Mama, did you know the precious amethyst shadow hours
I spent beside you, cuddled cosy-close, nestled in blankets of light,
shawled in your red-gold hair? I kissed each tear you cried;
each one a starlight pearl forged from the depths
of your fragile soul. I rocked seashell-shut to each lullaby note
and silently watched as you rocked my cold, empty cradle.
Sometimes you sensed me coiled at your breast -
a small balled knot of grief. You felt my tiny fingers plucking at you
as tingling shivers. And sometimes I bounced sunshine-free
on your knee, a giggling orb of light.
Little one, once again I felt you here,
entombed in the womb of this eternal everywhere room,
your spirit sifting through my fingers like hourglass sand.
Pain has blanked my mind wraith-white, but I felt
your lips nip the warm rosebuds of my nipples
as I pressed a lullaby to the delicate shell of your ear
and brief blessed seconds spun out like years.
My sentient heart will always hold you, my grip will never slip
as my earthbound hands, human-warm, reach through time
and heather-shadowed ether to love and care for you.
*'phantasy' is a deliberate misspelling, an amalgamation of 'phantom' and 'fantasy'
like visitors from outer space
they came with tears, and lined the sidewalk
long in face, and arms embracing
some (I have no inkling) who
they were or why they felt compelled to come here
dozens came with casseroles
a few with flowers, wads of tissues
tender words of helpless mutterings
many acts of generous offerings
don't get me wrong, I watched the suffering
expressed in words or acts of kindness
I watched it all, and felt the love
did not dismiss the warm compassion
returned it all, with pure compliance
a thankful heart, a swollen throat
I hugged these strangers at the door
to comfort them, who shed their tears
upon my shoulder, offered them
a place to share their sympathies
a place to spend their mercy, pure
but, this was my child who suffered loss
impossible........I can't express it
protected from the very start, by
loving hands, her dad's and mine,
we watched her grow, and let her go
she grew from the vine ....into a rose
but life composed a tragedy with goals
beyond our reach...beyond our wildest dreams
and left her with a loss beyond control
like visitors from outer space we watch
as others come, and others go
they blow into their tissue wads
and empty the boxes one by one
and cry with us, and then they all go home
do we cry........? Oh no, not yet...
instead we smile a grateful smile
and thank them kindly for the while
and for the ways they share their love
but we can't cry into our own clenched wad
of tissue from the tissue box
she needs us to be strong, somehow
and so that is the way it is, we vow...to hold back all the tears for now
for, this was my child who suffered loss
impossible........I can't express it
I wiped away a single tear
That had fallen from my eye
(You told me simply we were friends)
You left me after only a year
(But you conceal your aching heart)
I often sit and ask myself why
Looking back on our time together
I remember those halcyon days
(My love for you it never ends)
I thought we’d be together forever
(You told me simply we were friends)
Now memories are a fading haze
Your hair so dark with eyes of brown
(Dreaming of you my heart ascends)
So full energy with a sense of fun
(Forbidden love keeps us apart)
Always happy you were never down
We’d go out together and have a run
(You told me simply we were friends)
You’d always reward me with a soppy kiss
(But you conceal your aching heart)
I’ll never forget the day you got knocked over
Never a day passes when you I don’t miss
How I loved my darling dog Rover
Do You Love me – Triolet ~09~26~14
How I miss you Rhyme - 09~22~14
Contest - Intermingled – Craig Cornish
Visited you today
as the sun set in the horizon…
the orange tinged carnations
were a perfect complement
for the skies
and for you…
orange and blue
always remind me of you
the winds softly blew
and I just sat there
staring at the grass,
well more at your name really…
what I am looking at,
that it’s been seven years
of missing you,
of just putting that reality
at the back of my mind…
But there are days,
such as today
which make me
confront that reality—
I see your smile,
remember your laughter
celebrate your spirit
and your love
Tears, I tell you I have
the most stubborn tears
maybe because they
make it so real for me?
I look around me
and look for that sign
Nope, not there…
I say a prayer
and speak to you
thankful for the life shared
I kiss the date that you were born
and walk away
my reflection on the car window
One last look around,
and then I see it…
a cat, as we drive away…
Skies now streaked purple and pink
**My brother would have been 40 today, May 6…
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.
