The powdery snow
gloves the fingers of maple forest
protecting barren bark
with the expectation
of rose tipped bloom.
A meeting point
between pristine innocence and
the veiled promise of spring ripening.
Each trunk and limb
mirroring the action of man
Reaching, arching, swaying, creating aisles
of church-like splendor,
where the virginal may walk
toward communion with their God.
toward the birth of faith
toward the wedgwood sky
in celestial sight.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi
Walls of silence hold,
The child held within,
Cries out for release.
Relative solitude comforts,
Not the tortured soul,
Inward coiling withdrawing,
Shedding its outer skins,
Layer thus preserving its,
Innocents shroud lies in ruins.
Gentle spirit, cast aside wings,
The fallen angel kneels in,
Shadows before mankind.
Unanswered prays rest upon,
Muted sobs, echo on stilled,
Hardening to stone, the
Reflects frozen repose.
Forgotten amongst mine own,
Childhood symbolizes a betrayed,
Small fragile hands reach out,
Hollow space grasping into,
Chained shackles twist,
Imaginations warped view,
Somber tones cloud troubled,
Amidst life's trials, I'm aimlessly,
Without any form of stability.
I, alone remain shambles,
Displaced and damaged,
A broken doll thrown away,
By those who should have,
Cared for her the most.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn
My sweet little Teddy Bear...
Mommy gave 'YOU' to me
Now I never sleep alone at night
The comfort you gave, when God's sunny eyes ran out of light
You are my sweet little teddy bear...
You kept me company throughout the years
I hugged you, when my eyes were full of tears
Loving you, squeezing you
We both express many joyful dance of cheers
Together we sang lullabies, without you singing one single word
We drank from the same teacup, whispered about the pretty birds
Now listen, as I mumble extra words into your ear
My sweet Teddy Bear, you are always here
We snuggled every night staring at the star frame window
"You held my hand when I was lost in my own imaginary limbo
My sweet little Teddy Bear...
I'm 11 now, and my mother loves me dearly
Sadly, she felt it's time to find me a daddy
Little does she knows, my daddy visits every night in my dreams
Now her boyfriend visits my room and tells me not to scream
Little Teddy bear, I never showed you fear before I fell asleep
Little Teddy bear, tonight I do not want to count sheep
Teddy bear, now I hold you closer and tighter than before
Little Teddy Bear let me cover your ears, from the screeching door
Little Teddy Bear, he said he would hurt mommy If I tell anyone
Little Teddy Bear, I know you see and hear everything!!!
You're A Little Kid Again (contest)
The View of an 11 year old
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A
I wish to claim
My yesterday sillyness
My crinkled nose grininess
That hide and seekiness
Spin the bottle
kind of geekiness
My hand in the cookie jarness
That pushing too farness
Collecting comic charminess
Hidden playboy kinda business
Cop a feel inquisitiveness
Being a bit
A true life witness
Loving the mysterious
Laughing more than being serious
What it was all aboutness
Thinking that it lead to freeness
I'd know just how to be ness
Eating what I want
Staying up late kinda keeness
Now I wonder
What was the rushness
To reach adultness
Full of it's doubtiness
What's it all aboutness
I witness it's dreamlessness
It's no longer about me-ness
To much sane-ness
Routine and sameness
No one cares if you cameness
Less is less
And more is moreness
Can't see the trees
Through the dark forest
So grab onto your girliness
I'll bring my boyness
There will be more
No more boringness
We'll spin in circles
Enjoy our dizziness
Is a serious business!
I wrote this one in December 2014.
I am now proud to enter it into Shadow's contest.
I hope you have as much fun reading as I had writing it.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux
Sitting on the window sill with the wind in my hair
I gaze up into the stars, pondering the great unknown.
Thinking back of that night, when I heard your first cry
tears of joy filled my heart as we carried you home.
Nervous and excited, a mother I had just become,
you were my angel, my being, my son.
You were all that I dreamt of, from my lungs, pure breath.
In the cradle I rocked you, before going to bed.
With gurgles and babbles you have filled up our lives.
