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)
Two decades before the fall
I dreamt of that white house
with black shutters,
entered the dimness
and saw myself –
withered, a straw body
Could I have altered the course
gathered that mummified self
in my arms, breathed new passion
into old bones, stopped
the onslaught of night
of cells freezing
passionless
No.
I walked in oblivion
seduced by false trickery
dim-witted in the fading light
cold, aloof, unresponsive
warnings be damned
Two decades later,
body inert, mind bereft
of hope – I dreamt
of a younger self
so intent on life
that she passed me by.
Sentences refuse to form –
Words, though, bear pairing
punch-packed phrases
delicate unnervings
Fear grasps the wrist
stunts sentences –
thoughts staccato
emotions gagging
Poetry loosens the grip
bundles the mayhem
spits it out – births
breakthrough
(Image my own)
Why do you write poetry?
The loon’s call
pierces complacency…
I spiral backwards,
inwards – depths
of dream forgotten –
an eerie awakening.
(Image my own)
I dwell in mediocracy
where Larkspur takes a spotlight
and sunsets enforce sleep
A background figure, I hide
behind mundane assertions,
practice subtlety
Lies I tell myself, of course,
any reader knows – I decry
normality, as passion is my way.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Rain-infused greens
inspire whimsical thoughts –
surely there are sprites
frolicking amongst the mossy boughs,
sheltering beneath ancient roots
whose twisted tendrils rise and dip
in rhythm to Earth’s pulses.
The muddied path pushes back
against my weary legs, invites me
to sit awhile, wonder at the impossible
heights from which birdsong flits across
treetops, pinging back from unseen
distances, unhindered by human progress.
Salmonberries, newly popped,
herald the seasonal shift,
and I watch as a slug undulates
slowly past, antennae bobbing,
the black spots of its tail reptilian.
Below me, lantern-like blooms
of yellow sprout at creek’s edge
their pungent aroma carried by
the still chilled vernal breeze.
A red-breasted nuthatch scurries
up a neighbouring fir, while two robins
flirt playfully on the rainforest floor,
hopping amongst the freshly flowered
trilliums, their white crowns a regal
presence in this place of enchantment.
(Image my own)
Morrell Nature Sanctuary first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II in April, 2018. Morrell Nature Sanctuary is on Vancouver Island, Canada.
I’m being a good girl, Dad
Staying out of sight
Keeping my needs to a minimum
Promise I don’t cry, Dad.
I’m being a good wife, Dad
Cooking all his favourites
Letting him walk ahead
Never uttering a peep, Dad
I’m a perfect background wife, Dad
Just like you taught me; just like Mom
Only no one has to hit me to make me
behave, Dad; I learned it good from you.
(Image my own)
Fierce hunter, osprey
carries his catch
like a prized ruby –
riveting sight
At home, hubby
prepares his pride –
squirt of extra-virgin,
dash of extra spice
I observe them both
bemused by the process,
cooking up this poem.
(Image my own)
Life stretches out before us
and all I see is construction –
so many unknowns ahead
Search the horizon
for reassurance
that the road is worthy –
destination in view
In truth,
no matter our choices,
it is peace we seek –
not found beyond,
but within.
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 