Standing on the broken cement of the back porch
silently staring into the skies
and talking to myself
Fingers struggling to keep appearances
windshield wipers across my cheek
watercolors gone white
Flippant, fanatical, furious
patient, protective, passionate
trying to love the beast
Sending dreams to the clean ears of the open air
returned quickly, clutched in your mouth, crushed
presented for reward
Dead birds delivered to my doorstep
my nature wants to heal them, bury them
yours waits and wags its tail
Can you see them run to me – arms wide and laughing,
calling me, Mama: keeper of the stars, moon and hearts?
Can you see them kiss away my pain, healing every hurt
that’s ever marked me broken, dead or dying?
Can you see them hurt me? When they curse me, flay me;
ground me with their unformed anger and bravado-uncertainty
until they fly behind doors, crying over what they’ve said –
wishing they could take it back?
O’, does that pride HURT!
It stabs the chest and holds…holds…holds.
Can you see them behind doors and feel their wishful hearts burn?
Can you feel them loving me through it all?
Love is not something easily hidden. Love like that breaks down doors –
sees through them.
Can you see my tears; feel the weight of them on your cheeks?
They are yours.
Where you are (past the furthest/closest door) can you see me in them?
Can you see the love I kept hidden in my dark and painful dungeon?
You never knew what he did to me – but deep down, I blamed you anyway.
There was only you left, you see; always you.
Can you see, I'm just like you?
If you can see me, you know.
And if you can hear me crying through this God Damned pen (all those notes –
all those written sorry’s slipped beneath doors - you must have known that
even at 37, I’d write you my heart in a note!)
You, Gran/Mother, are my one and only regret.
That for 7 years, I treated you like a burden, a bother, and a barrier.
I treated you like you should have treated me – an unintentional intruder;
like something taken, not given.
But worse than that, I treated you like an acquaintance.
Knowing how badly that must have hurt you, makes me want to be kicked in the face
until I am unrecognizable; to the rest of the world, and myself.
But life’s not like that, is it? No. You knew that, too.
My baby boy has your nose, ears, and eyes.
Do you think that if I whisper in his ear tonight while he sleeps (between you and me –
at the doorway), you could hear me?
Tonight, I will whisper love in his perfect ear (pressed up against heaven’s door) -
maybe you will hear me say,
“Indy…Gran, I’m so sorry. If you can hear me, please give me a sign so I will know
you’ve heard me. I want to see you smile again – just one more time…please…
let me know that somewhere, behind the door, you forgive me…”
And in the darkness of his bedroom; the moonlight covering his small face
like an angel’s kiss, the baby boy in her likeness, smiled.
The sun shines again
for he smiles.
The indeterminable day no longer flees or hides
for its end is sought, as is its beginning
for he smiles.
Confusion though abiding
must wait the laggard servant
scolded by the Mistress Aphrodite
for he smiles.
Want must find a different dwelling
for the moment un-housed by sweetest joy
for he smiles.
The sun shines again.
We made arrows from feather and bone
before burning down our homes,
our footsteps slinking
over undulating, snow-covered hills.
The animals residing inside my head
follow me into the forest
where I cross streams to lose my scent.
Bugles blare in the distance,
but at my feet, the hounds lay open,
bleeding-out in morning's fresh snowfall.
These moments invoke an original sin.
I could fell a million men with the softest of blossoms -
slay a million men with a gentle, whispered caress.
And so I pray for my hate to be replaced by grace,
since you are the other half of my heart and hearth,
since you are also a victim to the plague,
it's all I can do, to atone for my Aboriginal sin.
~(2013 Halfling Remix)~
January 22nd, 2013
*Dedicated to Singing Rain: May your sacred arrows always fly true
She painted her emotions with a dark brush
My heart sunk into her canvas
Transported to an endless sadness
She greets me there with a smile
Her light not visable from the other side
"Come" she says
"There are many rooms to explore"
She skips along yesterday's corridors
I follow in tentative foot falls
She looks back, "Here it is, this is where we'll begin."
Through the door we go in
In an instant she disappears
I wondered was she ever here
Then a silent voice whispers in my ear
"Watch and listen, all will unfold"
I watch in silence, my heart feels cold
A mother in a hospital bed
Two baby girls
One of them dead
Tears of joy now sad instead
She whispers "do you see?? Happy Birthday, little me."
