The Crane

 

The weight of the world

Like boulders immovable 

Holding you pinned

Frozen in place

Bone-crushing ache

Asking why between shouts

Of “fight your own battles”

As if lifting a shield and

Brandishing a sword

Didn’t require empty hands

When all you needed was 

Someone to help you lift

A Hollow Foundation

 

Relationships last for numerous reasons

Even those built on hollow foundations

Survive through feats of desperation

Afraid to let go and watch it all 

Just slip away into the tides downfall

Amidst cheers and jeers the siren call

Thoughts of love washed away

hiding evidence of the fray

In platitudes spiteful looks betray

Wishing for respite while waiting for the end

Calling secret meetings with a special “friend”

Exhausted from the endless game of pretend

Blue Iceberg

 

I am so often fascinated by things that I see while traveling, and I use my photos of those things as the inspiration for poetry. This poem was inspired by this large iceberg we saw amidst all of the “tiny” berglets while cruising the Tracy Arm Fjord near an awe-inspiring glacier. It stood out for both its size and its color. Learning that the eye-catching color had to do with the density of the ice added to the allure.

Impenetrable density

Frigid features

Resting bitch face

A fortress for others

Trusted without trusting

Fortitude and aloofness

Constantly torn between

shining in the sunlight

and burying her pain deep

under the surface

Separated from the pack

Safety withdrawn

in a series of 

“I was hard on you,

so you could be strong.”

A beacon, a lighthouse

Blind leading the lost

Wearing trauma like armor

Earned, yet undeserved “strength”

a painful reminder

that she must protect herself

Outcast that never fit in

Wall flower

Constantly watching

the world swim by

Stuck in place

Held by the weight

no one ever sees

This poem was originally published on Medium within the publication Move Me Poetry on August 31, 2022.

The Matchstick Bridge: A Story in Haiku

 

While in Skagway, Alaska, we took a train ride up the mountain. One of the features of this stretch of track is a wooden bridge that leads into a mountain tunnel. Looking at it from afar, my heart began racing because of it's height and that fact that it appeared made of matchsticks. Obviously, the bridge held, and I was able to get this photo. As I listened to the guide's story of the train's origin, as a support for those prospecting for gold in the Yukon, and the bridge itself, I knew there was a poem in there somewhere. 

dreams of riches call

unprepared for wilderness

travelers perishing

gold rush to yukon–

train built for power and speed

men and provisions

the matchstick bridge—

angled and curved intricate

patterned triangles

built for endurance

ensuring safe passage through

last frontier landscape

miles above the sea

views of glacial waterfalls

pass between mountains 

across steep chasms

feats of engineering hold

withstanding pressure

Accessible Heights

 

I was walking down the street in Juneau when I happened to see this series of diagonal lines climbing the hillside out of the corner of my eye. I had planned to snap a photo of it anyway, but once I realized it was a ramp, I knew it would inspire a poem at some point. 

Life presents a series of stumbling blocks

Endless obstacles in our paths

Perpetually climbing, seeking

Seemingly unattainable height

Up stairs jagged, narrow, steep

Imposing boundaries that hold us down

Keep us from reaching, narrowing

Our options until we fit some mold

Pre-determining our destination

Before we reach the next level

Possibility clearing the way for more

Blinding us to our own potential

House in Ruins

 

We thought our house was sturdy

Until we cracked the foundation 

With our insecurity

Until we tore off the roof

With our pride

Until we flooded the living space

With our grief

Until we burned down the walls

With our anger

Until we tended the garden

With our neglect

Until we hid the ruins

With our embarrassment

At the Root

This poem was dually inspired by the photo and a writing prompt on Medium that called for a piece on the branches of the tree of life.

The branches are celebrated
For their food and their fruit
Photosynthesis their gift
But they’d be nothing without the root

The branches produce leaves
Providing shade from its shoot
Scented flowers also sprout
But nothing grows without the root

The branches spread wide
Giving the world a salute
On behalf of the noble trunk
But all respect to the root

The branches of one tree
An apple everyone’s pursuit
Promised knowledge or life
But both were buried in its root

Our family tree had few branches
Adorned with vines we’d recruit
Yet when grandma passed
The tree splintered without its root