(image credit: wallpaper.com)
World seen through wounded eyes
bruised shades of purple and black taint sight
timid feet afraid of open space
fear fits like a leather moccasin
malleable, familiar
want to remain on dysfunctional path
Heart cries tearless sadness for lost potential
pumps staccato beat of marching band refrain
encourages determination, change
Quiet reflection soothes and calms
eyes adjust focus
wounds heal
vision is renewed
(image credit: Jim Harris)
Darkness Light
Black White
Battle rages on
Fumble through day to day
Feeling like fate’s pawn
In Out
Quiet Shout
World out of control
Little white pill Glass of wine
Losing a piece of one’s soul
Today Tomorrow
Happiness Sorrow
Path fades away
Foliage dense Trees close in
Slip further from light of day
Authentic Act
Fiction Fact
Thoughts swirl through head
A text A Call A message sent
What is being said; What is being said…
Mirror breaks inexplicably
invisible stone
hurled
by a petulant force
seeking attention
Shattered
Shards litter floor
prismatic glass mosaic
hundreds of pieces
return disjointed image
echo chaos
flash alarm
Art deco
Nouveau art
Art less
Strewn about
fragments catch light
direct variegated colors around room
or blind with angry
blast of sun’s rays
blink tears to protect eyes
Some bits are flipped
reflective side down
unable to face their new reality
Photo frame characters
watch from across room
frightened by crash
they seem to leap
to escape their restricted confinement
Clean up is like walking through a minefield
where great care must be taken
not to detonate
a slumbering weapon of destruction
Remnants of mirror
not forgotten mines
lay visible
but every now and then
unseen splinters
pierce and draw blood
an exacting toll
to assuage guilt
for breakage of
the valuable mirror
Comforting aroma of fresh bread
beaten, kneaded, punched down
frustration of monotonous existence
Sticky dough serves as punching bag for emotions
allayer of mood
Metallic tang of well water
dipped from pail on counter
smacks of earthiness and strength
necessary to draw it forth
to sustain others
How many pails have you hauled in your lifetime?
Buckets balanced in each hand
scales of impartiality measuring judgment in your mind?
Sloshing, spilling despite effort to save each precious drop
Water for washing, drinking, cooking
lever pulled and pushed
pumped up and down
brought back and forth
dogs nip at heels
white geese with orange beaks
honk indignantly as you cross their path
oblivious to your resentment with this plodding, repetitious task
Sweat on brow
hard working hands
calloused, hardened from toil in
garden and field
yet soft and welcoming
ready to lift and embrace
a teary tot or boisterous child
Mother Goose apron
fashioned from flour and potato sacks
full of seeds
or hand picked eggs
fresh from chicken coop nest
warm to touch
fodder for family meals
base of nutrition
Surrounded by relatives
Baba quietly goes about her business
stirring pots and pans
on wood burning stove
As she listens to conversations
raucous children
scurry about like
field mice underfoot
dart here and there
rustle her skirts
swishing movement
as little hands grab food
off the table
before dashing back outside
wooden door swinging in their wake
She patches clothes
sews patterns
in a mud chinked room
lit by kerosene lamp
electricity a luxury that she did not enjoy
until late in her life;
labours long after dark
heavy breathing, soft snores of family
nocturnal accompaniments
for this tiresome composition she is
performing
Ukrainian accent held in check
broken English strange on the tip
of her Slavic tongue
hair held in check
by her dark babushka
sombre color
an echo of her
dispirited mood
stray locks of hair
attempting freedom
are pushed back
with weary hands
Her family grows
one by one leaving her behind
to pump water
and knead bread
Returning with their own families on weekends
a growing brood gathers
continue to drink metallic water
continue to eat fresh baked bread
flour dust clouds
hide
Storm gathering behind Baba’s eyes
While the world progresses around her
her environment remains bleak and unevolved
pump and hold
pump and hold
pump
and
hold
Dimly lit
slowly fading
until one day
She leaves
She walks away
Her shift is done
She enters a home
for seniors
for those unable to care for themselves
for those unwilling to care for others
Some say she snapped
call her crazy
cuckoo-nana
She grew tired
this beautiful “Aunt Jemima” Baba of mine
Tired of serving others
Tired of the well
Tired of the back and forth, up and down,
punching and kneading
It was time for her to be served
and that’s how it was
until she passed away
