Tag: poetry

Creative Process

Routine, I find, is both a comfort and a discomfort.  Stripped of all routine when I first became ill, I floundered about looking for some order to the resulting chaos.  I longed for a routine, like a navigational device, to help me define exactly where I was in all the madness.  (Still compass-less I’m afraid.)

At the same time, I fear a numbing sameness – a morose monotony of nonsensical repetition.  I remember doing anything to break the boredom – taking a different route home from work, turning my lessons upside down, or rearranging the classroom – anything to invite new energy.

I feel the same about writing.  It is seductive to find a comfort zone and stay there – convincing myself that this is perfecting my craft, however; I suspect a trap.  Ego, I’ve noted, likes to sabotage.  Exploration is the only way to expand creativity and ignite revelation.

Let me illustrate.  Take a simple thought:

I cried because I was alone
then opening my eyes
discovered another
also alone
my image in the mirror.

Possibly interesting concept, dull delivery.  The image craves development.  One thing I have been experimenting with (wherever possible) is removing pronouns, or any references that personalize my poetry.

loneliness cried
opening eyes
discovered another
also alone
mirror image

Well, this is better, but sounds like a flowery way of saying misery loves company and that’s not the essence I wanted to capture.  What if I do some word/concept association?  Will this help me expand my ideas?

loneliness – feeling of rejection, abandonment, not belonging, desire unrequited, left out
crying – tears, release, unable to contain, unrestrained emotion, grief
open-eyed – awakening, willing to see, open to possibility, searchingdiscovery – new appreciation, renewed hope, joy, alternatives, perspective
other – outsider, relationship, communion, community, connection
alone – isolated, cut-off, solitude, retreat, respite
mirror image – reflection, reversal, commonality, empathy/sympathy, not alone

Not sure this helped, but I’ll try putting it back together using the associations.  Maybe I’ll play up the personification.

Loneliness,
abandoned and rejected,
grieved unrestrained,
then willingly,
hesitatingly,
opening to possibility,
discovered hope,
connection,
in solitude –
not alone.

I like this better – the message is more satisfying.  What happens if I turn the whole thing upside (taking liberties, of course)?

In solitude,
connection
discovers –
hope, and
possibility –
opening.

Hesitatingly,
willingly,
unrestrained grief
abandons,
rejects,
loneliness.

Wow – I like this even more.  I feel as if it is an invitation from the soul to grieve.

I challenge you to explore and expand your own writing.  What hidden messages await your discovery?

Day 266 “Return To The One”

Lethargic limbs
immobilize
while swarms
of thoughts
like predatory
insects
buzz
about
threatening
to invade
crevices
of the mind.

Imaginary nets
fail to repel
escape eludes
breathe
breathe
visualize peace
dissolve chaos
surrender
to source
return
to the one.

Confessions From The Sick Bed

Before I was sick,
I counted the days and hours,
not because of drudgery –
I loved my job –
because I had stretched myself
beyond normal limitations.

Before I was sick,
I wore responsibility
like a superhero,
and defined by work,
prioritized tasks
above well-being.

Before I was sick,
I joked with others
about the disabled
lounging around,
living the life of leisure,
usurping the system.

Before I was sick,
I prided myself on saying “yes”,
being dependable,
loyal to a fault,
a friend to all.
I thought I was invincible.

When I started to get sick
I trudged from doctor to doctor,
underwent tests,
and humiliation,
learned to doubt myself,
and turned the blame inward.

When I started to get sick,
I chastised myself
for being overweight
and not exercising enough,
and stopped eating carbs,
and pushed harder.

When I started to get sick,
I ignored my body,
failed to set boundaries,
continued to eat on the run,
and felt ashamed
that I had let myself go.

When I started to get sick,
I was wracked with guilt
for the compromises
I had to make,
failing to juggle
so many obligations.

Now that I am sick,
I value more than ever
the importance of priorities,
recognizing that well-being
always proceeds well-doing,
and appreciate my body’s voice.

Now that I am sick,
I understand that work
does not define me,
and disappointing others
is a reality in life.
I am not invincible.

Now that I am sick,
I’ve learned that richness
is a quality of living
and not a figure
in a bank balance.
Happiness, the same.

Now that I am sick,
discernment defines
the relationships I desire,
no longer willing
to negate self
for the love of others.