I hear her giggle in another room
So I walk through another door,
a toddler alone on the floor
Mom sitting, at a table with a drink
Little girl starts crying
Mom doesn't even blink
The scene changes
A parade of men
Mom needs her lovers
Over and over again
In the night
When mom's asleep
Into the girls room, the demons creep
On the bed, there she lays
She leaves her mind
While the bad man plays
I want him to stop
Her so helpless
Him there on top
The whisper returns "There is nothing to do,
I want you to know the source of my blue."
I say "please I can take no more"
With that she says "there is just one more door."
She is back, she takes my hand
I walk through a door to her promised land
The darkness, is all stripped away
She is young once more, it's bright as day
She turns and smiles, " I'm okay,
long ago I learned to pray."
I said "I do not understand,
how could he let that happen to you?
Is he not to blame for your world of blue?"
She looks again with knowing smile
"You will understand in a while.
One day all anwers he will reveal,
best understood when we learn to kneel.
From her canvas
My mind gains release
Over my heart an ancient peace
On humbled footsteps, my journey can begin
I see beyond sadness
I search within
The dark picture, I seen with my mind
A life touched by sin, now redefined
That is a Spirit, I wish to know
from her broken heart
I watch light flow
For Vicky Tsiluma for her
"Don't write for the contest, Contest"
i put my hands together
confessing the days mistakes
and to wipe the slate clean
its by my faith you say im forgiven
i continue to be a sinning machine
I keep you locked up deep inside
so i dont give myself away
to blend in
i hide you from everyone i know
they have no clue i pray
but why am i afraid to show my true self
forced into playing their games
is it because of the ridicule that would follow
would they even call me names?
the transformation that takes hold
when my sinners "gameface" goes on
the lying and profanity gently flows
from the river of my mouth
but deep down
it's really just a con
i try hard to do and say the right things
so you wont be disapointed in me
but its so difficult for me to say " Darn-it "
rather than another word i could pick
from my vocabulary!
but thats what makes you all loving and true
you understand that we are not without sin
your love for mankind has always been there
we just have to let you in
i put my hands together
and ask for the courage
to unlock you
from a place deep within
When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...
I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky
The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn
I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe
The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul
Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through
Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost
I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art
As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow
Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place
The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost
Day was Life,Night is Death
And the latter has given counsel on my final steps
I never talk to you as much as I should
Just to say thank you for all of your gifts
I take for granted all that you’ve given to me
Sometimes blaming you for all I have missed
And when you come to me I shy away
Feigning I can’t see you or hear you
But no matter where I look you’re around me
In every vivid color and shape of movement
You voice beckoning in all the worldly sounds
I even try to hide myself away from you
Still you find me wherever I go without effort
Cruel and hard or ignorant and fleeting
I’ve been both and you lovingly embrace me
Cursing you at the losses washed upon me
Your hand generously gives without prejudice
Gluttonously taking much more than my fill
When I look back you’ve again filled my cup
All the mistakes I have made and will make
Many of them knowingly and willingly
Still you offer all of your forgiveness
If only I will ask as a son should his father
I’ve broken so many of your rules a multitude of times
Deceiving myself believing you wouldn’t notice
Still you offer me everything you have
When I lay in the dark at night and examine
I hope and fear you and I doubt and pray
I hope you can hear me through all the other voices
Although I fear you don’t listen to me anymore
I force myself to doubt your existence
Knowing the truth unwilling to admit to it
I pray…Dear God…Can you hear me?
I need you to be stronger
I need you to never be afraid
swallow your pride,and your flight will be softer
tell her you love her,even if it hurts
Grab onto your dream and live it
Do not be afraid of the sun's divinity
Be better,love more, hold on.
Enjoy every stop of the ride.
For when the train finally stops...we die
Until we witness the angels dance after final day...
Dear Me, hide your fears away
If ever beckoned by the broken glass
I offer instantly these scarred hands
Embracing sharpest, cruel edges,
most exquisite lines
upon piercing, jagged, penetrating points
brilliant with dancing sunlight
poured out into a universe benign, hard surfaces
warm in crimson puddles of all I was
And know then –
Broken glass does not love back.