Failure

There is a name I call myself
thrust down deep, not voicing aloud
for fear it will be more outwardly
manifest – Failure.

Others may call me Strong,
Committed, Spirited, Feisty,
Pushing through the Dark Times
to come through Stronger.
Pointing out the accomplishments
I have made, the great gains
managed at high cost.

But inside I know
there were other choices
which could have made me
Great, Successful, Healthy
not clothed in Fear –
and so, the bottom line
is that of Failure.

Notes on Camelot

Lancelot and Judas filled the same purpose
in their historical roles – each was a pawn
in the greater design.

Guenevere merely fought herself – the battle
between wanting to be woman while needing
to be legend – peace only coming when she
accepted a higher power … God.

Arthur was not meant to be a man
but a god in the guise of man.
Half man – half legend.
Totally noble – but weak in that goodness.
Not wholly real but not able to handle
the strength of goodness
therefore weakness being his evile.

Mordrid was evil incarnate –
lacking goodness.
Neither Arthur or Mordrid were real
they were while together.
Launcelot and Guenivere were too.
Human crushed by their need
to be human – only recovering
when hell had been paid –
when higher powers were last
surrendered to –
Launcelot’s Higher Power Trinity
being Arthur, Truth and Love.

Caught in a Web

Caught in a web
of her choosing
she stands alone –
an allusive enigma
apart from the rest –
friend to most
lover to none

Coquettish teasing
in provocative glances
stream from her eyes –
hips betraying the desire
for passion in their sway
while manner reserved.
She speaks words
of kindness for each one
who crosses her path

Therein lies the reality.
For though each word
is meant –
that underlying need
tugging at her breast
speaks of emotions
far stronger than others
are willing to seek.

So alone she blends
with many
but leaves once again
to return an empty vessel
to the cocooning warmth
of a lonely bed –
sheets becoming
imaginary lovers
caressing her skin.

The Moment in Change

Pen poised in mid-air,
with mind musing upon
the course of destiny,
vaguely wandering in
floating traipses
shooting off into future dreams
forgetting the moment
given in tender love
for cautious care.

So quickly do I flee
from the pressures of time
into a world of imaginary dreams,
mystical illusions and cryptic
messages – forgetting that
only through a full living
does the journey seem brighter
and the path clearer . . .

When caught between
past and future
I stand in terror,
eyes fearfully turning first
one way then another
but never straight ahead –
fogs swirl in clouded images
through the mind
leaving behind a tension
of confusion.

Today is only like any other . . .
the past is all that is seen,
the future lies in a heavy
cloak, blocking out fresh air.

But the moment – if relished
for itself – treasured among all
others for it’s radiance, its life –
is a gift of the gods
given to the weary
to instill hope and faith
that other moments such as these
are there for the taking
and just as freely given

 

Ping Pong

Up and down, down and up,
go the fortune’s
of my life.
Why believe in what
tomorrow foretells
when down and up
it will inevitably
be vastly different
than where I hung
my hat just a day ago.

Up I believed a move
was in the offing –
down no longer there.
Hope waved
in fragrant breezes
only to hang in tatters
so soon after the
supposed finale.

Nothing is real
until you walk the path.
Talking is just dreaming,
lacking substance,
planning does not
make it real.

I’m just the Velveteen Rabbit
watching my ball bounced
up and down, down and up,
always in another’s hand.

 

Little One

In my heart of hearts
my child
I know you await me
cossetted safe with
the soft, sweet cavern
of your mother’s womb.
I am coming
drawn to you
as an aged baboon
reaches across the divide
to nestle and groom
an infant ape’s soft fur.
You are a mystery,
a new wonder
to behold and nourish.
To raise
alongside your parents.
The day will come
when I finally
wrap my arms about you.
My fate is tied to yours
as you grow,
nurtured in the love
of multi-generations.

Back Again?

Why are you back again?
You told me you were going
for good – never to pass
my way or hold my hand.

Does your hand need holding now?
Is it that?  Or have I become
a convenience – a stopping off
place between two destinies,
an easy retreat from fear
and frustration.

I did not run behind
– calling for your return,
but let you go – to pursue
your path as you choose,
accepting I was not
the one you looked for,
and still not found.

So why the grand welcome?
I don’t understand –
first you want to be free
and when no chains are there
to bind and chafe tender skin –
you return, only this time
I know how quickly you run,
this time I won’t give over
those bits of soul
freely given before.

Learning me will be harder
this time – and walking out
the door may be easier
the second time around . . .
only – I shall be
doing the walking.

Beginning a Multi-Generational Family

Becoming a Multi-Generational Family when Social Security for the Disabled and Section 8 Housing are involved can be fraught with difficulties.  When my daughter and son-in-law asked me to move to California and be the nanny to their first born, I knew it was the next chapter in my life.  I’m turning 61, a new decade. No hesitation. As I look at the host of hurdles which need to be jumped over, I still know it is the right thing but there is plenty of work to do to make it work.

To begin with, I am a quiet person who has lived the twelve years since my daughter graduated high school alone.  To move into their home with a brand new baby and two dogs is change enough.  Most of the time I don’t have any noise in my apartment save the sometimes relentless talking my cat does.  I just moved, literally a month ago, just purchased furniture needed to make a substantial downsizing work, started back to walking my cat daily, and reduced the outer noise volume to nothing.

I live on Social Security Disability for Working Employees and part-time work as a CNA. This change would mean negotiating the tricky minefield of employee payment within the family unit.  I will also need to figure out a way to keep my Section 8, whether it means renting a room or studio. Should I pod, share a house with other women my age?

I currently live in Connecticut.  What are the best options in this new living arrangement?  Does giving myself options mean I am leaving the door open?  If so, my cat might escape.  And speaking of my cat – all those adjustments I am to make, he is making.  Can a mature, one person pet adjust to so much new?

Moving across country wouldn’t be an issue.  I’ve done it several times before.  But this time someone else needs to drive my car and possessions across the great divide.  And all that downsizing I just did will making will be nothing compared to what will need doing to make this move.  This last move I gave away what I didn’t need.  This time I will need to sell or donate belongings that mean something to me as well as divest myself of things like linens, cookware, dishes, Christmas treasures, a brand new cat tower I put together myself, etc.  Things I thought of as essential.  God has been teaching me things don’t matter, people do.

Boundaries . . . a veritable minefield all its own.  Sharing space with others means listening and comprehending what matters to them.  Being reflective.  Bending and being fluid.  For all parties involved, except the baby.  My family has produced strong-headed people.  My daughter wants to take care of me while I take care of her baby.  How does that work?  I’ve become pretty independent over the years.  I raised both she and her brother, who I will also be closer to, another source for boundary issues.  I have both physical and mental issues now  but none that impair my ability to care for myself.

Values. . . such core aspects of a personality.  I already know my children have different ones than I do.  Especially over religious matters.  Making them merge will be interesting.

Grandparenting, how wonderful, delightful, daunting.  Am I up for the rigors of caring for a child 8-10 hours daily?  What will I do to carve time out for myself?  To keep my independence and soul intact may take a bit of processing.  But this is what I will do. . . with joy and thanksgiving.  The rest is trivia.

The place where I dump the stuff that's inside my head.

Geetha Balvannanathan's Blog - Isis Tratum

Poems, thoughts, healing, other art works (pictures, songs and videos not made by me belong to their authors, the rest being mine) © 2010-2046

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