A Hollow Foundation

Relationships last for numerous reasons
Even those built on hollow foundations
Surviving through feats of desperation

Afraid to let go and watch it all 
Just slip away into the tides’ downfall
Amidst cheers and jeers the siren call

Thoughts of love washed away
hiding evidence of the fray
In platitudes spiteful looks betray

Wishing for respite while waiting for the end
Calling secret meetings with a special “friend”
Exhausted from the endless game of pretend

I could write an entire novel off the inspiration I found in Ketchikan, Alaska, especially this small section of town where these houses were precariously perched along the river. Having written a musical set in the red light district of New Orleans during the early 20th century, I was fascinated by the history and lore of Creek Street. I am sure there will be far more poems to come with photos from this area alone.

Remnant Wreckage

Tossing in the wake
Strewn along the shore
Remnant wreckage
Of a love no more

The once mighty ship
Strength and tranquility
Danced along the landscape
A herald’s fantasy

The crew maintained her visage
Hiding cracks, withered neglect
Pretending all was well
As regard turned to regret

The fateful day the tempest
Came to test their fortitude
The fragile hull splintered
As the ship came unglued

Storm-tossed cross the sea
Found prone upon the sand
A warning sign to all
Of a relationship’s last stand

While walking along the shore in Victoria, BC, I noticed the sand covered in driftwood, some pieces huge, like ships had just broken apart, so I took photos of the wreckage. Then I saw a poetry prompt for “Tempest”, and it reminded me of this photo. Hence this poem was born. A year later, the poem made it into my debut poetry collection. Check out the homepage of my website for more information about that collection:

https://bisabelwrites.com

Blue Iceberg

Impenetrable density

Frigid features
Resting bitch face

A fortress for others
Trusted without trusting
Fortitude and aloofness

Constantly torn between
shining in the sunlight
and burying her pain deep
under the surface

Separated from the pack
Safety withdrawn
in a series of 
“I was hard on you,
so you could be strong.”

A beacon, a lighthouse
Blind leading the lost
Wearing trauma like armor
Earned, yet undeserved “strength”
a painful reminder
that she must protect herself

Outcast that never fit in
Wall flower
Constantly watching
the world swim by
Stuck in place
Held by the weight
no one ever sees

I am so often fascinated by things that I see while traveling, and I use my photos of those things as the inspiration for poetry. This poem was inspired by this large iceberg we saw amidst all of the “tiny” berglets while cruising the Tracy Arm Fjord near an awe-inspiring glacier. It stood out for both its size and its color. Learning that the eye-catching color had to do with the density of the ice added to the allure. This poem was originally published on Medium within the publication Move Me Poetry on August 31, 2022.

If you like this poem and want to follow my other writing endeavors, please check out my website and subscribe to my newsletter:

https://bisabelwrites.com

Air of Sophistication

Wine glasses clinking
cheap wine mimosas
Knock-off Gucci bags
carrying maxed out credit cards
Bargain basement pretense
clothed in second-hand design
Hiding in plain sight
at out of league events
Banishing self-deprecation
with an air of sophistication
Hoping the guise holds
Hometown forgotten
Name changed
Allure added
Pygmalion
Escape
Alone
Lost

I took this photo while on our Alaskan cruise. I loved the sophisticated styling of the area the lamp was found in, which reminded me of rooms I always pictured gentlemen from regency romance novels retiring to, and I couldn’t help but feel how much pretense is found in such places. This poem is about pretending to fit in to the point of losing oneself to the guise and it is featured in my debut poetry collection When Can We Be Soft now available in ebook and paperback from all online retailers. Check out my website for more information: https://bisabelwrites.com

The Matchstick Bridge: A Story in Haiku

dreams of riches call
unprepared for wilderness
travelers perishing

gold rush to yukon–
train built for power and speed
men and provisions

the matchstick bridge—
angled and curved intricate
patterned triangles

built for endurance
ensuring safe passage through
last frontier landscape

miles above the sea
views of glacial waterfalls
pass between mountains 

across steep chasms
feats of engineering hold
withstanding pressure

While in Skagway, Alaska, we took a train ride up the mountain. One of the features of this stretch of track is a wooden bridge that leads into a mountain tunnel. Looking at it from afar, my heart began racing because of it’s height and that fact that it appeared made of matchsticks. Obviously, the bridge held, and I was able to get this photo. As I listened to the guide’s story of the train’s origin, as a support for those prospecting for gold in the Yukon, and the bridge itself, I knew there was a poem in there somewhere.

