Closure

Expressionless, guarded she stands in evening shade
Peering out the open doorway, unable to exhale
She waits in awkward silence, her stance firm until
The angry sound of his revving engine beckons her
Need a better view with one more cautious step outside
Upon the gravel rural, sharp & cold under her bare feet
Numb, unwavering to any pain, she is alert & all knowing
Her eye on the prize, she watches him fade away, still
She stands there, motionless until nary a sound nor
Lingering glint or red glow as tail lights become dim, final
This signal, no longer must she acknowledge his existence
And so, she turns away as summer’s darkness falls sweet
Surrender, organic & pure the relief she knows as closure.

Closure: Sunset on the Road
Photo by Dave Russell
MPP2016

 

 

The Sleeping Game ~ 

Insomnia, this maniacal routine
‘Tis unwanted playtime
For such brain games destructive
Frenetic bed-time activity –
Been here, done this
Sigh…

Acutely chronic, crazed at times
Noise filled, this rowdy, yet solitary
Confinement is cerebral in nature
The players are me – and me
Welcome to the sleeping game.

Nightly, I’m forcefully recruited by
“Scouts” who lure my unwilling,
Unwanted, irrational participation
Into game play – though
I plead forfeit, such requests are
Deemed overruled and often denied.

No matter season, nor inclement weather
No empathy for injury, nor illness
No giving up, nor allowance to quit
This match, the wrestle between brain
And body, alas there is no winner.

The game ensues, becoming quizzical
Scornful, guilt-filled lists flying about:
“To do” lists
“NOT to-do” lists
“WHY did I do that” lists…

Lists ongoing and ever changing
Permeate my conscience in search
Of resolution, answers, or acceptance
Full knowing, it’s all for naught
For the click ticks on.

4:00am has come and gone despite
Momentary lapses of rationale and
Lucid attempts to mediate my
Exhaustive, desperate pleas for truce
Give me A TIME OUT (for now) and
Ground me from this grandiose vs.fantastical reality.

Acceptance of momentary moiety will
Suffice until tomorrow – or until
The game resumes again
As it always does.

 IMG_0077

MPP2012/ poem revision 2017   

Normal 

Normal – strange how this word
infers a standard of commonality
deemed appropriate, acceptable as
a state of being, its origin I find
puzzling, also frustrating.

Normal, subjective in judgment 
theoretical, observations declare
findings unremarkable, natural.

Normal, an antiquated word misused
loosely, it dictates “right vs. wrong” 
standards in design by society’s scale 
I am not a mathematical equation –
No one has authority to define the
undefinable & ever changing status
of what used to be & what is now.

Normal, grieving normalcy, I catch myself loitering in “that word” again…
reflecting on decades past, future, &
who I was, how I’ve evolved – my life 
events forever altered; a new version
of the here & now – edited with
time to reflect, to embrace a pseudo
next to normal existence for today.


Artist: Lydia Emily – “Survivor” a self portrait 

Lightworkers ~ 

Open your eyes, reach out your hand
Let your mind travel freely
savor, inhale the scenery before 
it all fades to black…
Now is the time to live.

Embrace obstacles tangible, 
face roadblocks, toxic memories
imbedded deep within body & soul – 
These anti-life hacks intervene, intend
to drain you dry of all emotion, until
expressionless, your character morphs
stonefaced & catatonic.

Fear not, as vivid flashes come & go
appearing with purpose, unpredictable, sans warning – albeit startling, these sources of light bring energy, a powerful conduit meant to awaken the senses.

Whether jolted by electric zaps or
aroused by subtle taps, each message potent, meant to be felt, understood
shared with others who exist, yet
remain blind to life and the light.

Lightworkers are muses; ethereal angels,
beautiful creatures who take flighty risks –
Their mission, to infuse lost souls with animated livelihood & purpose – 
Their existence, designed as unobtrusive guides & temporary life support.

Life begins…
it evolves & eventually, it ends 
without agenda, itinerary, or user manual – 
Treasure the moments…
Adapt to change & give of yourself
live well before it passes…
in a flash.💫

Poetry by MPP 1/26/17
Image via topdreamer.com