Why is it so… 

Why is it so… 

Life isn’t meant to stay the same
just as seasons turn… people grow and change
sometimes drifting so far apart
that echoes are all that’s left of the past.
And the laughter which rang, and secrets aired
seem a fragile reminder of time shared
when dreams were whispered in midnight hours
and truths were offered like fragrant flowers.
*

So I sit in limbo, waiting, lingering in reflections of life and past & present… and an obscure future which refuses to offer clues or clarity as to what direction I should be taking.
These reflections, today’s reflections circle around a life of friendships that faded as time passed. Very few from neglect or negative reasons, mostly because life changes and people change. People moved, I moved. And new circles of friends are eventually formed, with the old friends never forgotten and often thought of.
I wonder how they are, those friends from earlier years, who shared and laughed and cried so deeply with me? Have they survived the years and are now aging with whatever grace and dignity afforded them? Have they found their “happy place” ? Are they grandparents as well?
Were any lost between the cracks of society?

Lingering within reflections today… outside the sun is finally shining after two weeks of torrential rain… difficult to believe it’s actually an autumn day, the way the sunshine is dancing across the yard, deepening shadows and highlighting freshly washed foliage.
I should be outside! I should be wandering ‘neath trees, breathing in the earthy scents of nature.
But I’m not.
I’m sitting in limbo… waiting for a property inspection which the landlady has arranged- second one in less than 8 eight days… I ache somewhat, physically, from the extra household chores I felt obliged to do… aching somewhat,  spiritually,  because I’d rather be somewhere else doing something else or nothing at all, just BEING.

If truth be told, I’ve relocated so many times in 60 years… reinventing myself, my life, and in the process my circle of friends and each time the “she” who is me became a quieter more introspective person… life became less encumbered with material possessions and the circle became smaller and smaller.
That’s not to say that I have forgotten those friends and friendships formed,  connections that, at the time seemed permanent and perfectly suited to my heart and spirit. Each one ripples in my soul, circles in my pond of life.

Reflecting on this journey, I wonder why none of us ever managed to stay in touch, stay connected, stay friends despite distance and disruptions? I wonder why I have so few long term friendships… none from childhood… nor school… or those wild and crazy days in my early 20’s.


Only one from my failed attempt to be trained as a “nurse  and model citizen”. And I haven’t actually seen her in thirty years, we ‘refound’ each other through Facebook and stay in touch.
As for the group my late husband and I socialised with, well… None of “our” friends stuck around. After.
So I started again. Again.

All this leaves me awash with melancholy homesickness for times lived and me’s I use be… and I wonder, Why?

Just why. Why is it so.
*
Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

Ante-Post-Meridiam Twilight

Tumbling untainted joy
skinned knees
and trees
so high I could pretend I didn’t hear mother’s voice-

Tree-climbing is only for boys!
how often she screeched that, I could not count;

Ahh… the purity of those sweet scented days
that wafted by on the scents of childhood-
swamp-water-up-to-my-knees scents
fish-and-chips-wrapped in newspaper scents
pungent with vinegar and tingling saltiness
living in the dreamtime of innocence…

No halting the winds of change though
skinned knees heal and children grow
time ebbs and flows, as season blows into passing season…

Clinging to shreds of childhood dreams
yet eager to venture beyond the grip
of parental embrace, perhaps too soon it was
or mayhap too late, I took the road to independence-

And lost myself
in those early postmeridian days
lost in late nights, catty fights
waking…. where I shouldn’t be waking
taking what I shouldn’t be taking-
– but that was a passing faze, a mere scene embedded
into life’s diorama
– my inner child shook me silly, beat me up, willy-nilly
I didn’t sign on for this!
How wise she was, my inner child;
I think she saved my life.

Trading bar-room- emetic for the sweetness of motherhood
and those healing places where ancient trees grow-
I taught my children how to climb
limb by limb, how recognize the perfect branch
for sitting on
how to share with the breeze their secret soul-song…

… but, and it seems there is always a ‘but’ with me
one that pulls me up as time ebbs and flows
as season blows into passing season
– but…. life presents obstacles of no rhyme and reason
and for a while I lost myself, in soul-consuming sorrow
          only shadows haunted each tomorrow
dreams merely empty reflections of yesterday…

I lived and loved and lost, in the postmeridian of my days
forgot how to smile, while time stood still in silent eyes
I guided children as they grew, but no longer knew
who I was…

Time doesn’t stand still though
does it
and I woke to discover I was aging
an old crone looked at me from the neglected mirror-
– she looked a lot like my mother, in many ways…
… the crone tsk tsk’d shaking her graying head
and then she winked
and whispered… don’t you think
it’s time… time honor your self?

Twilit days flow with twitterlight
  and as I watch grandchildren grow
I grow too, reconnecting with that me
I was long ago.

*
Poetry and Image Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver ©

Sleepy Sunday


Sleepy Sunday

 

Wandering rural  suburbia

sleepy Sunday afternoon…

 

… freshly cut grass

following my path

fluctuating echoes

as lawn mowers fade to silence

one by one…

 

Children still play in late puddles

of autumn light

clinging

to dappled warmth…

… but the day is almost spent

thin slivers of rays

offering faded light

but no warmth…

 

Passing the creek

birds chatter & tweet

a flurry of wings in the high canopy

setting sun flickers through

interwoven branches

with tinseled radiance …

… shadows roosting in tangled roots

as they twist along the ground…

 

Yards emptied

taking on an air of abandonment

as doors were closed

curtains drawn

blink… blinkblink

lights go on

in dwellis along the street

hovering fireflies

with nowhere to go…

mingling aromas of chicken baking

… curry brewing…  someone, somewhere barbecue’ing-

 televisions

announce the news at 5…

 

 

Sunday Walking

wandering rural  suburbia

as a sleepy Sunday comes to a close;

*

Poetry & Photo – SharonleeGoodhand©27-May-14

Persistence of Morning Thoughts


 

Persistence of Morning Thoughts

 

Morning thoughts yawn from pre-dawn shadows

You know the ones…

 

… thoughts that immerge with the first fingers of sun

thoughts that play in your mind as the morning winds on-

– flying kites on the faintest of breeze…

 

… bullying our other thoughts

dancing in our daydreams

they create pandemonium

tease and taunt

with macabre delight…

 

They linger into afternoon thoughts

the sort

that roll over as slowly

as a sunsplashed whale…

visions slid down scattered sunrays

full-color-scenarios

replay

pause

replay…

 

Clouds gather mid-afternoon, snatching the sun

and still those persistent morning thoughts invade;

*

SharonleeGoodhand©27-May-14