Shoebox Dreams

A simple shoebox, repurposed
with plastered images of dreams –
paper affirmations of aspirations –
shelved and forgotten, its contents

snapshots, faded and torn, remnants
of another time, a different future –
captured when potential was prime
and possibility untainted by illness

This one was retirement – a supposed
celebration – but note how the colour
has drained the cracks obliterating
pride of accomplishment; and notice

how this one crumbles to the touch –
the fragments dissipating even as
my life has dissipated, the image
lost before memory resurfaces, so

much loss when circumstance dictates
direction, overpowers will, and plans
like snowflakes, vanish in the heat
of reality – pain and insult burning

But wait…this one looks promising –
the edges only slightly torn, the image
discernible – could it be that there is
hope yet – a future author I might be?

That’s the thing about times to come,
we fill them with imaginings, and pray,
our hope, like balloons set free in a sea
of unforeseen challenges, and seldom

does the end result reflect projected
plotting, and yet, there is power in
the dreaming, and so I’ll replace the old
with new photographs to store away.

(This is a rerun of a rerun. Still resonates. Image my own)

Thanks for Reading

This platform is shaky,
I must confess,
built of co-dependent aims
carnival life expectations.

Still a steady hand
and a weeping heart
good writing companions make
or, so I tell myself

You see, despite clever musings
I’m as guilty of denial as the next
and as far as clarity goes
I’ve been myopic forever

Guess, I’m trying to say
that without an audience
I’d be nothing – and so to you
this blogging community – gratitude.

(For Reena’s Exploration challenge:  Writer’s platform/ reality; and Eugi’s Causerie Weekly Prompt: gratitude.  Image my own.)

Grey

Lured by azure waters,
the promise of carefree days,
I cruise ocean’s waters,
dream myself exotic.

Grey clouds loom, mock
this pretence – waves swell
crash, blacken horizon –
delusion loosing ground.

What force is this,
drags me into aphotic depths,
insists I swim in darkness?

Have I not proven tenacity,
claimed a place amongst the willing?

It is not light, I seek – too sinful
for redemption – just the solace
of familiar grey….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mystery Beckons

How often I’ve reconstructed that wall,
and still it crumbles, the universe
and ever-reaching temptation,
her tentacles tearing at the fabric
of this constraint –

I am losing the battle,
have little left of value
in this black and white world –
conformity does not suit
my disposition –

Unwieldy as I am, I will climb
that ladder, follow the uncoventional,
delve once more into the mystery.

(Written for Hélène Vaillant’s What Do You See? challenge.  Featured image is the prompt.)