Now that I am sick,
I no longer pretend,
or reach to meet standards
that fail to sustain me;
I have a new set of expectations
and am learning to be.

Now that I am sick,
I see with compassion
how insecurity
and a longing for approval
drove me to demise,
always failing in my mind.

Now that I am sick,
I pray that wisdom,
and humility
will guide my recovery,
and that life will await
this metamorphosis in me.

Dump Truck

Cumbersome and heavyweight,
determination driving,
I roll with a shudder,
ignoring limitations,
promising caution,
pretending control.

Road blocks, detours,
and bustle –
everywhere bustle!
Unavoidable confusion.

(Control, it seems, is illusory.
How had I not anticipated this?)

Rattled intentions-
delayed reactions –
slowed starts.
I am an abomination.

Children dart about,
heightening my angst.
Go-getters impatient,
rev at my sluggishness.

(Get out of the way!)

Compliance compels, but
the girth of my metal
inevitably obstructs –
Misfits are not welcome here.

My load is heavy –
grievances topped with
personal dramas, blended
with ingested toxins.

(Warning: compassion is low!)

My apologetic countenance
masks underlying menace –
Do not misread hesitation.
A beast is poised to strike.

(Control, remember, is illusory.)

Labyrinth

I am a tourist in this life.
Expectations of enlightenment,
education and entertainment,
spur me forward with excited anticipation.
Feed me discovery in ordered exhibits,
carefully construed facades of control,
garner me with a sense of security:
I am an eager explorer, readily engaged.

By the time wariness enter my consciousness,
I am too far in, committed to the direction,
unable to turn back – the folly of my naiveté
taking hold.  I feel the panic set in – forge ahead –
now driven by fear, not wonder – I see a light.
Relief! Temporarily. All is not as it seems.
Security is not solid. Boundaries are blurred.
I have ventured too deep into this maze of horror.

Injustice and lawlessness surround me –
relentless battery, unbridled savagery,
mummified memories claw at my soul.
I am not willing to die this way-
my screams powerless against a
raging reality, willing my demise.
Is there no sympathy to be had?
The nightmare continues.

I am a student of life,
reluctantly enrolled in a program
that I should have already mastered,
seeking enlightenment in the tucked
away crevices of existence,
crowding in with other lost souls –
expectant, dubious, involuntary –
arrogance and superiority my walls.

I sit amongst the delinquents.
Cynicism blocks flowery attempts
to win me over, nor am I swayed
by blatant appeals to primitive appetites.
I have grown callous, and calculated
hardened by my journey – and when
the lesson comes, delivered in an
unfamiliar tongue – I deflect.

But wait. Despite my hard-heartedness –
hard-headedness – truth seeps
into the corners of my mind and
with coinciding dismay and delight
I realize the folly of my ignorance:
In the struggle between survival
and striving, so much has been overlooked.
I am finding my way out of the maze.

Accepting Self

Desiring reconnection with life,
a longing for purposeful normalcy,
I push forward, intentionally ignoring
advice to the contrary.

Original intention well-meaning
(but not thought through)
minimal exertion is what’s called for,
but I feel inspired to do more.

Former strength now lost,
new awareness on the periphery,
hindered only by this cloudy head-
executive functioning currently disabled.

Bottom line is I must come clean,
stop overstating my capacity,
accept the unpredictable,
and recognize my limitations.

Embrace the lesson of constraints
and stop sabotaging the journey.
I am what I am, not a former definition
based on a life now redundant.

Naked, I fear that someone will see me –
I fear that they will not see me –
desire for acknowledgment,
a very human condition.

I need to ignore the obstacles,
wholeheartedly, without compromise,
reveal myself – no longer hidden.
I am, after all, what I am.

Changing Direction

This path I walk is not my own;
it’s paved with genetic markers,
familial dysfunction, and ancestral angst.
Can you see them walking with me?
Those whose lives were cut too short –
the addicts, the tortured, the diseased-
none of us free- ensconced in blame.

If you walk with me,
I’ll help you carry your burden
and you can support me with mine.

I stand at the intersection
of broken dreams and hope for tomorrow
and in my altered state of awareness
see the commonality of our striving,
understand the patterns that divide,
and grasp the illusion of injustice
that denigrates our interconnectedness.

If you walk with me,
I’ll help you carry your burden
and you can support me with mine.

