My, me, you, yours
ours…
hours gone.
is it enough?
US
All of us who are Here Now
can we make that be real everyday?
Can I smile, wave even…at you…you at me
and want to know each other’s story,
hold that energy for the other
and in that holding
Know.
Renae Ogle
renaego
I’m in published poet with a degree in English from the University of Tennessee. For a living I’m a social worker. I didn’t start writing poetry until I was in my mid-40s but I found that I really loved it. I also make jewelry and other artistic endeavors. I’m originally from Pennsylvania and I spent 20 years in Tennessee- now I live in work in Arizona. I’m so happy they’re allowing half marathoners to basically pick their own timeframe. That’s going to help me a lot.
Empty Tub (hour 5 prompt, my second one)
I had the experience once…
more than once-
of having someone in my life – a man to love me.
someone in the tub,
someone in the hallway waiting for me to come home.
not now…now the house is empty. No lingering man scent in the shower, no scattered tools in the garage.
what is this thing- being alone?
how does it come about?
was it written this way – that I be alone in my twilight years? I’m angry about it sometimes.
and then I realize- no one is asking you to account for your time –
telling you how to live, how to vote, how to dress, when to be home, what to believe…
and then I think…maybe it was written this way.
Another River
“This drink of luminosity is always within reach. This belongs to everyone.”
Nepo you beautiful soul. It is the river of light of which he speaks.
My course has Traveled along another river – dark and meandering, it’s waters murky yet beautiful.
There is beauty in struggle – in the wood of tangled bramble and thicket.
Wear good shoes! Carrying your pain on your back as you trudge its undergrowth can trip you up. Consider too – sustenance- what gets us though it, brings us out the other side?
Do we stop to dismantle the load?
how closely should we look? How long should we stay?
There is danger in staying too long, looking too closely…not closely enough.
I know its contents by heart.
The early loss of parent,
the lost child.
empty bed
rejection.
I’ll pack it up again.
Ordering it differently this time
and trudge on.
A title eludes me
Kids, Army, not in that order. College at 20, 24, 28 and 40. Art, pottery, painting, poetry. English degree first; Social worker last – childhood and my marriage fed that well. Trauma therapist now – childhood and the marriage fed that well also. I discovered poetry at 40. I wrote a lot in those years but I have fallen off since. In order to earn the masters in English I did write an autobiographical poetic thesis. So I certainly have written my share of poetry. But I know I’m rusty. I brought my mom to live with me in 2018 and she passed away last December. Not from Covid but from old age. She was 94. Right now I’m writing a book called “Mom and Me” because she was a huge influence in my life with her Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde approach to parenting and because paradoxically I miss her. I’m not young chronologically however I don’t want to say my age because I don’t want that to influence anyone. I think ageism is just as alive as other forms of discrimination only it seems to be acceptable in some circles. There’s an unspoken/unacknowledged expectation that at a certain age you should look a certain way or behave a certain way and I’ve never liked that. I didn’t do life in any kind of chronological order – I never had a plan. I was set on a certain course from birth by other people’s behaviors as many of us are and I reacted to those things overtime. I was in therapy for a long time before I became a therapist. During the last 10 years or so my focus has been on elevating my consciousness; living in the present moment, being honest with those I love and helping others. In addition to being a trauma therapist I’m also an EMDR therapist. My life is active and interesting but also challenging and stressful. Retirement hopefully is just around the corner. I kind of want to move to Hawaii for that. This is a really cool place.
Too Controlled? Self portrait
I breathe deeply through everything. Sometimes I do scream at it.
Lately the runner is resurfacing.
For a living I help with trauma.
Lately I want a big break.
I have a passion I don’t get to express enough.
I care but I’m feeling depleted.
I listen and still help but resent the energy use.
there’s a level of presence that everyone of my life – clients and family seem to expect and secretly I want to withdraw it.
They expect it because I’ve nurtured and cultivated it through meditation and years of therapy.
I’m emotionally present. I show up. I give. I engage.
But I’m tired now.
Is this what Burn out looks like?