Sentences refuse to form –
Words, though, bear pairing
punch-packed phrases
delicate unnervings
Fear grasps the wrist
stunts sentences –
thoughts staccato
emotions gagging
Poetry loosens the grip
bundles the mayhem
spits it out – births
breakthrough
(Image my own)
Why do you write poetry?
Impossible to ignore –
even though I’ve tucked it away
there, between the chair
and credenza –
a life-sized story,
waiting to be told.
As much as it compels me
to pay attention,
I am repulsed –
this is my life
we’re talking about
And not just mine –
the tale weaves itself
with tragic threads of others
and what right do I have
to expose that?
And yet, I don’t know
that I have the strength
to squash it – this living
breathing thing…
wandering aimlessly
about this house.
(Image my own)
Coordinated by the curator of our local art gallery, the poetry circle partnered with a photographer to create The Minimalist Eye. Yours truly has two poems featured in the project: Slanted Orange and Big Red.
To see the full exhibition, visit the virtual tour:
So fortunate to be part of a such a vibrant community. As a bonus, the collection has been published.
Quiescent, the river
that flows through me
nudged on by a sea
I cannot touch
I am bud resisting
the bloom, reluctant.
If this life is spoiler
for what lies beyond,
then leave me,
dormant…
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Cast my shadow over white banks
assert presence: proud, defiant
Will find beauty in deserted places
and colour in the monochrome
Haunted by a Winter state of mind
resolved to stretch despite chill.
(Image my creation)
Service contentment
Be a vessel –
giving and receiving
Create ripples
Inspire
Be present
Push through limits
Be bliss spreading
viral joy
(I’ve started a new project: reading through old journals – mostly griping – to find new messages, new poetry.
This is my first result. Image my own.)
Words, like crickets
leap from my mind
chirping pests whose
trajectory eludes
dulled reflexes,
scuttling about
periphery of logic
Harmless, really,
in the singular –
cacophony of multitudes
threatening to multiply
take with them
semblance of sanity
Intuit a rhythm
I counsel self
to define the notes
in workable phrases
capture essence
and reason message
but the invaders
adverse to linearity
disappear beneath
the floorboards
of my conscious mind.
(Found this poem, languishing in my blog archives.
Edited, and with an updated title, thought it might
be worth a second look. Art my own.)
I feel deeply honoured to be part of September’s issue of Tangled Locks Journal. Thank you to Teresa Berkowitz for accepting my poem, “Feline”. Please visit me there, and take a moment to peruse all the writing: you won’t be disappointed.
Tangled Locks Journal is published quarterly. Information for how to get involved is available on the site.
Daunting
the looming
mountainside
or the oceanside
cliffs whose ascent
mocks my limitations
Fragile,
the glint of
spidery thread,
whose expanse, though
delicate, stretches without fear
The way our income curves
downward, while
our needs
mount
Life’s slopes
precarious, demanding
inevitable, and yet we find ourselves
ill-prepared when forced to navigate them.
Pain.
I push against it
challenge it
A warrior intent
on proving
I am…
indestructible
unwilling
to flinch
Convinced
that denial
equals power
Except, it gnaws
at my edges
tears me down
bit by bit
Just as I prepare
to succumb…
clarity
…this is invitation
…surrender is a gift
…pain is passage
I let go
absolve myself
of the need….
(Pain first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II in June of 2016.
It has been edited here. Art my own.)
One Woman's Quest 