Barrage of fears
plague each dream
render me useless
Invoke positivity, you say,
but the voices persist
intimate familiars
I set each fright adrift
hide among the weeds
pray for a moment’s reprieve.
(Image mine)
Tag: poetry
Not All Wins Are Monetary
Gambled late in life –
one more spin on love’s wheel –
we got lucky
You’ll need protection,
ego said,
and led me down paths
soaked with yesterday’s tears-
annoyances nipping at progress
But I am strong-willed
better than that,
I said, choosing to follow
a different route
The roulette wheel spins
and here I sit, alone
counting my wins
No amount of bargaining
can alter current misfortune
Pray my husband
finds his way back.
(Image my own)
Equation of Self
Disclosure:
While I strive
for wholeness
I am given
to negative
Thoughts –
while fractional
nonetheless
count individually –
Add it all up
and I am
at times
zero
An integer
swaying backwards
and forwards
begging patience.
(Image mine)
Winter Interlude
Winter donned
her finest lace
today,
shimmered beneath
peacock blues
Despite a sullen
arousal, the dull
thud of worry
hovering
appreciation
lightened the mood
(For Eugi’s Weekly Challenge: Winter. Photo my own.)
How
For Reena’s Exploration challenge: click here to see prompt and join in.
Love Keeps Pace
Anfractuous connotes
splintered, yet you and I,
never broken, dance
a circuitous route
lost in personal reveries
interlocking threads
solid as the symbols
adorning ring fingers.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Basement
Concrete is cold, imposing
does nothing for aesthetics
At least we’re protected,
I tell the littles, ignoring
Snot dripping, slime
oozing from unsealed
windowsills, cobwebs
and bits of shedding pink
It’s the best I can do:
four walls and a roof.
Except the ceiling
is bulging, mold and rot
certain to rain down on us
While upstairs, the man
ignores the leaks, luxuriates
in his abundance…Momma
Said marry a rich man,
you’ll be set for life,
but it’s dawning on me
there’s more to it than that.
(For Eugi’s Weekly prompt: dawning. Image mine)
We Are Clay
Erasing the past –
collecting ash with chopsticks –
infertile practice
embrace, learn, and recreate
we are clay – artist’s magic.
Night Porter
Wee rowan lad
drums me into night
a fabled rhythm
conjuring mystical
oneiric encounters
There is freedom
in dreaming
slipping ego’s hold
soul taking flight
There is sorrow too
for when the drummer’s
song is done
morning must come.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
Sustenance Rekindled
It wasn’t the knowledge of stability –
chaos had the upper hand back then.
It wasn’t even that love was expressed –
unconditional an unheard of concept
It was an unspoken presence
the reassurance of rocks
the irrepressible allure
of a freshwater stream
How a child’s heart
found encouragement
in the whispering wind
solace in arbored shelter
Naturally the din of home life
overpowered this self-assured
passage, disrupted kinship
and shattered childish faith
But all that is behind now
and when I clear cluttering
thoughts, disperse static
emotions, still the heart
The rhythms are still there –
presence offering sustenance…
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 