treasure beats
in heart’s memory
Objects age,
lose relevance
generationally
I let go of fear,
the guilt, find
blessed relief
New space inspires
openness, excitement
ensues – freedom.
(Image my own)
Midnight
and moon casts an eerie light
shimmers of white-kissed fields
Headlights off,
I pause to contemplate the glow
endless skies here beyond city limits
A herd of deer graze
ignore the hum of idling motor
celebrate the lunar flood
What drove me here,
I cannot say; perhaps clouds
relentless in February skies
Or may it was another pull,
a knowing, a grace, calling me
to open spaces…an offering
Surreal this suspended moment
stars dispersing sombre greys
tides of emotion releasing
I am transported,
uplifted, encouraged –
Heaven’s stellar promise.
(Image my own)
Ghosts have no shadows
they are unsubstantiated
rumours of a life…
I exist, not because
of my shadows, and despite
the times I’ve been ghosted
Ghosts and shadows –
without them I am two-dimensional
with them, I am poetry.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
No big box here
our shops line up
in historic rows
Our fragance
eau-de-ferme
earthen fresh
Our spires reminders
that values are simple
and life blessed.
(Photo mine)
Anxiety burns
an acidic devouring
confidence impaled –
mind wanders to childhood dreams
uncovers fear’s origin.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. I came across this tanka written in May/21 that seemed to match with the image I recently posted on my other blog. I decided to pair them here.)
We wait at the station, Mother and I,
one final stop for her – painless she prays;
I busied at bedside – prolonged goodbye –
memories and regrets filling our days.
“We live too long,” she wearily proclaims
“Why must suffering linger till the end?”
I plea and bargain, call angelic names,
yet the will to survive refuses to bend.
The urgency builds as my time dwindles;
must I leave her in this compromised state?
She rallies and stands on wobbly spindles
dismisses fears – has accepted her fate.
Some destinations are clearly defined –
Death is a train whose schedule’s unkind.
(The Last Train first appeared January 2019. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 