Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Take me to the desert
with mountains at our side;
walk with me in shadows
let nature be our guide.
We’ll stroll amongst the cacti
pay homage to the quails;
take me to the desert,
help me gather tales.
The seasons are passing,
we’re running out of time;
take me to the desert;
heal this heart of mine.
(Desert first appeared here in November 2018. As Winter blows in around us, I think longingly of our time spent in warmer climates. Image from personal collection.)
Avoidance, we
do it well – displace our
selves to warmer climes
choose a locale by the sea
anoint sunshine as our power,
and when the Ides of March arrive
our restlessness stirs once more
heat turns up and
we escape – renewed drive
leads to home’s door.
(Dark Side of the Moon offers a weekly cinquain challenge. This week is the Insane Cinquain – check link to learn more. Image from personal collection.)
Travel is the ask,
so many questions – answers
just fragments of truth.
(Written for Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge: answer / question.)
Take me to the desert
with mountains at our side,
walk with me in shadows,
let nature be our guide
We’ll stroll amongst the cacti,
pay homage to the quails;
take me to the desert
help me gather tales
The seasons are passing,
we’re running out of time;
take me to the desert
to heal this heart of mine.
***
By the time you read this, Ric and I will be on the road, headed south. Texas and Arizona proved to be places of healing for me last year, and I hope that this journey will continue that process.
Rain-drenched
roads kick up
blinding mist,
Eight hours –
construction,
accidents,
snarly traffic
ignoring
neon:
Adjust speed for weather
We arrive
at five –
multi-lanes
jammed –
Quick!
Wrong lane!
Merge right!
Weary commuters –
tourists
a rush-hour pain –
graciously acquiesce.
Welcome
to Ottawa.
(Inspired by today’s road trip and written for dVerse’s quadrille: quick, and Ragtag Community’s: grace)
He is the planner,
planning routes and stops,
measuring distances, researching
particulars, focused on specifics
I am the organizer,
organizing a mass cull,
distribution of worldly possessions
to kids, goodwill, or garage sales
He is the scheduler,
scheduling maintenance,
pre-departure inspections,
double-checking mechanical
I am the communicator,
communicating itineraries
answering emails, phone calls
reassuring family left behind
We lose each other
in the preparation scramble,
absorbed as we are in personal
agendas, anxious for departure.
The future is unknown,
we have committed to the leap,
replaced obligations with openness,
are setting sail on a new adventure.
We are questers,
questing after discovery,
retreating from a weighty past
leaving judgment in our dust.
We are travellers,
traveling off the beaten track,
chasing vibrant panoramas,
a close proximity to nature’s best.
(This poem appeared last November, as my husband and I, having sold our house and possessions, headed for the great beyond in our motor home. The experience surpassed any of our expectations. Not sure when or where the wind will blow us this year, but Manic Mondays 3 way prompt, departing, has sparked the memories and itch to hit the road.)
Freedom is four hundred and fifty square feet of moveable tin, wheeling down the highway, destination unknown. It is long walks through exotic forests, where focus lasts only as long as it takes to capture an image. It is the privilege of sleeping and waking according to whim, routine an estranged concept. It is the breeding ground for creativity – passion unleashed – and it is tainted by the hue of loneliness, the stark awareness that ties are strained, and those left behind feel abandoned.
Freedom’s highway calls –
hearts follow, passions flow, flee
guilt’s far-reaching pull.
(Written for DVerse’s Halibun Monday: Complexity of Freedom prompt.)
