Has no jugular
sandstone grit
keeps his hell
well barricaded
She is melody
beauty flowing
sees only light
Classic tragedy
about to unfold.
(Image mine)
Has no jugular
sandstone grit
keeps his hell
well barricaded
She is melody
beauty flowing
sees only light
Classic tragedy
about to unfold.
(Image mine)
Cardinal cares not
for human noise, her sweet song
a sprightly muse
even the meanest of hearts
turn skyward at her bidding.
(A tanka for Thursday. Image my own.)
Stalwart evergreens
like sentinels guarding
passage – this road
at times treacherous
has tested faith
The wind taunts
threats of storms
and still, the tall pines
stand their ground
steadfast harbingers.
(Image my own)
Nostalgia casts rainbows
over stormy passages
Why is darkness so alluring?
I breathe passion into losses
soul revolting against the light
committed to seduction of perhaps
Where is the wisdom in this brooding?
Naïve rumination seldom begets the gold
best to look away when rainbows appear.
(For Eugi’s Weekly Challenge: rainbows. Image my own.)
Talk to me of horses
the young man says
thin locks of blonde matted
on a sweaty brow, flashes of blue
that fade as eyes succumb
to weariness, the constant
whoosh, whoosh of respirator.
Talk to me of horses:
the world is losing its grip
and I care not about
the weather or car mechanics,
but I dream of horses
and I am feeling so emotional –
help me understand.
So, I come daily to his bedside
wait for moments of lucidity
ponder the implications
of his questions, wrestle with
my own inadequacies –
I am merely student here.
We discuss horses –
the power of their bodies
their beauty and grace
their role throughout history –
decide they are ferrymen
transporting souls across worlds –
an explanation that satisfies, then…
I am seeing things, he strains
embarrassed even in these final hours
to describe what seems inconceivable,
between sleep and awake, figures
grey and frightening hover over
my bed like body snatchers….
A chill runs over me, as if icy
fingers have caressed my skin
and I shudder despite myself
scramble to maintain calm
wonder aloud if it is not just fear
projecting grey into light
clouding his vision.
I missed his passing the next day
arriving to find his mother waiting
“He left you a message,” her eyes
quizzical, “says that you were right
about the visions; there was nothing to fear”
I smile through the grief –
ever the teacher that one
now dead at twenty-one
“Oh, and one more thing”, she adds “
“Could you talk to me of horses?”
(Talk to Me of Horses first appeared her in April 2018. This version has been edited slightly. Image my own.)
Are we trapped by routine
mundanity erasing edges?
Request a shift, pray for
enticement unveiling passion
But we are earth rock steady
foundation nurturing growth
Teacher, Mother, Wife
rhythm moulding futures.
(Today is International Women’s Day. Every woman is a hero in her own way. Image my own.)
Tether me
to the riverbank
I will resist
There are currents
to follow, contours
to memorize
Let me soar
these wings capable
imagination intact.
(Image mine)
Generosity of nature
blessings abound
in communion
humbled
grateful
alive
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
How is it the sky knows
the heart’s secrets?
My blood simmers
infernal this pain
A stream of clouds
lit by a fiery horizon
reflects what words
cannot express
How is it the sky knows?
I’ve been remiss
in expressing appreciation
all the years you’ve carried me –
stride confident, pace swift,
head turning grace –
We wobble now, you and I,
strength questionable
stilted soldiers forging against
a tide of contrary currents
Remember endless laps in the pool
prepping for provincial meets,
then dancing till the wee hours
getting down with disco?
We were champions, you and I
beauties taking on the world
leap-frogging in a race against
a undefinable foe, determined
that destiny held no limitation
I may not have expressed it
but each step is precious to me
and every time you hold me
upright, my gratitude’s sincere
There’s life yet to discover
and dreams still burn
Can you hear the drumming
will you join me in the dance?
(Dear Legs first appeared here in October 2017. I submit this edited version for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: champion. Image my own.)