I Dance

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

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.)



Purpose –
much coveted
despair-driven –
has returned.

Energy –
to proceed –

Willingness –
once vibrant
now constrained –

Chasms –
loss created
unparalleled –
require bridges.

Purpose –
discovery born
enthusiastic –

(Resilience first appeared here in October, 2018.  I submit a slightly revised edition here for Ragtag Community’s daily prompt: resilience.)

Spirit Stands Strong

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.  I wrote it as reassurance for my family that the woman they knew was still strong.  I post here now as a reminder to myself – of how far I have come, and how strong my spirit remains.)

Losing Ground

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.

In Desperation

We are seekers,
wholeness our quest –
turning to experts for answers,
praying for a cure

fearful of the unknown;
prefer following over charting
a new course – passengers
positioning ourselves for salvation

grasping at clues, losing
ground, plummeting –
bottom, they say, is where
the healing begins.

We hitch ourselves to hope –
know struggle as a constant –
onboard, compliant, worship
professional advice, motivated;

caregivers are our pastures,
we overlook inconsistencies –
dare not doubt – climb
over obstacles, persevere

through red tape, and
when disease persists and
compassions run dry,
we resign ourselves

to a new course,
will embrace any madness
believe that a new set of eyes
just might turn our lives around.

(Image: betablog.org)