For my youngling and me, age is not an issue in our living together with him being his, or I mine.
We stick together because we are both sensitive creatives, trying to figure out how best to repair rifts inside of us, after our family’s divide.
Meanwhile, our bond has grown stronger as we surmise and explore intricacies of our situation.
By incremental tenacity, no matter resistance thrown at me, I will reclaim my own adaptability.
Who and what I am is forming, melding, breaking apart and renewing – yet, always the same.
It contains the power of creation and destruction, yet veers away from the insane or inane.
The challenge I have in self redefining is finding a man who can and will do the same.
For if he does not comprehend our nature, our union will have little gains.
As I watch my young hound pacing the yard, alert and wondering as she gazes upon her surroundings, I admire how beautiful and graceful she is.
Then, I realize that perhaps (despite my worries that I am not “providing” enough) the best thing in life is having someone to call you in from the cold.
Deemed alpha by otherness which holds her apart, some flock to follow and worship her art as she seeks a pack of equal understanding where protection’s provision partners with those who understand the ease of good commanding.
A phoenix arrived to a new town with one feather left on her spectrum-hued, down-covered body, stuck on the edge of rebirth – and looking for that push to transformative glory.
It is difficult setting boundaries where the heart became overinvested.
It feels like a mini death inside, leaving one confused and a bit decimated.
A man’s character I liked from afar inspired me to try to romance him.
I sent him poetry, songs, and photos – thinking that I was innovative.
Only to find later that he had already partaken of similar to them.
I felt like a fool – a charlatan – for I had not known this about him.
They capture light and divert attention, while revealing inner dimensions.
Once infiltration, it masks as kin – where only in understanding can the self rescind.
Dark to light – yet both share, within.
When she sealed away light to keep it from blight, she learned that some demons are lovely playfellows.
In movement, I am lyrical –
Better than being satirical!
I’ve seen all of these patterns, before – but, then thought to give them a chance.
Whenever I coat-rack my intuition, I get embroiled in bad circumstance.
I find myself between those who will not yield, and those who give into everything.
(Content has many meanings)
I am not only that which my life keeps trying to bend me to, but the resilient spirit that redefines – no matter the trials forcing.
“Mirror, Mirror on the wall –
Who will be my One and All?”
The Sword of Hope cuts through lies and partial truths, destined to establish reign and break down barriers to better tomorrows – where the hurt and suppressed no longer need dwell in sorrow while sacrificing their diligence, and our children may look to horizons now welcoming their inventions.
Blocked and denied the golden line of ‘Straight and Narrow,” a tear rolls down her cheek at the crossroads.
“Construction” zones have blocked all exits to promised tomorrows, and to continue around and further requires more divergence.
Is it better to go down the paths forced and grow to retain new, wisely encompassing dignity while altering identity?
Or is it better to get out of the car and forge through cutting brambles, to arrive at promised “Heaven” – raving from effort, and bleeding?
(Title has multiple meanings)
Mirror opposites hear each other’s views,
Sharing as kindred dreams walk parallels
Where time collides in truths uncovering
Water’s emotions surging between them.
Last night I saw the shadow of me, sitting on my bed. I was afraid of it – terrified – and my gut was filled with dread.
It perched there, large and looming, as if waiting to take my hand. But, I never want to venture again where I had no command.
We rise, fall – and then, recover.
What dies it matter if I know Truth, yet others do not acknowledge it?
There is no greater sacrifice than to give all to a God that does not care.
Inspired by a moment, as if tapping on my shoulder to capture it – then showing me forms of light illuminated to be visualized.
I must realize I no longer need to think as I once used to.
There is no man to impress, nor pressure to follow through.
It’s just me, my charges – and freedom to focus where I want to.
No matter youthful desperation to outrun pain, eventually one must let it catch up to them, if they hope to overcome it. Then, there is choice of how to deal with it with calm assuredness.
With shifting tides, it is easy to become distracted by thought I should head in any given direction.
I sit tight in my boat, deep listening – awaiting guidance from light upon water’s reflection.
The life force of spontaneous regeneration.
Where Man is a pillar of strength,
Woman ebb-flows as the ocean.