With first footsteps, first mouthfuls, with sweet little rhymes
With first schooldays, first friendships, first free little moves,
Like doing your homework, and tying your own shoes
We followed your shadow from a distance not far,
giving you your wings, yet knowing where you are
The time has passed by, in a blink of an eye,
Soon you'll be leaving, making this mother cry.
Co-written by Charmaine Chircop & Tim Smith
October 18, 2014
Copyright © Tim Smith
There was change, a new pulse, cadence, rhythm and tone,
where mother had been, the only place I had known
Where two maples stretched out, to cradle my dreams,
and shelter my life, in the house I called home
On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake,
Windows cracked open,
a wind coming in, ....
Intangible nights, in the familiar old room,
alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things...
There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on,
and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go
The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass,
was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, a place that made sense
And a place to fit in
My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride
in the same sacred bed, where my mother had died
And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room
where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon
I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained.
I was there at his side,
when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too
But, I was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings
Somehow, it's alright, now, where shadows are new.
As the sepia light, has changed and renewed
I am older, and stronger,
much older than then,...
still a moth seeking flame...
batting my wings,
resisting the change, ....again, and again
For Craig Cornish's Contest: "Chopped II"
Copyright © Carrie Richards
I carry my mother
like a rock in my pocket
that I just can’t seem to throw away
It serves me
it just weighs me down
When I first found it,
when I first picked it up
and started carrying it with me,
I thought it so beautiful –
I could look at it for hours
But, like my mother,
it never looked back at me,
never grew warm under my loving gaze
For the longest, I was blind to that,
Blind to anything but the beauty,
blind to the cold, hard,
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
I carry my mother,
a thought without weight
And she’s heavier
and she’s colder
than all the stones
By the time I recognized her
immutable, emotional unavailability,
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –
But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart
Could not stop
that one day this stone,
deep inside my pocket,
Might just become
its own opposite –
Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm
But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water
When my mother
Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson
As I sit by the window and look out towards the sun,
A half of me says stay, while the other half says run.
I know it's part of life, to grow older with each day,
but the older that I get, the more I want to run away.
All the stress and hard decisions that I'm left to ponder,
only makes me crazier, as now I'm left to wander.
Like a never ending clock, the days and nights will pass,
so I'll hold on to my memories, for only they will last.
And I can use them anytime, to make me laugh or smile,
or just to sort of drift away, and daydream for a while.
Although life seems so hard, I thank the Lord each night,
for blessing me with all the things He's put here in my life.
So as I grow in my time of youth, I tell myself one thing,
Never regret ,or you'll lose out, on the things that life may bring.
Copyright © Larissa Lane
I walk along the old familiar path in the wood of my childhood -
the place that I willingly abandoned
for the lure of new friends and activities
that carried me ever farther from my simple carefree days.
Nothing here is quite the same,
and all that once was large to my child’s eyes
has grown small.
How can it be?
The houses on the fringe of this old wood
are the same houses we always came upon as children
as we ran - exuberant wild Indians of our enchanted forest -
away from our foes and into the safety of “clearings” -
those back yards of neighbors
whom we never really knew.
Our small legs ran so quickly down that well-worn long-ago path
in the days when we were soldiers hastening to secure our forts.
Other times we searched for treasures in the wood's crevices,
finding - one day - bed springs, metal pieces, and old mattresses
and converting them into contraptions for jumping.
I tread slowly, noticing how many spots along my way
are now overrun with weeds and tangled vines.
How did I ever not notice there were vines here at all?
They must have been well hidden off our path.
Perhaps a kindly neighbor kept the pathway clear of them
out of consideration for all us kids.
I cannot know. . . It was so long ago.
I glimpse the raspberry bushes we used to happily discover
each summer when fuzzy berries showed brightly red and plump.
And there’s old man Miller’s house, whose fence we used to climb
so we might quickly steal the juicy apples fallen from his tree.
Sadness tugs at my heart.
The tree has vanished, and in the place of old man Miller’s shed
now sits a swing set looking barely used.
I head toward the center of this miniature forest
recalling how it used to hold such grandness in my young imagination.
