There are shores that remain
ever-etched upon my heart –
emotional tides that tug
and carry me, currents
of past revelations –
I remember drowning
in the swells of loneliness
always the outsider, the grains
of this sentimentality
still shredding my adult soul.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
No one told me,
in my haste to grow up,
that adulthood, awash
with responsibility,
would still be lonely.
And, no one told me
that the days and nights
of sweating over papers
would likely not lead
to the life imagined,
nor that commitment –
the kind portrayed in movies –
does not exist – the word, itself,
bearing more substance
than the act – a fickle sentiment.
No one told me that
motherhood – the act
of giving birth – would alter
my reality permanently,
colouring it with unfathomable
pain and joy – such juxtaposition.
And, no one told me that
every battle I ever arm myself for,
regardless of its justification,
is really a struggle with self –
inner demons the most menacing.
I never imagined that age –
with seismic force,
would alter my perspective so –
leave me barren and yet enriched,
enthralled with the ordinary,
and unfazed by the rest.
And, in the end, as I watch
vernal rains announce a new season,
in the quiet of my solitude, I am
amazed and grateful for all
that this crazy, driven life has become,
and that no one ever told me.
What if days were berries
growing bright, whose sumptuous
juices blossomed only in Summer?
How sad it would be –
such limitations, disrespectful
of the creator to surmise
an inevitability of dormancy –
I will not believe it!
Our days are like seasons –
motivations and movement
fluctuating, weaving into
a tapestry of greater glory
There is no single season
of bloom – even berries resurrect.
Sail erected,
call it ‘Hope’
Location
dialed in
Saboteurs
asleep
Done with
party persona,
inalterable
generalities
Ready to cater
to the awake
Willing to believe
in dreams
There’s a calm
opening, and
Sail is erected,
call it ‘Hope’.
Front porch –
a balcony view –
retirement’s play.
Novel – this place –
silence stretches,
pauses briefly –
a car creeps by,
or a dog barks –
my heart beats…
inside – commotion –
pounding hammers,
swoosh of legs in motion –
not mine – body bankrupt –
mind impoverished –
no – not that – just struggling.
empty boxes pile up,
others – contents lingering,
unresolved – call my name,
but the front porch
makes promises –
there is time…
(I am a day late for dVerse, but intrigued by the challenge, decided to join in anyway. Today’s prompts are: commotion (Fandango), novel (Ragtag Community), poverty (Daily Addictions). Photo is front porch view – our first sunset.)
Solitude.
I dream
of expansive landscapes,
crave your panoramic
silence, thrill to the ideal
of your boundless sanctity.
Solitude.
You wrap me
in separateness, strip away
my cardboard walls, tear
at the corners of my instability;
no refuge from the stillness.
Solitude.
I am smothered
by your starkness, by my
starkness, cries of madness
reverberating through vast
canyons of aloneness.
(Solitudes first appeared here in May 2017. From 2014 to 2017, I lived in isolation and silence due to ME/CFS. I examined the phenomena often through poetic expression. This edition has been altered from the original. I submit it here for dVerse’s “Sounds of Silence” challenge. Thank you Dwight Roth for hosting.)
What lies ahead,
when pain has clouded the past
and fear is choking the present?
Is it possible to glimpse the future
without projection, without prejudice,
or do we need to clear the heart
before we can be guided by hope?
(Submitted to Fandango’s Daily prompt: mirror)
If my life was a book and each of my addresses was a chapter it would read like this:
Chapter 1: Dawn : Early Years
Chapter 2: King’s Way: Learning Who’s In Charge
Chapter 3: Towering Heights : Oppression
Chapter 4: Wake 1: Something Has to Give
Chapter 5: Black Acres: The Angst of Adolescence
Chapter 6: Break shire: The Only Choice is to Leave
Chapter 7: Wonderland: Free at Last
Chapter 8: Will I Am: Establishing Myself as an Adult
Chapter 9: Topping: The End of A Marriage
Chapter 10: Wonderland: Returning to Freedom
Chapter 11: Kill Worth: The Beginning of a New Era of Abuse
Chapter 12: Beached Wood: Learning to Drift
Chapter 13: Hardsley: Life with Children and a Disappearing Husband
Chapter 14: High View: An Attempt at Having It All
Chapter 15: Deck Her: Abuse Isn’t Always Physical
Chapter 16: Bricks Ham: Living a Bare Bone Existence
Chapter 17: Base Line: Starting All Over Again
Chapter 18: Griffiths: Chasing the Fantasy
Chapter 19: Base Line: Starting All Over Again, Again
Chapter 20: Crest Lea: At Last, Refuge
Chapter 21: Mark Us: A Noteworthy Time
Chapter 22: Iron Wood: This is the Stuff We’re Made Of!
(I took liberties with the street names.)
What would your life chapters be?
Joy,
is a hummingbird,
hovering,
enthralling,
then gone…
One Woman's Quest 