Friday, September 30, 2011

Five Minute Friday: On Friends...

Close to the heart yet miles away
some known for years
etched into memory with a soft-bristled brush of many colors
others virtually unknown
yet inspiring
all encouraging me to reclaim
my work
my vision
myself

Points of light in life’s night sky
shining my way home


With much gratitude to The Gypsy Mama for her weekly opportunity to stretch…



Saturday, September 24, 2011

Brushing off some dust…

Going back through old journals can be enlightening… especially when I find poems I don’t remember writing. The following is one such poem followed by one I chose to write in response to express how (over time) things have changed. 

Where I was…

August 24, 2009

Somehow, someway,
I need to find the ability to adapt
in my own home
to a woman who – by delusion or deceit –
will not respect me
or the simplest requests I would make of her.

My home has become a darker place
laden with anxiety
full of negativity
where I have no privacy from the prying eyes
of a pitiful woman
who chooses to leach life
over living a life of her own.
            God, grant me grace…

…and now two years later.

On Her Eightieth

Sitting quietly with a small smile
happy for new sneakers
and a movie magazine,
she listens as her loving son regales her of recent events.

The color’s returned to her cheeks
and she’s gained a few much-needed pounds.
She’s softer,
rounder,
more engaged
with light in her eyes and shine to her silver hair.

She caught me
wistfully watching her
as her son continued his conversation
and slowly broadened her smile
to a lovely grin.

A tender moment of unspoken understanding
came
and passed between us
until she again refocused her full attention
to her son.

A scene
impossible
not six months ago
played out with simple ease,
love, compassion and the realization
that time
and distance
can heal some wounds.

Happy Buckshot

Moving like a mouse
who’s eaten to the bottom of a once-full coffee jar,
ideas increase in intensity,
lighting new ways to more exciting possibilities –
each more palatable than the last.
With focus only sustained in panoramic plains on telephoto test-shots,
my creative cup runs over
to fill yet another project basket
and tumble to a haphazard heap at the base
of a twisted cerebral staircase.

Skidding

The days have become brighter –
calmer.
The tilt-a-whirl has slowed down and
I almost feel like it is safe to jump off.

Almost.

Then I wake with a foreboding –
something I’ve forgotten or
seem to have forgotten.
And in the shower
scrubbing myself clean,
I am suddenly aware of the vertigo –
standing somewhere just off center
reaching out
for what can only be found within.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Re-connection


A span of time
shattered
by a single phone call.
Years thought gone
blink into the present
never having been lost
but simply unspoken.

Within moments memories glow –
burning off the dust of silence
as the warmth of remembered light
begins to hum again.

                                          ~ For D.