Wanita Isaacs

A poem

Author’s own

We’re on to our third home
In just this last month.
Nomadic by nature,
Homeful by circumstance.

Our abundance of homes,
Transient as they are,
Fulfills the travelers urge,
And breaks the family’s heart.

Exhausted, we unpack already
Dreading the next re-pack.
Excited, we explore and search
For each a spot to call our own.

Borrowed spaces, borrowed beauty
Borrowed lives, our own on hold,
We visit and we dream. Our dreams
They grow, while life unfolds.

Funny how our lives begin
To take the shape of dreams
Forgotten, while we’re busy. Busy
Packing, moving, always moving on.

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So did you. Win-win.

Alexis on Pixabay

You chose to fix yourself.
I chose to save myself the agony
Of watching your futile fixing
Frustrate you day after day.

You’re not broken, you never were

Your fixing is your recognising
That you want more than this.
Your fixing is your knowing
That your “this” isn’t mine.

So you blame me for your choice
And I defend against my pain
And we stand in battle, back to back,
Facing imaginary enemies

Fighting a war in our minds

It’s a war of worlds colliding
Scattering the shrapnel of reality
Over the ruins of our dream
In the debris, the arresting contrast

Of glow and grey, provokes
Unexpected wonder and,
Startling, jarring,
The realisation of Beauty.

The understanding of Promise.

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A poem

Photo by Benjamin Lacroix

I’ve found the one
Our Hero’s journey
Just begun
Such ache, this learning

To stare quietly,
Without hurting,
Into the mystery
With depths uncertain

No history to guide us
We’ve left the shore
Of known. What tides us
Now is more.

More wholeness
More fullness
No soulless
Days of dullness

Can exist
When we reach
The other side of this,
That beach

That sandy place
Out beyond “rights”
That dusty space
Found inside our light

That real world
Where what’s “wrong”
Is just a pearl
The start of a song

Of movement
A gift, covered over.
With the intent
Of a lover

First one then
The other
Unwraps the gems
That bring us together

It is our knowing
That renders us able
To keep going
To keep stable

Our ship through
This lonely quest,
Our clear, focused view
Of where we will rest.

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A poem

Image by Gert Altmann on Pixabay

I closed my heart
For fear or fright,
I hid my light
But not enough
My heart grew cold
Became tough.

Inflexible really,
Life so insipid, dreary
All those years, so sad
And bone-weary,
Spent running, hiding
And turning away

Saying no, not now
Not ever.
Now or never?
I’ll take never.
For what?
Good grief

For fear of falling and
Failing when it matters
most. I’m done,
So done. Now,
I don’t want to run.

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Wanita Isaacs

Wanita Isaacs

Writer, pathologically teaching-to-learn (those who can't do, ...). Ex-medical doctor, ex-corporate communications, ex-rat racer.