nature – nor of the west

homespun

i wish you would be happy with what i am

but it’s hard for you
because i’m cut from a cloth you find difficult, stiff and scratchy

i’ve laid myself against the hot iron of your expectations
so often that i’m pliable beyond requirement
and even i’ve started to believe that your way of being, is better

i’m willing to adapt and i even see the benefits
of taking risks, dreaming big, of doing and being everything that my weavers never apparently contemplated

sadly an unplanned douse of cold, watery reality is all it takes to undo the careful treatments we’ve applied

and your ensuing disappointment is felt in every limp thread

i silently implode with anger and disgust
at the state of my development
over which i had no control
until such time as control became synonymous
with a near-complete rejection of
the values and approaches of the people
who gave me everything i needed
to get here

spring

building with tree — Photo by James Wheeler on Pexels.com

when things are left alone long enough,
signs of new existence eventually seem to emerge
from the cracks

we’d like to say spring always finds a way;
that life has found a way

the only question is whether we think we are central
to the undeniable powers that flow
through, and which shape, the ages

all the existants that preceded us,
came from somewhere
and turned into someone too

Coming home

: Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The view outside is so clear now that we’ve cleaned the windows.

The silence this spare room offers at late hours despite the near-constant sound of tires gripping road, engines conbusting outside, is like the sanctuary of my consciousness despite the constant traffic in my mind.

I feel like who we really are cannot be suppressed, even if the environment and circumstances change. Here I am, years later, sitting at the windowsill, writing in this journal and looking out, and in.

I think I’ll always find my windowsill no matter where I go.

May there be many more quiet nights like these.