In The Wild

Stacked sympathy cards lie like a stymie
in the line of play. Victims cry, why me,
finally see how they screwed up, fooled around.
The accusations fly, the guilt abounds.

Here in my path of service, aiming high
I praise morning, stare into glary sky.
I’ve learned I’m ever in the place I need
to be, intuitive vigilance heed.

Each wise whispered heart-voice counsels to still
and in creative space, imagine, drill
past all the seeming obstacles. The shag
untidy begs a second glance. Tool bag

brimming, I center, ground and breathe. Expand
beyond constraints of time. At my command
joy rises, flavored by the grief. This pain
I savor, so intense yet brief, free rein.

Inspired by: Screw, Stymie, Shag and (featured image) the ongoing visitation by beautiful white flying beings, which bring my mother into my presence with great joy.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

7 thoughts on “In The Wild”

  1. I love the white flying beings who bring you joy in your passage through grief, and admire your capacity to embrace all of what is happening. I especially love “Here in my path of service, aiming high / I praise morning, stare into glary sky.” The path of service is a wonderful way of being in the world.

    Liked by 1 person

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