Impossible Love

I don’t know
why I always love the impossible

Possibly
I am incapable of loving the possible

Maybe
I interpret love
to be an impossible notion

An imperfect soul
chases the impossible perfection

Grandpa’s Roommate

The old man shared the same room with grandpa
in a nursing home close by.
Every time I visited grandpa,
he sat on his bed,
facing the window.
I never knew him,
never once wanted to disturb.
I knew his back view very well,
bald head,
olive skin,
a white tailored t-shirt,
tattooed arms.

That day I didn’t see him.
The bed was empty.
Grandpa said he passed in peace.
“A blind man looking out the window
who wanted me to know
this is not a depressing place.”
I gave grandpa a big hug
pretending I didn’t see his tears.

The Pond

The pond on the family vineyard
is like a Catholic priest
witnesses celebratory family events
hears confession after confession
forever gives out forgiveness
peace loving
empathetic
gentle
still

Video by Cassa Bassa at Drayton Vineyard, Hunter Valley, NSW, Australia

Click here for more about the Drayton’s Family Wines

Peculiar Me

The garden flat I once lived
was so quiet.
There was this old copper tap dripping
made up the only noise.
I thought of putting some cheese out
to bait some mice to create more sound.
Then I got worried
that I would make them dependent.
And that would be unkind.
Sometimes I held my breath
to listen to the tap.
Just to be sure that
I was not alone.

My Reasoning

You didn’t live in my yesterdays.
You love me today.
I don’t see you in my tomorrows.

Isn’t love enough?
It isn’t enough when it doesn’t last.

How do you know it won’t last.
I saw your eyes.
They wandered.

 

Epiphany

The city in Spring was filled with misty rain.
You kept reminding her to take an umbrella.
But she always left without one.
You became her outdoor companion to keep her dry.

Summer storms came and went without warning.
There was no way you could prepare for that.
You gifted her a poncho tied with a yellow ribbon,
hoping it would keep her from the downpour.

One day you saw her running around a giant tree
with symphony of lightening and thunder.
Finally the epiphany hit you.
You were in love with a girl
whom you knew little about.

 

arcachon basin basin of arcachon beach blue
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Quiet Time

This weekend has been planned out to be a busy one with cooking, travelling and loads people contact. However with some magic shuffle, I ended up with a window of quiet evening. I attempted to finish reading a book I was half way through but couldn’t pick it up. Then I attempted to write a poem or two and felt uninspired. The next thing was watching a movie on Netflix but nothing looked interesting. There was a sense of unsettling for me. I felt I needed to sit with my feelings to untangle them. So I sat and played music softly in the background.

I am always grateful for what music gives me when I am exhausted with giving or run out of inspiration. Besides the nature, music is my second go to place for quiet time. I feel that through music, I am able to relate my own feelings to the artist. It is more like the artist reaches me through their music and lyrics. They help me identify my own feelings and emotions. Then what was trapped in my head has an outlet to express. For me, it is usually through writing.

Sitting with my own feelings is never an easy thing to do. With music though, I feel I have a guide and I am never alone.