Quicksand

image

As I feel myself consumed
by insanity
I grasp repeatedly
 for 
impossible reality.
I sink in quicksand,
a hungry suction
drags me down.
I flail,
helpless in never-ending
delusion.

There is no danger
no quicksand
yet
this mindset
consumes me,
its energy,
intoxicating,
exhausting 
hypnosis.

Twisted nostalgia skips
across scratched memory
seen, felt, heard,
and as a puppet
I re-enact it all
over and over
until spring
thaw when
lucidity awakes
 and speaks:
"stand step back
stand step back
look listen hold on."

                                                       ©2017 Ontheland

 

The spin

My life,

a marble,

spinning to destiny,

rotating in the sun,

spiraling through darkness,

navigated by unseen hands.

Tumbling in a dried creek bed,

tossed to a running river,

sinking to mud, waiting,

then scooped up and laid to rest

in a straw nest—

until the wind blows.

My water-worn remains,

scratched and pocked,

still a marble,

spinning to a final throw,

a flash of light or shadow,

joy or sorrow.

© 2017 Ontheland

Photo credit:  BarbaraALane

 

Life is poetry

Life is poetry

Life is music

Life is art, dance….

Each speck

Each peccadillo

Each laugh, each tear

Each flower

Each breath

Each moment

Each eternity

Is

Is poetry

a river of being

Alive

River and spray,

Flame and ash,

Song and echo,

Home and journey,

Everything and

nothing at all.

©2017, Ontheland

If feelings of déjà vu are coming up for you, you may  have heard Cid Corman’s three-line poem titled ‘The Call’ (at the link scroll down to find the poem–it opens with ‘Life is poetry’. Or you may have heard these words attributed to Leonard Cohen:  ‘Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash’. Both Cid Corman’s poem and Leonard Cohen’s quote resonate with me.

 

Hello 2017

I step gingerly into 2017—emerging from the remains of a brief flu and a tentative reorientation of my priorities. In the chaos of inner shifts and a deepening realization of the immediate rehab needs of one of our puppies (after kneecap realignment surgery)–and acceptance of the time involved—I have been contemplating changes in my posting habits. I may post less frequently.  I also may decrease my reliance on prompts…though they will definitely continue to be in the mix as I highly value the community and learning aspects of prompt challenges.

I put some words down recently in an attempt to extricate myself from Tomorrow, a song lodged in my mind after watching the 1982 version of the musical, Annie.  In this  movie clip Annie sings for Eleanor Roosevelt and President Franklin Roosevelt.

Live,

believe in a brighter tomorrow,

Live,

as if there is no tomorrow,

Live,

strive for a better tomorrow.

.

Spoonfuls of easy wisdom

downed with milk and sugar,

(helps the medicine go down,

in the most delightful way).

.

Whole grain toast

with a strong cup of coffee,

slowly savored as truth,

encounters emptiness.

.

Soupes du jour:

Clear consommé,

Rich jambalaya, and

Slow-cooked broth (in season).

.

Live!

As if there is no tomorrow.

Live!

Believe in a brighter tomorrow.

Live!

Strive for a better tomorrow.

©2017 Ontheland

 

 

 

about a poem

my-leaves-poem

The world is in chaos

(maybe it always was)

it seems more so now

 I don’t even read the newspaper

it’s on the radio

a sideways slide away on my phone

in emails

blogs, podcasts, webcasts, twitter

(I avoid Facebook)

I could go crazy

as I inhale country diesel air

and guiltily sip coffee from a paper cup

(forgot my mug)

 driving home on a balmy autumn day

 88.1 blaring

wild Irish fiddlers, Spanish love lyrics

wild drums, saxophones

(music Soundhound never recognizes)

and then—yet again

I gaze at autumn leaves

scattered around almost barren trees

and have an insane need

to give them words

(are they not just leaves on the ground?)

How to speak of them?

spread out, a shapely expanse

scattered-blown in appliqué

of brown on green–

year end’s iconic encore.

©2016 ontheland