I struggle with the fear that my heart is broken, feeling it tremble as if succumbing to weakness.
But, it is a muscle, after all, and was born to be tested. Perhaps, it just needs a worthwhile call.
As the dark grips in winter’s reduced sunlit hours, my quarry eludes – silent and aloof – watching for signs of my approach.
But, I know that chasing that which does not wish to be caught is folly, so I hail it from afar as a friend, inviting.
Meanwhile, I must plan as if it does not desire me in return, for my vision must live despite complications.
Desire to travel translates to spirals of seeking work which fosters creative inspiration.
For what I want, there is no settling into routine.
At least, not until I get to where I am going.
The day has yet begun as I am woken from my slumber, restless and aspiring, yet knowing I must recover.
My body quivers in anticipation, sensing a looming start gate, where if only I could reach it, perhaps hope would dictate.
Complacency is not allowed
Even if stress is disavowed
For any moment may reveal
What thought you had is nil.
I give to those I care for more than is healthy for me. It’s a struggle to carve space for what I need when I am the last pillar standing.
My friend’s mind and emotions travel miles between seconds.
It’s a challenge to keep pace, so I do not try, but let go and intuitively flow with her.
She distracts me from once confined enclosures – our minds bursting outward together, taking turns pulling the other one to follow.
I don’t understand how this can be between she and me, but am relieved because my mind needed Life, instead of sorrow.
The pines spread their arms to greet the sky and shelter where the wandering rooster met its fate by predators.
Scattered fire and black coal feathers attest to his once proud glory, and the wind sighs as if to say it is sorry.
The sheep tread together: mother with grown daughter and son wether, while the ram and older brother graze in fields, now kept separate
No chickens cluck, nor ducks quack wading in their pond water. But, the ravens’ children have grown, having dined on eggs smuggled.
Somewhere, opossums waddle free in relocated reveries as they grow and expand under cover.
Spring will be reborn, and though the heart is torn, someone new will garden where we had nurtured.
Thankful are my tears to bid farewell to fears and the land which cared for us, as an understanding mother.
In elementary school, exotic butterflies and bugs were found on the folk dance teacher’s old van grill, my favorite girl friend and I played “horse” on tip toes in the green baseball fields, and I learned to love and play the deep-toned cello – which carried my heart toward nourishing destinations that I was sure the world’s future could make real.
You gave me a place to hope and space to breathe, lifting me from catastrophe so that even when you left me, my momentum would keep carrying me to lands far beyond our wildest dreams.
I got to become the best person I could be – unfinished, and only just beginning. But, even at our ending, we loved each other well – and it was True.
Thank you, my sweet Habibi.
I love you.
My words must mean something for them to be well received.
How do I express to Narcissus how beautiful he is when the world has filled – and keeps filling – his ears with echos of praised messaging?
I can’t.
I can only be silent like the ripples of a river’s pond gently lapping against the banks’ edges, and dance like sunlight dapples upon the gold-kissed water.
Thoughts of him infiltrate the darkness, where his face becomes visage of desire and his eyes ignite my will’s infatuation with “unattainable” truths – always beckoning.
Typing captured numbers in clusters related to each other tracks time’s unwinding to “when” while seeking redemption.
Of course, everything’s illusion in this matrix of contusions, but it’s the clarity of light that helps us see.
So keen on the prize, alone as I have striven, unable to now recognize when true signal is given = synaptic disconnect to counter past coding, misgiven.
If our goals are similar,
I would speak with you –
But would time’s need
For clarity be granted?
Brief moments demand
Cutting to the point, but
True conversing requires
Ease to reveal ideologies.
The new year beckons as a marker
Where a winter’s death fed by snow
Reveals hidden viridescent grasses
Frozen expanse provided insulation
Where blight expanded to explosion,
Leaving resilience to absorb the sun.
It is difficult to hold the line
Creating space for children
To grow within a buffer that
Provides needed continuities
If your partner does not value
Structure’s simple complexity.
Through catacombs of mind
Travel whispers as once
Were promised time.
Many moons have passed,
Yet still, I wander as if lost,
Listening for the answers
To my heart’s calling out
Beyond misty shadows.
Candid Corvid Productions 