Tag Archive | strength
Tanka Poetry – Strength
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Bête Noire #OctPoWriMo (Day 5 of 31)
DAY 5
(It’s still day 8, in which I kind of, sort of cheat) I #AmWriting, but it took on a life of its own and became something else, for some other time, SO, I tiptoed into the archives and borrowed some old words to replace the ones I was going to use )
Prompt – I Finally Understand
Anxiety – I’ve come to an understanding . . . I will never fully understand it. BUT, I now can recognize and fight it when it pays a visit.
* * *
If I knew why the world
sometimes crumbles,
when the earth
neath my feet is sound,
I might forget to fall.
If I could see
the raging storm
was only a summer breeze
of a passing season,
I might not hide at all.
If I was certain
flood waters
were not rising too fast
for me to safely swim,
I might not have to drown.
If I could just believe
the fears I fear
were lies, unfounded,
figments of my mind,
I might keep both feet on the ground.
Confounding little voice, whispering in the mind
infinitesimal, insignificant – ultimately powerless . . .
until
acknowledged, fed – held close to the heart like mother nestling a babe, wrap it like a cloak, a chrysalis safe and warm, cower within till it torments no more . . .
except
it’s an illusion, a blanket of lies keeping the light veiled in shadow, growing heavy, heavier in the darkness, suffocating, stealing breath, parasitic thief consuming, devouring reality, regurgitating anxiety, apprehension and despair . . .
bête noire
undeserving of avowal, recognition, appellation . . . purge, disembogue, cast out, unbaptize, reject, refuse, restrain, dethrone the beast from lofty place to bowels of depths unknown . . .
rise
ascend past heights attainable by intrusive, binding thought,
look back and you will fall
spread wings of grace and you will soar.
~ finis ~
Crystal R. Cook
Previous Challenge Posts ~
#OctPoWriMo 2017
Day 1 – How Did You Get here?
Day 2 – We Write Because We Must
Day 3 – Cherita Poem – Metal
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Actually, you CAN
It’s in those moments we find our strength . . .
That little voice inside your head
says just give up, you can’t do this.
Not strong enough, not brave enough,
not smart enough for this.
You can’t
That voice? It doesn’t belong to you.
The only thing you cannot do
is believe anything it says
that’s the only thing you cannot do.
You CAN
Silence it, ignore it
tell it to go away.
Every time is says give up,
do it anyway.
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Strength in broken pieces – Tanka Verse
Artist – Antonio Canova
Broken, still she stands.
Open wounds, never to heal.
Fragments of lost dreams,
pieces of past promises
keep her from falling apart.
Crystal R. Cook
Tanka Verse 5-7-5-7-7
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They said . . .
When they told me
he would never talk,
I taught him to sing.
I mimicked his little sounds
until he began to mimic mine.
When they told me
he may never walk,
I taught him to run.
I put his little hands in mine
and helped guide his feet
toward our goal.
I fell to my hands and knees
and raced along
the floor by his side.
When they said
he would not read,
I began showing him words
and teaching him sounds.
When they said
he would not write,
I gave him a crayon
and said you can,
and he became a poet.
When they said
he would live
in his own world
I opened the doors to mine
and waited for him to enter.
Now when they say things
I raise my voice to the heavens.
God hears me
and gives me strength
to help him overcome
the limitations
they say await him.
Crystal R. Cook
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Pay the toll or ride once more . . .
Here we go again.
The world’s begun to spin,
round and round
and round it goes,
and here we go again.
~
The carousel
appeared before me,
filling me with fright.
I think . . . I thought
I know . . . I knew,
something
wasn’t
right.
~
A phantasmic carnie asked,
“Do want a ride?”
I never met his gaze
though I’m certain I declined,
but he lifted me,
and without warning
I was spinning, spinning,
spinning,
under his control,
and when the ride
came to an end,
he held out
his gnarled hand,
demanding to have his toll.
~
Inside my head
I continued to spin
I’ve no reason to pay,
I didn’t ask to play,
there’s no payment
I owe to him.
~
Still he stood,
and asked again,
“Do you want a ride?”
His hollow eyes
stared through me,
and his lips curled
into a twisted
sort of grin.
He said,
“Pay the toll,
or ride once more,
then we’ll talk again.”
~
I don’t quite know
how many times
I went round and round
and round
before I woke,
but when I did
he stood before me,
and once again
he spoke.
~
“Pay me what I’m due,
and you may take your leave.”
I found my voice,
and screamed in silence,
“I haven’t anything,
not even a penny
for which to pay.
I don’t know
what it is
you seem to
want from me.
Won’t you please,
just please,
I’m begging you
to turn and go away.”
~
He threw back his head
with a wicked laugh
and said, “Why should I
be the one to go?
Don’t you know?
It was you – It was you
who came to me.
Silly child, open your eyes,
see what you can see.”
~
And then I remembered
I’d been given a choice
when anxiety came to call
I could have stood
against it,
I could have fought
with all my might,
but I faltered
and I fell
and I cowered
from the fight.
~
I opened my eyes
to look upon
what I’d been too
afraid to see.
I steadied my heart,
I stood to my feet,
but when I looked,
there was nothing,.
Nothing
waited there
for me.
Crystal R. Cook
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Paradoxical Madness – and the battle strengthens me
Weakness
begets
strength.
Paradoxical madness
I could do without.
Interminable battle,
victory unattainable.
Eternal conflict rages
betwixt prostration
and fortitude.
Languor triumphs,
vitiating valor,
though – conquest
is fleeting
as perseverance
reclaims reign.
And the struggle
makes me strong.
Paradoxical madness
I could do without.
Crystal R. Cook
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I mend it with the broken pieces.
When my heart was broken
and lay shattered at my feet
I saved the parts I could
though there wasn’t much to keep
~
I put some pieces in my pocket
in case I needed them someday
the rest I used to build a road
so I could walk away
~
I built a bridge with what was left
and crossed the river of my tears
it carried me past heartache
kept me safe from all my fears
~
With every step I took
my heart began to mend
better than it was before
it grew strong enough to bend
~
Every now and then
when I feel it might just shatter
those pieces in my pocket
remind me of what matters
~
And when it happens like it does
and I find a little crack
those pieces in my pocket
are the pieces I put back
~
Crystal R. Cook
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Bête Noire
If I knew why the world
sometimes crumbles,
when the earth
neath my feet is sound,
I might forget to fall.
If I could see
the raging storm
was only a summer breeze
of a passing season,
I might not hide at all.
If I was certain
flood waters
were not rising too fast
for me to safely swim,
I might not have to drown.
If I could just believe
the fears I fear
were lies, unfounded,
figments of my mind,
I might keep both feet on the ground.
confounding little voice, whispering in the mind
infinitesimal, insignificant – ultimately powerless . . .
until
acknowledged, fed – held close to the heart like mother nestling a babe, wrap it like a cloak, a chrysalis safe and warm, cower within till it torments no more . . .
except
it’s an illusion, a blanket of lies keeping the light veiled in shadow, growing heavy, heavier in the darkness, suffocating, stealing breath, parasitic thief consuming, devouring reality, regurgitating anxiety, apprehension and despair . . .
bête noire
undeserving of avowal, recognition, appellation . . . purge, disembogue, cast out, unbaptize, reject, refuse, restrain, dethrone the beast from lofty place to bowels of depths unknown . . .
rise
ascend past heights attainable by intrusive, binding thought, look back and you will fall –
spread wings of grace and soar.
~ finis ~
Crystal R. Cook
The Qwiet Muse 