Always a faint hope
doing stuff I’ve always done
might yield new results.
Always a vague thought
that results may not reflect
a lot of what’s true.
Always a slight chance
that I’m overthinking things.
I do that a lot.
#260
Tag: life
Gone
Why write about life
When it’s waiting to be lived
Shut down, go outside.
#245
Turning Points
My head feels like it’s spinning
but it’s really just a procession of
turning points, back to back, spiralling
just out of reach.
Opportunity knocking at my brain
then running away.
So many opportunities that
by the time I’ve mourned the fact
that I can’t take advantage of them all,
yet another set has slipped away.
I could grab one and stuff it in my pocket
but it would probably fade,
like a bus transfer that you roll and fold
until it resembles flannelette.
No, I think I’d better catch it with my teeth,
like a jungle cat, and drag it away,
up into a tree and devour it.
Yes, opportunities should be devoured.
Turning points should be stalked, pounced upon,
and devoured.
#244
The Ticket
I think I lost my ticket.
Or perhaps I bent, spindled,
mutilated or folded it illegible.
It happens that way sometimes
when you hold it in your hand too long,
twiddling it, fiddling with it,
absent mindedly clenching and
unclenching your hands around it
as though the destination could
be absorbed through the skin,
a sweat stained dermal transference.
So perhaps it was just a transfer I lost,
not the ticket.
Wait, here is the ticket in my pocket.
I take it out but cannot bring myself to read
the destination.
#240
The Bottom of the Waterfall
Time never backs up
but sometimes, if we’re lucky,
it slows down a bit
in back eddies and calm pools
where reflections can be seen.
But gaze too deeply
or cling to protruding roots
and currents of time
will wrench your fingers free and
toss you in the stream again.
Swim, damn you, just swim.
Don’t look over your shoulder.
It isn’t a race.
If you swim you have a chance
to chart your own course through time.
Time is the river.
You can swim or you can sink.
Hold your nose and dive
and discover hidden depths
or drift and enjoy the view.
If one day we meet
and the stream carries you past
I will laugh and shout
“I’ll meet you at the bottom
of the waterfall, my friend.”
#142
Roughly a multi versed ‘Tanka’ – each verse consisting of 5-7-5-7-7 syllables.
What It Is
Life is like a watercolour painting;
lots of pretty colours to play with
but work it too hard and you get mud.
Mud is like love;
soft and fun to play in
but it’s slippery and tends to leave stains.
Stains are like road maps;
clues to who or what we’ve been
but sometimes they smother beauty.
Beauty is like a watercolour;
glowing and capricious
but only a reflection of life.
#137
Centrifuge
When I was a child I rode a centrifuge.
Excitement keening in my stomach,
strapped in, giggling,
wide eyed to new sensations.
Then whirling,
the dip and swoop,
the sunny amusement park
careening around and around.
Colours blurring into squeals
of delight and fear.
Then dizzy,
staggering back to the
routine pace of the day to day,
clutching memories to be taken out
on gray days.
How was I to know?
Life is a centrifuge.
#132
Life Learns a Lesson
My life needs to learn how to hit the ‘undo’ key
so I can back up a space to where I
actually knew what I was doing.
My life needs to learn how to call ‘time outs’,
where I can huddle and plan my next move
without someone changing the rules.
My life needs to learn how to chill,
that every move doesn’t have to be
a lesson, or a character building exercise.
Maybe it isn’t life who needs to learn the lessons,
maybe it’s me.
#80
Linda Studley 