The pond where we used to skate in winter
has disappeared as well.
In its place is a broad high pile of dirt,
and at the north outer edge in the distance I can see
diverse machines used for excavation.
Maybe soon the wood will be cut down.
Though small, this place was once so wondrous!
I think back to our Christmas vacations,
looking for the perfect little hill to drag our sleds up-
and the thrill of barely missing trees as we slid back down.
Everything was magical, crisp and clean.
Suddenly I trip on tangled vines I’ve failed to see.
The vines are stumbling blocks that have blotted out
the utter charm this locale once held for me.
You’d think that being smaller to my grown-up eyes,
the wood would seem even simpler now.
But no, it’s lost the grace of my simple and easy childhood days;
It’s become a labyrinth of too lush plant life.
I think how - like my complicated life -
this old familiar place is decaying
and is overwhelmed with all these obnoxious vines
and how one day -
like the pond and Mr. Miller’s apple tree -
this dear wood
inspired by events of my childhood
and the contest of Constance la France
and now for Caleb Smith's In the Woods Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich
If people suffer in truth at our hands
with ill education and manners
Then we turn on them spitting words
casting stones of hate
blame them as a menace unto society
corrupted from childhood
what chance do they have
Living below means
defined by their status not born to privilege
Then punish them for the crimes committed
inside which their first education exposed them too
what stands above is created in this society
it holds the key through poverty
Turning a blind eye we punish them
what does that make us
Copyright © liam mcdaid
Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore
Down where I sleep,
You hold me, embrace my every way
The Marks up on my skin
You caress, taking away from the ugliness
Watching the simple breath, when I breathe
Breaking the ice, soothing my inner peace
A sweet spray across the paleness in my limbs
Holding the warmth, I've been loved throughout my life.
From picking up sticks to the walking stick
My loving dear I know you will always be there
A few wheel chairs, when broken bones mend
You know my every cure*
Walk with me across the hall
Through the oldness, and the boldness of every color in the sky
Thank you for taking me as I am
A light twinkle' every time I feel the colors of the rainbow drip
Now a newborn takes his form
In you I find the strength to stretch my arms and reach for every star
When happy moments fail,
I embraced the colors I found in you
I make out every tree, and wonder why and how?
I close my eyes to imagine the fun of chasing fireflies
Tonight I'm keeping my prayers simple, cute, and innocent
I will count sheep and search for sweet lullaby dreams
Smiling like a 3 year old this very moment,
You think I'm having "Baby Blues."
My loving dear, thanks for having patience,
Painting my way down a toddlers sky
Every time "P M S" hits
Copyright © SKAT A
On days of childhood past
and long faded into memory,
sisters played beneath a smiling sun
in shadowed rooms of bending willows.
Dainty handkerchiefs swaddled
our Rose of Sharon infants
to keep the newborns warm;
honeysuckle spread sweet fragrance
scenting the summer playhouse
while birds trilled lullabies of joy.
Clover chains hung as garlands
to decorate our home
and snowball bushes' spread
perfumed blossoms carpeting the floors.
Simple pleasures of a simple life
we seem to have discarded
in favor of a busier, artificial plastic world
where flowers bud stale fabric blooms
on bending wires.
The evensong of the whip-poor-will is no more.
I would go back if I could harvest
the pureness of those happy hours,
distilling a rare elixir,
a medicine for our ailing times.
November 25, 2014
Copyright © Faye Gibson
In the drawer
Behind all the white t-shirts
Packed away in the corner where
It is safe, I keep you.
You are hidden
No one knows you're there,
I take you out to see your
Smiling yet depressed face.
I realize the trouble you went through
Just to make sure I live a better life
Than you did.
Here you hold your baby one last time
Before sending him off to a
Life without poverty.
He doesn't say goodbye because
He is so small and innocent.
You give him a little kiss and say
Goodbye my sweet child.
So I thank you
Sweet, sweet, lady.
I'll put you back
In that safe little place,
So that when the time comes
For me to meet you,
I will find you before
You find me.
