Tuesday, January 19, 2021

Seismic Relationships


 








One wrong word

one wrong action

When I can’t/won’t respond

to pull of puppet strings

heat and friction crack the rock

 

The relationship fractures

aftershock rips through my soul

self-doubt runs rampant

and old, buried feelings

bubble up from deep inside

 

I pull myself together

as the figure across the chasm fades

I contemplate the jump

weigh the consequences

of friendship

 

Can I make the leap?

Do I want to?

I look across the gap

Is the relationship worth it

or is it time to move on?

 

I do what I often do

wait for the tremors to cease

go on as if nothing happened

forgive, let it pass.


--Sasha Wolfe

Glacial Slip

 








Walking the knife edge of ice

careful with footed words

too easily misunderstood

the relationship became brittle

 

Over time differences in beliefs

with underlying structures

moving at different speeds

caused the glacier to fracture

 

The crevasse widened

and for a while I clung

trying to be a good friend

accepting her for who she is

 

I acknowledge

my faults and guilt

admit where I lack

try to be better

 

But at the same time

I hold onto who I am

I stand strong

in my beliefs

 

Maybe it’s time to let go

I slip off the edge

trusting there’s a hand hold

to help me up the other side.


--Sasha Wolfe

Saturday, December 5, 2020

Eating Disorder updated








 

I told my body

it was OK to eat

when I am hungry

 

Only I

didn’t specify

what kind of hunger

 

So I eat when I am

hungry for love

hungry for acceptance

hungry for … oh, whatever

 

And I eat

to quiet the gnawing

to fill the emptiness

to quell the loneliness

 

My hunger turns ravenous

in an attempt to bridge the gap

over I don’t know what

 

No food seems to help

and the hunger

continues to eat

 

at my soul like an acid

creating a bigger hole

until I am crippled

in despair and misery

 

It took years

to realize the hunger

wasn’t about food

or filling my belly

 

It took years

to realize the hunger

was a deep need to feed

my creative desires.

 

--I wrote the main idea of this poem years ago and have now given it re-birth


Monday, November 30, 2020

Creative Rise and Fall













The muse comes roaring in
I’m on fire 
lifted high to the skies
of possibility

Ideas flow freely
I move with excitement
accomplishing artistic tasks
I write, I paint
I’m up in the clouds
full of creative joy

Hours pass until
hunger and lightheadedness
permeate my concentration
I stop to eat
but filling the hole in my belly
punches one in the magic carpet

The bubble of creativity popped
the muse disappears
and I slam back to earth
utterly spent and brain dead

I’m exhausted past thinking
but the essence
of creative soaring
lingers in my soul
and I can’t wait
for the next visit.

--Sasha Wolfe

Sunday, October 4, 2020

White Water and Creative Banks


Paddling the middle of a raging river

its white water threatens to swamp my boat

as I strong-arm my way

through life’s journey

 

On either side

the banks of creativity

full of beautiful scenery

await the pen or pastel

 

Bushes of words on one side

grasses of paint strokes on the other

cajole me, encourage me,

beg me to stop

 

Sometimes

the choice is easy

as to which side

I’ll pull my boat

 

Sometimes

the pull from both sides

is demanding

Do I paint or write?

 

And sometimes

the river is so strong

with life’s issues

I can’t pull out of the current

 

Long arms of creativity

shadowy reflections across the water

reach with ghostlike fingers

to pull me from my boat

 

The call to create

is overpowering

If I don’t heed its plea

I will be devoured by the river

 

I’m torn to which side

to rest my boat on

but know, too, whichever choice

will be the right one.

Tuesday, August 4, 2020

Photo’s Inspiration


Sometimes the lines

across the page

take on a different

kind of pace

 

Lines that do not match

the guiding photograph

decide their own

unique course

breaking free

of what was planned

 

To chart its own course

I let my hand move

sometime doubting

but also trusting the process

 

In the end

the painting tells me

when it is done

and I am satisfied.



Free Fall Painting



I stare at the photo

but my hand

takes on

a mind of its own

 

It won’t listen to

what my eyes see,

refuses to connect

to my logical mind

 

What I think I see

doesn’t transmit

to the strokes

falling on the page

 

Something else

takes over my hand

forming their own shapes

similar, but not quite like the photo

 

I’m in free fall

as the painting seems to

dictate where to move

my hand

 

I can’t stop

and can’t tell

what is me

and what is the painting

 

Suddenly it lets me go

I back away

from the easel

 and look back

 

Its unique voice

echoes through me,

not in real words, pleading,

“Make me, create me”

 

But once my logical mind

kicks in

the moments are passed and

the self-questioning begins.