Sometimes Life is Like This

 

Heated words

tear me to the soul

rubbing salt into

an already open wound

festering within

I cry for hours

Sandpaper tears

make my eyes

heavy and sore

my mind feels lost

issues pile upon issues

as one thing after another

seems to go wrong

or gets too complicated

I cry for hours

Emotional scars deepen 

I claw feebly

at the walls

trying to get back

my usual positive vibes

but with no energy

left to spare this day

I don’t care

I wallow in misery

and cry for hours

Sometimes life is like this

--Sasha Wolfe

A Poem of my Aging

 

I feel I’ve lived

a hundred lifetimes

have cried a billion or more tears

I feel I’ve traveled

millions of miles

climbed thousands of mountains

and crawled through a myriad

of twisted mazes in underground caverns

on my hands and knees

 

I feel I’ve knelt

at the feet of God

walked with Jesus

over burning sands

meditated with Buddha

and attended rites

honoring Osiris and Cleopatra

 

I swam rivers

dove in oceans

floated on clouds

high above the earth

and laid in cool green grasses

on a hot summer day

  

I’ve heard thousands of words

listened to tales of wisdom

stories of success and of woe

and the fake promises

of false-hearted men

 

Everything I know

Everything I thought I knew

Everything I envisioned

dissipates like early morning fog

warmed by a dull sun

 

Heart-wise these days, though,

I feel little warmth

Things ethereal I’ve touched

but never fully grasped

have slid through cold fingers

 

                                                           I now rest in this humble body

as it ages and decays

mind tired but still active

as I watch events of the world

Glory witnessed

has been shrouded

with fear, dissension, hatred

I cower behind my moat

wondering who will

come for me first.

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

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

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

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.