Copyright © Joseph Giordano
A path strewn thick with rusty leaves
led to nowhere and everywhere in our fantasies,
rescuing us from after school chores
and homework pages wrinkled in time;
a memory come and gone returns to me.
Back home, under a row of willow trees, I weep
for my childhood friend, for the innocence lost,
I thought I could keep, for the faded line
between joy and pain that suddenly
comes with age; I close moist eyes to see
you dancing in rain showers and climbing up
rays of sunlight, imagination uncaged;
running carefree for hours - just us, two,
whether skies were shades of gray or blue.
We said forever, a pinky swear I remember,
naïve in our make-believe world. How many years
passed by, distance growing between you and I?
A phone call once-in-a-while became just
a Christmas card once-a-year. I hope you always
knew the truth, I loved you, my dear friend.
Time cannot erase our laughter caught
on the autumn breeze and the childhood secrets
shared on that path strewn thick with rusty leaves,
trodden bare each year come fall of winter snow.
Our laughter now echoes in dreams, chaffing
the row of willow trees still sulking low,
moss brushing tears in timeless beauty,
waiting for you to come home.
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
A labyrinth….an internal tangle
A skein of glass prisms
A complex web…intricate and divided
inside a muscle thought too fragile
to withstand the breakage
Beneath…always what lay there
was tattered coils
Starkness overwhelms the blue light
and the tender is a bit shattered
Yet surviving with the indomitable will
of a thousand
Iron strength and steel resolve
is what will govern the web
A quick shot of whiskey burns
and vodka strikes the throat
in torpid moments
a bit of mangle and sorrow
Beyond the surface of what seems to be
is the actuality of the puzzle
(pieces of truth)
Rage against the torpedo
The twists of time ticking timeless
(stealing missed moments)
Find the reason….
(illumination with clarity)
and let the wind catch your sails
setting you free…..
Released from the chains of ignorance
and no longer held prisoner
by the hands that ripped your soul
Freedom is letting go of a smoke mirage
and embracing the cold concrete
Copyright © Christie Moses
Some memories of silver sands,
have faded like old photographs.
But waves rush in to ponder on,
incoming tides of happiness.
Our shadows left upon the ground,
are looking for a sea-shell found,
and kites sail high upon the wind,
to take us back, just once again
We'd dig the sand, to paradise,
to build a castle to the sky
and filled our childhood fantasy
with knights, and queens, and gallentry...
Our hearts, carefree, as we were one,
with earth and sky, with wind and sun
Lone barefoot walks, along a beach,
were followed by our impressed feet
The rugged coves, the misty air,
the windswept trees, each mystery...
can sweep me back, in time, and then,
I see it still, so very clear,...
where sky and ocean meet again
Restless eucalyptus leaves,
that scatter in the ruthless wind
can bring to me a childhood shore,
A place I left my heart and more
Gulls that circle, high above
Reminding me of days so loved
Where castles made of sand were found
Until the waves came crashing down
Today I climb the winding path
That lingers yet, in aftermath
I'm dazzled by this new day's glare,
reflected from those other years
This place I knew when summer came
Now warms my heart from winter's game
Where blooming lilacs danced a tune
And summer's end would come too soon
Copyright © Carrie Richards
The air is thick with memory -
A fog of reminiscence.
Or is it simply mist
Rolling through the window?
I feel the wind and taste the salt,
Hear the distant pulse of waves
Keeping time, skipping beats
With my haunted heart.
The wind chimes sway and croon
From their place above the sill,
Where sand dollars still form a row
Among crumbs of sand.
And there, on the bedside table -
Speckled stones arranged just so.
And if I lift them, I know
I'll find dustless circles,
Halos from the past.
My vision blurs.
Then I see her in the doorway -
The ghost of childhood,
Twirling in a cloud of skirts,
Strings of seashells draped like gems
Around her fragile neck.
I blink -
And she's gone.
But through the mist I hear
The patter of bare feet
Down the empty hallway.
Copyright © Heather Ober
He lay outside on the cellar door one day
Lazy gazing at the sky
A child a dutiful child
Before he knew clouds move or why
Those scattered billows grey fringed hung high
It was late afternoon with ghostly moon
The lively honey bees some suspended sip then buzzzzzzz zip!
