writing – Page 3 – One Woman's Quest

Orange

I am orange
in a monotone clime

radiant against
a melancholic backdrop

a poem within
a droning monologue.

(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Art my own.)

Unrestricted

Chronic this pain
finite the energy
fuels each day

Ability to wonder,
marvel at nature –
without limits

Thoughts, like leaves
break away, swirl
float on the wind –

I am at one
with possibility
free to create

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

Solitaire

Past love’s deadline
wolves no longer prowl
vultures, smelling rot,
circle overhead, plot

My essence is solitary
feather fallen between
wide-eyed expectancy
and maturity’s abyss

Abandonment or neglect
I truly cannot say…

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

Self as Book

The pages of this life
bound by aging leather
gilded letters cracked
intended meaning
long forgotten

No images adorn
the weathered face
the colour faded
shade of auburn
like my hair
once upon a time

Spine still sturdy
threads fraying
corners curling –
indicators of
a life well read.

(Written for Reena’s Xploration challenge #176. Image my own.)

In 2021, I Woke Up

This year the plague came
and I blamed the wind
for carrying destruction
and I blamed the sun
for its ineptitude
and the rain,
no friend of mine,
only served to drown
my expectations.

Lockdown
and social distance
masks and antiseptics
how was a soul
to survive?

Pushing 2020
out the door
certain relief
would follow
but change is not
a date on the calendar
a release of circumstance

I turned inward
faced the gloom
and found a spark
forgave the weather
the virus, the news

In 2021, I woke up…

(For Reena’s Exploration challenge: I woke up in 2021… Image my ow

Writing Memoir

To chronicle a life
to extract truth
separate skin from soul
in search of essence

I try to listen
to the rhythms
diagram a blueprint

am discombobulated.

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

Talking To Myself

Tripping over guilt
how I need to make amends

Meanwhile, charity
leaves me vulnerable

Lose credibility,
momentum

No longer a pick up for others
ditched without a lifeline

***

These are but feelings
I’m more comfy couch
than utility vehicle
and credibility –
well that’s earned

Pick myself up
wade through vulnerability
grateful for giving hands
some amends best left
to the lessons gained
guilt not worth the trouble.

(Much of my poetry is derived from dreamwork. Dreams use exaggeration and humour to evoke understanding. In this poem, I am able to see both at play, leading me to the more empowering response. Thanks for reading. Image my own.)

Tag: writing