If you like this poem, please check out my website for links to all the other places you can find my poetry and all my other writing endeavors. https://bisabelwrites.com

Accessible Heights

Life presents a series of stumbling blocks
Endless obstacles in our paths
Perpetually climbing, seeking
Seemingly unattainable heights
Up stairs jagged, narrow, steep
Imposing boundaries that hold us down
Keeping us from reaching, narrowing
Our options until we fit some mold
Pre-determining our destination
Before we reach the next level
Possibly clearing the way for more
Blinding us to our own potential

I was walking down the street in Juneau when I happened to see this series of diagonal lines climbing the hillside out of the corner of my eye. I had planned to snap a photo of it anyway, but once I realized it was a ramp, I knew it would inspire a poem at some point. 

If you like this ekphrastic poem, check out (and follow) this entire blog for more examples of poems inspired by photos I’ve taken while traveling with my mom to check off her bucket list.

https://bisabelwrites.com/chasing-sunset-a-travelogue-in-poetry/

House in Ruin

We thought our house was sturdy
Until we cracked the foundation 
With our insecurity
Until we tore off the roof
With our pride
Until we flooded the living space
With our grief
Until we burned down the walls
With our anger
Until we tended the garden
With our neglect
Until we hid the ruins
With our embarrassment

When our ship docked in Juneau, I jumped off as quickly as possible, so I could have plenty of time to wander and take pictures. I came across this scene on that excursion, and I began to wonder what it had originally been and what brought it to this ruined state. I honestly think it was more of a warehouse or factory than a house, but this poem is still what my imagination created. It is a testament to why I love ekphrastic poetry so much; inspiration can come from anything and flow in any direction. I hope you can see what I saw.

This poem, as well as many others, is included in my debut poetry book When Can We Be Soft?. If you’re interested, get more information on my website under Works in Progress.

https://bisabelwrites.com

At the Root

The branches are celebrated
For their food and their fruit
Photosynthesis their gift
But they’d be nothing without the root

The branches produce leaves
Providing shade from its shoot
Scented flowers also sprout
But nothing grows without the root

The branches spread wide
Giving the world a salute
On behalf of the noble trunk
But all respect to the root

The branches of one tree
An apple everyone’s pursuit
Promised knowledge or life
But both were buried in its root

Our family tree had few branches
Adorned with vines we’d recruit
Yet when grandma passed
The tree splintered without its root

I took this photo at the first stop we made on our Alaskan cruise. The root system of the tree spoke to me. Later that year, I found a poetry prompt that said to write a poem inspired by the phrase “Tree of Life.” This poem sprouted from that prompt and was inspired by this picture.

If you like this poem and want to read more, check out my website and subscribe to my newsletter.

Last Woman Standing

She stood waiting 
Against a backdrop of time
Crumbling with the weight of her tears.
Where have her knights gone?
She looked around at her ruins
The frailty of her once proud visage.
Where have the years gone?
The memory of those long forgotten
Still lay at her feet in perpetual worship.
How long before she’s gone too?

While this series of poems is about mom’s bucket list, our trip across the pond was all about fulfilling my dream of a castle tour. We were gone for nearly a month, and two full weeks were spent in Scotland climbing castles. We visited over 33 castles, and I climbed over 35,000 steps, many of them going nowhere. It was truly a dream come true. this cathedral face was next to the first of the castle ruins we visited, and she will forever hold a place of honor in my heart.

If you like this poem, and want to see other poems inspired by our trip to Ireland, Scotland, and England, take a look through this blog. They’re peppered throughout, or click on the category you want to see.

Desert Games

Far beneath the clouds
In the valley of mountains
Childhood games entertain themselves
Othello played on a sandy board
Jumping checkers left and right
As Pac-Man gobbles power pellets
Each a perfect circumference
Drawn with a Spirograph 

My fear of heights has grown exponentially as I get older. Maybe it’s because I don’t play much anymore, and I haven’t ridden a roller coaster in years. The first time I got on a plane, I chose an aisle seat thinking that looking down would freak me out. On the contrary, the knowledge that we were climbing without being able to see what was happening was far worse. Now, I will aways opt for a window, and I am never disappointed. Between amazing cloud formations and cars that looks like they belong on a Matchbox set, the surrealist landscape from a plane’s altitude makes everything look like a toy. This desert discovery instantly brought to mind games and toys I had loved as a kid, so I wrote about it. I hope you enjoy the poem as much as I enjoyed the trip!

If you like this poem and want to learn more about my other writing endeavors, subscribe to my newsletter or follow my social media. All the links are here: https://linktr.ee/bisabelwrites