No more time on her primitive farm
Her sentence had been served
I saw a photo of you today
and delighted in your smile
until I looked carefully
I recognized this pleasant appearance
was not endorsed by you entirely
there was a sadness in your eyes
The white flag of surrender
was being flown
under the pretext of a happy expression
By looking closely
one could see
the unmistakable masquerade
of your melancholy
What has driven authenticity away
what troubles lay on your path
I wish I could cross
the barrier of the image
to help ease your sorrow
(photo credit: rogueverbumancer.com)
The shadow of the Crone
tainted my day
Her cloak trailed
reluctantly behind her
as she slowly crossed my path,
full of compassion
for those the shadow would touch
Messages of death
collided
in their haste to be announced first
I eyed the hag warily
ugly messenger delivering ugly messages
but she continued on her way
unfazed
oblivious
to the turmoil
her news brought to my life
We enter the world knowing
we must leave one day
but somehow in our pursuit of life
this knowledge is lost
we approach return passage
with trepidation
or fear
One of the calls
announced the departure
of my Godmother
not a fairy like Cinderella’s
but a beautiful woman who
wove magic
into memories
especially from my childhood
“Tonnie” was another graceful soul
in my life for the briefest moment
a treasured friend and cousin
of my mother in law
When we met
it was as though I belonged no where else
I feel fortunate to have known them
for this brief time
Their sudden entry and exit from my world
leaves me reeling
wondering about the ways of the netherworld
what deals have been made
and are exacted when we least expect
Crone recalling what was once hers
hag doing her dirty work
Life is truly
“the blink of an eye”
Time
Distance
Who is the fastest
Who has the most followers
Whose child rates highest
How many countries have you visited
What’s your production
What is the dividend
Who do you think you are
What makes you think your opinion counts more than mine
What’s the payoff
What’s in it for me
Today is a melancholy day
Last night ‘lack of confidence’ arrived
along with her companion ‘cynicism’
followed closely by ‘sadness’ and ‘depression’
It’s a crowd
my soul balks at their presence
Rose colored glasses were trampled in haste
as these visitors clambered to enter my day
before my eyes were fully awake
An opaque shroud of blurred vision
with a fearful tinge of imagined obstacles
was left behind
the ‘Bogey man’ under the bed
who rode in on the coattails of these intruders
Misty grey skies
echo my somber mood
I have invited rest
to keep me company
as I hope sleep will escort
these uninvited callers elsewhere
while my eyes are closed
photo from cnnectability.ca
Ears ring
Hiss and Snap
not a kettle or pot boiling
Something inside
I just want to be mad for awhile
I want to rage
to holler and yell
I want the world to suffer perceived injustice
with me
I don’t want to look for the positive
or see any silver lining
The limit has been reached
Any limit
My limit
I want to let emotions flow
tears to fall
I want to steam and boil
a sulphuric geyser field
exploding
soaring
shooting energy
into the sky
a powerful force
dangerous
yet beautiful to behold
bursting confines
then
Gone
As quickly as the eruption
spent
I want that moment
Let me shed
destructive thoughts
feel angry
voice my pain
Then subside
spent
Peace restored
Have you ever felt like you were simple going through the motions? You say the right thing, what people want to hear you say. You wear what you are expected to wear, your smile is sunny but doesn’t quite reach your eyes if anyone cared to stop and take a closer look.
The hello, the how are you, bursts of conversation without any depth. You start to reply but as you are talking you realize no one is listening. They didn’t really want to know how you are. They are caught up in their own thoughts, worries and fears.
They too are rushing head long through their days without a clear path of where they are going. Bobbing along like a cork in a stream. Trying not to get tossed around too much. But unlike the cork which is blissfully unaware of its tumultuous ride, you are using all you’ve got to keep your head above water.
Movements can be surreal. Like watching from a distance as your life unfolds. You can see what is happening but feel powerless to change. Your suggestions remain unheard, your prompting unheeded. Your invisibility radiates outward encompassing more and more until those automated motions are the only way to cope.
Note to self:
Must break out of Auto Pilot!
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