to my younger self I gift..

To my younger self I gift

a sense of knowing I have a right to exist,

imperfect and scared as I am

it’s alright to be me.

 

To my younger self I gift

a trust that life gives as well as takes,

that the blows and hurts won’t destroy me,

but will make me who I am.

 

To my younger self I gift

a self-belief that’s humble as it’s confident,

that the words I eventually write

will soothe me and touch others.

 

To my younger self I gift

a pen that scribes my truth.

 

NaPoWriMo 2019 Day 7: write a poem of gifts and joy.

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if I were a cloud…

If I were a cloud I would love all my shapes,

shifting and wisping and forming with joy.

 

If I loved all my shapes I would welcome all change

and flow in harmony with the sky and the stars.

 

If I welcomed all change I’d feel freer to fly,

to carry aloft my dreams and ideas.

 

If I felt freer to fly I would grow my wings wide

and glide through the arc of a rainbow.

 

 

NaPoWriMo 2019 Day 6: Write a poem that emphasises the power of “if,” of the woulds and coulds and shoulds of the world.

a mistake on a lake

One last chance, you said,

to kiss and make up. With

a view from a lake, what could possibly

go wrong, you said, with promise,

that last time before the final time you said it would stop.

 

So much water had filled my lake, no more could I take.

The turquoise sheen, a diamond sparkle, kiss

from the rounded sun, casting even rounder

and darker shadows beneath

the neat containment, the innocence, of the balcony table.

 

Yet guilt you denied, filling my ears with

stories re-told, reconfigured, lied,

as I tried to drown you out with the lapping of lake,

the beat of the sun, the silent padding of feet

on the wobble of terrace concrete.

 

And that was indeed your last chance, as I caress

the rails, robust they are now after a weak defeat.

I’ll feel relief when I close the verandah doors

on a scene about which no one cares how. Just

that now I am safe – inside and out.

 

 

NaPoWriMo2019 Day 3: Write something that involves a story or action that unfolds over an appreciable length of time.

NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 6: my anxious life

That sense of dread, that

pull in the depths of

my stomach that

absorbs my days and steals my nights, that

smothers my thoughts with a heavy

blanket of angst. That

happy life that eludes me, that

love that never truly feels

real, only that dread that idles and

festers is solid and true.

And still I’m blocked…

inktuition and still I'm blocked

 

All the work I’ve done on myself:

the therapy, the healing,

the certificates I’ve gained,

the triumph of Masters degrees.

And still I’m blocked.

 

All the promises I’ve made,

to stay true to my talent,

seem to land on fertile turf,

yet remain fallow, dry, non-manifest.

And still I’m blocked.

 

All the years I’ve passed,

with fresh intentions each Jan

that fade to grey, nudging into Feb.

In March it’s as if they never began.

And still I’m blocked.

 

All the distractions I excitedly seek.

New garden: tick. Weekly weeding: tock.

Jobs to take my mind off the task,

decade after decade. That’s the shock.

And still I’m blocked.

 

All the futures I’ll never achieve:

what will be my hand-me-down glory?

A creative life chronically unlived?

Or trusting what’s for me won’t go past me?

 

Knowing all of this… and more.

And still I’m blocked.

 

(pic courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net/KROMKRATHOG)