I stop and wait for an opening
to share this revelation
of underlying harmonious intent,
but the whir of societal traffic
complicates communication,
and I can find no voice to cut
through the din of the dead.

If you walk with me,
I’ll help you carry your burden
and you can support me with mine.

I turn the corner on my old life,
detach with loving sorrow
from a road that never served me,
a direction wrought only with pain.
Tiny arms await me on this open road,
eyes wide with wonder and possibility.
There is joy to be found along the way.

If you walk with me,
I’ll share this new adventure
and together, we’ll have much to gain.

Blessings

My mother’s feet scream with the agony
of her miserable condition,
underlying the disease that eats at her.
My feet, uncallused paddles,
slightly bent and fallen,
carry on with forgiving kindness.

My husband’s knees are red-hot pokers
shooting knife-sharp volts
with every rickety step he takes.
Mine like knots in the spindly
trunks that bear them
graciously allot me flexibility.

My father’s back grew weak with time
faltering in the end – unreliable –
as if he’d borne the weight of the world.
My back, not without its moaning,
carries me proudly, erect –
like the spring sapling, winter endured.

My uncle’s heart beats erratically,
ceasing despite its mechanical support;
his life a testimony to modern science.
My heart flutters with expectancy,
aches with disappointment,
and soars with each new birdsong.

My sister’s tension rises,
the stiffness in her neck suffocating,
headaches blinding her vision.
My neck, slung now like a rooster,
puffs around my face like an old friend,
allowing me the comfort of perspective.

My brother’s mind has seized,
lost somewhere between today
and yesteryear – never certain of either.
Mine, a constant churning cog,
gathers information, spews ideas
and bends in the face of creativity.

My eyes have seen the suffering of others;
my hands throbbed with a desire to help;
yet each bears their cross stoically,
and so I watch with compassion and gratitude
for a life I might have lived,
had my own vessel not been so blessed.

 

 

 

 

All The Little Pieces

You, old man –
silent onlooker,
career behind you,
motivation stymied
senility lurking –
You are a part of me.

You, grandmother –
chronic caregiver,
stiffly puttering,
good intentions,
punctuated by pain –
You are a part of me.

You, young woman –
heart full of passion,
longing to embrace life,
confined to a wheelchair
dependent independent –
You are a part of me.

You, little child –
running with emotion,
driven by discovery,
curiosity cancelling reason,
needing protection –
You are a part of me.

You, young man –
cold-hearted and reckless,
menacing and lawless
cruelly harrassing,
angrily destructive –
You are a part of me.

You, responsible one-
struggling to do it all,
holding it together,
rescuing the lot,
refusing to let go –
You are part of me.

You, my many pieces –
bound by disease,
beaten by hardship,
silenced by fear,
abandoned to rot –
You are a part of me.

I, shattered into pieces-
overwhelmed, and repulsed,
have not lost compassion,
will regain my fight,
hang on for salvation, because-
You are a part of me.

Presently Seeking Peace

Life is transition,
and when disability presented,
I brought along my social self –
optimistic, friendly, upbeat.

And I brought my spiritual self-
child, maiden, mother, crone.

The possibilities seemed endless,
and lined with “would”s-
reconstructions needed, projects abandoned,
work attached, room for the old.

Drama entered and theatrically
walked out, “I’ll have none of this!”
Apologetically, I asked for the parameters-
“All doable!” I thought.

Severe debilitation appeared,
sleek and menacing as a cat,
puncturing my self-confidence
raising my ire.

I did not choose this existence!
I can only decide how to proceed.

So I simplify,
cut back my expectations,
seek purity in deprivation.

I am almost there,
but there are so many loose ends –
work to complete, messes to clean up,
questions to answer, justifications to make.

I uncover the consequences
of well-intended, but not followed through
promises.  Garbage, garbage, everywhere,
and me, with no energy to dispose of it.

Charity nourishes me,
compassion fills the gap,
and though I want to reward it –
extend my gratitude –
disarray gets in the way.

And I cycle back

Life is transition,
and in the end,
death.

I can enter willingly,
with grace and peace,
resigned to my tribulations,
free from entanglement.

Or, I can rail against it,
mired in the smut of criticism,
pretending perfection,
oblivious to the blessings.

Life, my dear self, is transition,
and we are being moved along,
whatever our preconceived expectations.

Open yourself to the process
and be willing give up the delusions of the past.

There is peace to be had.