He's heard from experienced older folk
The earth years from the sun goes round
Dreamy following eyes go round and round
On carousel astride mind's steed he's off the ground
Gently rocking lifting on that waving sea
This quite a vital sort of primal ecstasy
Clouds and festivals Picassoette surreal
That music in the air nature's breath infects the skin the veins
Ah those few moments so rare so hauntingly spare........
When the screen door creaks open he shivers!
Mother calls him in to dinner
Copyright © daver austin
You lie in a heap outside
The safe-guard of social
With skin the same colour
As your thoughts. You
Bleed into the gutter.
-How Did You Lose Your Grace?-
Multitudes of People Blur
Passed You, You Wish It
Was peaceful Here.
You Held Your Face and
Cried as I Raped You,
Now you're all Grown.
-When did You Fall From Grace?-
You've Forfeit Flight,
Your Wax Has Melted.
You're Drownin' Boy...
Copyright © Conor Jordan
When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood
just how much words effect us.
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.
Copyright © Katie Pukash
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg
Sometimes I am happy, sometimes I am sad.
Sometime I sing, sometimes I stammer
Sometimes I dance on the music of my soul, Sometimes I dance on the fingers of
one single person
Sometimes I expect so much from others; sometime I myself can’t meet my own
Sometime I make fun of others and feel bad later, sometimes life makes fun of me
and I smile
Sometime I win and sometimes I lose, sometimes I don’t even understand whether I
won or lost.
Sometimes I laugh as if whole world is with me,
Sometimes I cry as if I am alone wandering in a strange land
Sometimes I give up so easily
Sometimes I work so hard that no one can stop me to achieve what I want
Sometimes I am dynamic person, who wants to change the world,
And sometimes I am a kid who expects anyone to embrace him tightly.
Sometimes I feel happy about the achievement of my enemy
Sometime I feel dejected with my own success.
Sometimes I help others and show them the right path
Sometimes I feel totally helpless and don’t know where to go
Sometimes I ask god to please give my past back
Sometimes I pray to show me the way forward
Life is composed of SOMETIMES and I just flow with that.
U admit or not but you are also sailing on the same boat.
So join me and enjoy it EVERYTIME as SOMETIMES life is very short!
Copyright © Rajat Singhal
the smell of Carmel corn
fills the air – I think of you Dad
your hand in mine, four steps to your one
the carousel music scores happiness
bells of laughter ting-a-ling-ing
Cotton candy, pink as bazooka bubble gum,
melts to sugary paste on teeth and tongue
you are there Dad, hanky in hand
spit bathing my four year old cheeks
moon-faced, eyes crinkled
lifted skyward as the horses stop
I pick the girlie one but sit straddled
you pinch my knees and pull down my skirt
muscle man strong -- your hands strap me in
they rest after on the small of my back as I rise
then I come [the brass pole all gummy
from my hands]
last week we walked the country fair
my hand now as big as yours
aged like two apple dolls, we meander
you buy me cotton candy
spit on your thumb and wipe
it from my cheek
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi
“The October night comes down; returning as before
Except for a slight sensation of being ill at ease
I mount the stairs and turn the handle of the door
And feel as if I had mounted on my hands and knees.”
----- “Portrait of a Lady;” T. S. Eliot
A golden afternoon,
Late October, and my thoughts
Are all of you, Suzanne…
Vestiges of your being
Appear on visages of
A hundred different people;
But none are you, not one
As green, as golden.
Hard it is to know no miracle
Will mend, no giddy hope assuage,
The scourge that slowly puts an end
To our valiant green and golden girl.
Memory takes us to days of indolence,
Of innocence, of children lying on a levee,
Deep in lush, green, summer clover --
In sunlight almost as golden
As your hair -- beside a flowing river
Bearing away our golden hours
And the painless green of youth.
Now, in your green room, reclined
In shadow, our golden girl reposes.
