Eight of Cups

The eight of cups –
an octopus balancing
multi-tasks; I juggle
fog, attempt
to calibrate logistics
but instincts
are dull-edged,
my tentacles lacking
suction – will slither
back into hiding.

(Tuesday, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Moon Message

I stand on the threshold of change
anxiety and depression howling at my side
the shadows of uncertainty elongated
by the fullness of the moon.

She is no guide, this orb-faced
deity, whose countenance
fails to reveal a directive –
and yet, at some primal level

I feel we are aligned,
know that her pull is primal
her presence a reminder
that life is cyclical and

just as the emotional waters
rise, so too will they ease
and her voiceless essence
calls me to still the madness

close my eyes to the distortion of fear
and attune to a calm inner glow –
to trust the light within, and
move noiselessly into the unknown.


(Today’s prompt is to select a tarot card and write about it.)