For eighteen years,
each evening when I glance out my kitchen window,
I see my elderly neighbour
at work through his window.
Suddenly, this week,
his drapes are drawn.
What nefariousness is this?
What hidden adventures is this World War 2 spy
up to now, that require such secrecy?
The neighbourhood has become far
more interesting with this mystery.
The day after
the wishes flow,
the possibilities drain away.
Futility crushes the mutibility of dreams,
but tomorrow is another day.
Each act ahead comes
from what’s behind.
We are all walking wounded
trailing bandages
that tangle us,
tie us,
trip us
into our future.
Wear a blind fold:
we cannot look into a mirror to see the pain
etched across our faces.
See the bandages?
Trip over them
leaving the bar.
Scream yourself hoarse,
stamp your feet.
Shout “I’m fine, fine, FINE!” *
Ah. Methinks,
The lady doth protest too much.*
.
.
(*Allusions: In Louise Penny’s wonderful Inspector Gamache books, Ruth Zardo has written a book of poetry where FINE is an acroynym for F*cked up, Insecure, Neurotic, Egotistical. I’d say that applies here, too. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much” is from the play within a play in Shakespeare’s Hamlet).
It is
It isn’t
Round and round
I can!
I can’t!
You do
You don’t
and trying
trying
trying
doesn’t make it easier
to pull your broken brain away
from turbulance
I don’t know you anymore
I don’t like you anymore
Loyalty keeps me doing
because I promised him
and you can’t help being broken
I know.
It is
It isn’t
Time ticks by
I try
I try
I try.
An unexpected opportunity
A lovely surprise.
Or not.
Thwarted by absence.
Then presence.
Nothing’s ever quite what’s imagined.
Intention yields to alteration
or obliteration.
Wishes wasted by
reality.
Nevertheless, we continue
to try.
We’re at the precipice
You and I.
You’re in the harness,
tethered to a kite,
ready to leap.
I lean back from the edge,
Nervous of wings
Air currents,
carrying you away,
dropping you
where?
Mountains
Valleys
Tangling into trees,
I like safety
Side lines
You see
Sight lines
inclines
outlines
freedom.
You leap.
I wonder what will be
What all this means for me.
This moonlit night,
snow glowing with
luminescent memories,
I stroll along the old paths
thinking of the mystery you
made of me.
Identity molded like play dough
childhood laughter
leaching from the cracks of yesterday.
I can’t say anymore
who I am.
.
(another character perspective poem about Lydia & Dustin)
The NaPoWriMo prompt today asks us to consider a photograph through the perspective of a poem in another language. The poem I am using is in Finnish: Alku, by Piia Pälä.
Seasons unfold
Silently.
Above,
Truthful music, ancient turning.
Below petals open.
Three full moons glowing in spring sky,
Chasing the sun,
On hopeful wind.
Enter into light, solitary,
Still.
New week
Re-enter reality.
Photo: open door
Original poem:
ALKU:
Kaiken kantanut kausi kumartaa,
hiljaa kääntyvä aika katsoo myötä.
Taivaalla taittuvat tiehyet,
muinaisten tinojen toteutuneet taiat.
Uudemman ajan tiiviimmät terälehdet.
Kolmesta täysikuusta kasvaa kaivattu kevät,
auringon laiduntama rypsipelto ja
toiveikas titaanien tuuli.
Sinne mennäksesi kulje yksin valoa kohti.
Ollen ajan oma, ja silti.
Sinun todellinen hetkesi on tässä.
~Piia Pälä.
Read and understand,
my children.
The world is not as narrow
as your mind.
If you live a life,
mired in the same mud,
you will never know the
glories of a mountain peak,
power of ocean depths.
Read and understand,
my children.
What you have seen
is not all there is.
What you have felt
is not all there is to feel.
See and understand,
my children.
There is more.
So much more.
Than what you know.
Open your eyes,
to the world
my children.
See and understand.
For Danielle, with love
.
Breaking heart
Taking future
Making mockery
I doubt the happy start,
wrapped in a painful ending,
rending all I believed,
feeling deceived
by the life we’d conceived.
Paths onward wending,
sending me,
setting me free.
Taking me,
creating me,
letting me
be,
Breaking past,
Taking a stance,
Making me dance.
Shawn L. Bird 