Is survival resilience?
Those who crawl
from the trenches,
elbow-deep in mire,
trust not the leniency
of asphalt nor concrete
Resilience dons bravado
picks itself up, dusts off
the ashes, and wheels on –
tires squealing in the face
of those mud-laden.
(Image my own)
All the fading bits
detract – I am still alive,
passion asserting
(Living with chronic illness, the onset of Winter can be a very discouraging time. I write to remind myself that I am not that easy to deter. )
Cage me –
watch me grow …
my essence is strong
my will fierce –
cannot confine
brilliance…
destiny
Challenges rub,
ruffle feathers,
discomfort short-lived,
we are meant to soar –
obstacles don’t define
response does.
(Willful first appeared here June, 2020. Art my own)
Forgive the dance –
it’s what I do –
step forward,
slide back,
shuffle, then
lose the rhythm
and start again.
Reaching forward
heart securely tucked,
something embedded –
cellular perhaps –
invites the struggle
and so, I dance –
yesterday, a warrior
today the fool
tomorrow only knows
multi-faceted,
roughly cut,
a gem
of an undefined hue
I will always try again.
(Poem first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, entitled “Forgive The Dance”, October, 2019. Image my own.)
Fickle, I am –
life cycles catching me
unaware, unstable –
Lessons I appreciate
opportunities to expand
heart…mind…
But this isolation
this carrel-based living
limits perspective
Still, I try.
Purpose –
much coveted
despair-driven –
has returned.
Energy –
motivation
to proceed –
building
Willingness –
once vibrant
now constrained –
resists.
Chasms –
loss created
unparalleled –
require bridges.
Purpose –
discovery born
enthusiastic –
persists.
(Resilience first appeared here in October, 2018. I submit a slightly revised edition here for Ragtag Community’s daily prompt: resilience.)
Progress – seldom linear –
tosses me into unexpected decline –
stranded and incapacitated.
My son – with labour-hardened strength
leaps to my side, steadying me
and I feel the fear in his caring grip.
My daughter, ever compassionate,
reaches out for me with horror-filled eyes
as my body crumples onto the bed.
My husband, my oak, seeks to comfort
his voice betraying the helplessness
this futile predicament imposes.
Beloveds, I know that you see me
this dis-abled, non-functioning shell
weakened and sickly, lying on this bed.
Do not be deceived – that is not me –
it is only an illusion –
a vessel – temporarily fettered.
I am, in essence, beside you –
ambitions and desires intact.
Feel me there, tall and proud.
Sense the wholeness of my being
remember me for the woman I am yet to be –
My spirit stands strong.
(I first wrote this poem in August of 2015, when efforts to sit up and visit with friends caused a collapse. Â I wrote it as reassurance for my family that the woman they knew was still strong. Â I post here now as a reminder to myself – of how far I have come, and how strong my spirit remains.)
In corners, I scrounge –
resilience fading;
hope, it seems, is sleeping.
Living a quarter life,
even ascents depressed;
dubious that alternatives
are worthwhile.
Walls would suffice –
once dreamt of co-habitating
with abundance,
now housed with constraints.
Age losing preferences,
counting worries either way.
Purpose –
much coveted,
despair-driven –
has returned.
Energy –
motivation
to proceed –
building.
Willingness –
once vibrant,
now constrained –
resists.
Chasms –
loss created,
unparalleled –
defy bridges.
Purpose –
discovery born,
enthusiastic –
persists.
One Woman's Quest 