Your courage lights the coming night
That does not dim the gold and green
You always shared, and still you share.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore
Split apart your ribcage,
Open up the corridor, and let me come in
Uneasiness instantly strikes through me
Let me sway away...
Let me flutter away...
Like a butterfly out of its cocoon
I'm trapped!Let me depart
Split apart your ribcage,
Unwrap me, let me go!
Believe me...reflect on me
Let me sway away...flutter away
Let us both seek the sun,
So we can grow together once more
Copyright © J. W. M. Earnings
A giant snowball in springtime
From twenty yards out the sound and smell
Closer now; breathing her numbing scent
Listening to the drowsy hum
of greedy and jealous bees
forced to share her bounty
with Tiger and Zebra Swallowtails
School will be out soon...
Memorizing every branch within reach
Her limbs are just low enough
for a boy to scramble up quickly
fleeing imaginary monsters
still lurking and prowling below
Taking ignorant and blissful advantage
of this daughter of the wild; his protector
His big sister to run to...
Shiny and slippery black bark
that oozes burgundy sap
which dries in animal shapes
Summer twilight is coming
Bats twittering overhead
chasing nasty mosquitoes
A noise echoing from far off
A door slamming maybe...
Tucked safely away in his favorite pew
(Naughty boy, eating during church!)
sampling her forbidden fruit
sweet and sour...half is seed
Thieving Blue Jays get the most
Screaming and scolding arrogantly
yet flying away unpunished
Grannny will make jelly...
Oh everlasting Father, creator of all things
He knows that heaven is far beyond the grasp
of a feeble and fumbling mortal mind
But when You decide to send Your beloved Son
back to rule the earth for one thousand years
If he is judged worthy to be in that count
May one humble servant say if it's like this
that would be just fine...
Copyright © Tim Ryerson
Glass and fractured imaginings are trite
Upon his blameless feet
Even as he dance and play about them
Toxic and perilous smoke are authority
Outside his naive lungs
While he freely breathes to ensure laughter
Blood sprinkles and routine metal shards
Within his innocent hands
Presently, as he claps to the street’s tune
Mordant activities be forever present
Before his youthful eyes
Just before the gleams therein make hearts sway
The resilience and spirit of youth
Copyright © Mark Pringle
A precious gift! Joy unimagined fills my heart
She smiles! My heart races, leaping!
And like a butterfly in spring, gliding,
It dips among new blossoms
Like a sweet melody playing softly
in the cool of the evening, I soar!
My baby, my first, like an angel sleeps
Soft, warm and brown
I stare in awe of this most perfect gift from God!
Tiny almond-shaped eyes, sparkle- searching
Nothing as beautiful have I ever seen!
She cries and her teardrops like crystal daggers
Pierce, my joyful heart!
And like a wounded sparrow it plummets
Free-falling, and I am left puzzled...confused
Nervous, I gently hold her close to my breast
I am sure she can feel my heart beating..
Suddenly our faces brush... she turns-
Our eyes lock, and smiles ripple!
My first born--all is well in my world.
Copyright © Annalise a.k.a. Audrey Haick
Come and gone like small twister
like the cloud of debris he’s left.
Echoes of Charlie Brown’s buddy Pigpen
blow through the cobwebs in memory.
Left over coffee cups replacing
Transformers still dumped in the attic.
Reams of knarley skateboards, wheel-less,
lay in piles like so much unburnable refuse.
The obligatory hugs and peck, over and done
the never paid chauffeur collapses…
Ah, to have him always near,
So, each kiss was not quite so dear.
The last fair maid on parade has wandered across
the home front, wondering about her predecessor,
still tacked with magnets to the fridge,
still part of my heart and his…
Sons…they say, do not cause such angst.
Couldn’t prove it by this mother.
This maternal blimp of unused helium
was not permitted a girl child.
One did come and fleetingly leave before formed.
We’ll never know the sweetness of her.
Let the image of his manly self disperse, this son..
into the mist as his Father’s has…
to be remembered again, only in times of need, his need,
for to do anything else, would be to rub salt
in an open wound.
Poet: D. Guzzi
*the day after Christmas
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi