Mysterious, this pull
these avian dreams
I would rather fly away
lacking courage’s backbone
Yet here we are, facing
another day – me the bird
And you, the indomitable tree
roots to my wayward vision
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
One tree –
a solo sentinel –
beckons
Take comfort,
says she,
beneath my boughs
But I am hungry
balk at simplicity
silence adverse
Till fate arrests me
legs no longer fleeing
the great Walnut my saviour.
(Image my own)
Late August nights cool
burnt dry hues
will soon transform –
symphony of colour
There is sorrow
in Summer’s end;
Autumn’s icy breath
Winter’s warning.
Gnarly, these withered limbs,
this vessel more rigidity than flow,
winter upon me, a permanent clouding,
sunnier days passed – oh how vivid
the imagination when blue skies
met green grass, no hindrances
Old dreams hover, tethered to fences –
defences to camouflage vulnerability,
offences to keep my paths cleared
Find balance in isolation –
an old tree, past her prime –
Would cut loose this precarious
hold on all things fantastical,
but fear the act a harbinger –
So, I bide my days in this
frigid limbo, and hold on.
(Today’s poem is inspired by the image from Willow Poetry’s challenge: What Do You See? I am also linking up to dVerse’s pub night, where Sarah is hosting with the prompt: harbinger. Ragtag Community provided balance, and Fandango’s word is tree.)
Eyes shut, she speaks to me,
limbs shivering in the cold,
rustles a forgotten melody.
Like a sapling, soul responds,
trembles with anticipation,
reaches for ancient blessing.
One Woman's Quest 