Kyoko walks alone in the morning tide,
comforted for a fleeting moment by salty air.
She feels the same sand between her toes
as when she was a barefoot little girl, in a time
she felt safe, when the eyes of her mother protected her
like a suit of armor - before the mighty wall of water,
the “harbor wave”, towered over her village
near Fukushima, washing her happy childhood away.
Her dear mother, her security, her everything
never came home that day.
Many months later, her father, a local fisherman,
has lost his ability to cry, laugh or tell her why.
His silent eyes, cold like frost, are dead
like the poisoned fish he nets every morning.
In many ways, Kyoko lost both of her parents
on that haunting day - forced to grow up long before
the water receded, before the nuclear leak,
before this new, austere existence.
Night deepens the despair. She is loneliest
when darkness invades. She prays for the crickets
return. They no longer sing her to sleep, and the stars
have faded, no longer shining through her open window.
Even the grasshoppers have died…
from restless sleep, night calls her to the mirror
to find her mother’s dark eyes staring back at her –
a curse she hopes will one day become a blessing,
a hope that one day her father will look at her again...
With tomorrow, her greatest burden will return.
She will wake along side the broken-winged butterfly
with her duties in mind. Then, she’ll wear her stoic face
to the marketplace. Father says he will soon lose
his fishing boat. She has heard visitors from the city say
only a fool would eat the fish from nearby waters,
the same fish she fries most every day. No one knows
the global impact, they say. She hears foreign words
like radiation, disease and mutation while she sells
the shiso and wasabi root from their garden stand,
feeling fear she does not fully understand but one day will.
She only knows how to survive today…
For Debbie Guzzi's Global Poetry Contest, 11/19/14
The girl is an ultra-modern scholar,
Belongs with an upper-middle class family.
Looking very nice, smart, gets angry suddenly.
She reads M.A in English at Presidency University.
She is assimilating to the ideas of Shakespeare,
Shelley, Keats, Neruda, Byron...
Fluently speaks English, loves cricket.
Shoulders are shaken by expression.
She cries alone, laughs with everyone....
The girl is very good.
The boy is a post-modern educated son of a lower-middle class family.
He studies M.A in Bengali at Calcutta University.
He is assimilating to the routes of Vaishnab literature,
Ideas of Bharatchandra, Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda...
Writes poems, sings song, loves football.
He walks on the high-street and observes people.
He laughs alone, listens to everyone...
The boy is very good.
They are attracted by the opposite personality!
The girl wants that her lover will be a modern man.
The boy thinks that his lover will become as the mind of his.
They are changing silently
Love goes to another address...
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
I’ve distanced myself
I didn’t mean to
Didn’t set out to do it
An unconscious act of the mind
For self preservation
My visits went to once a week
Sunday dinners that once lasted for hours
Became shorter and shorter
Until now its get in
Get it cooked
Clean it up
And we’re out
Occasionally circumstances would
Happen and one would be missed
Oh well I’ll go during the week
Sometimes I did
Sometimes I didn’t
Today my heart cried to be near you
I entered the home and immediately
Settled my mood into the atmosphere
Funeral home-esque for lack of a better description
I speak in hushed tones
Slow my movements
And quiet my spirit
You want something
Oh thank you give me a job
What do you need???? Anything
I’ll gladly do anything
So many things hurt you now
You who were so tough reduced to such pain
Questions, answers, questions, answers
Over and over and over
This is the part I know
I’ve practiced this so many times before
You speak and in mid sentence you cry
Have I seen my sister,,you can’t remember
Ever seeing my sister, have you seen her
Yes mom remember mom
My answers are calm
You look searching in my eyes
Yours, sunken, confused,
Pained, with a depth of sadness
I haven’t seen before
I look away.
I meet all the needs you’ve asked of me
I pat you, hug you, pray with you
I look at my brother, the saint
He’s tired, worn, sad
I leave, I’m OUT
How’d I get here
How long have I been driving
The sky so desperately gray
Muted tones of nothingness
The air feels so heavy
Like a shroud encompassing me
The river runs beside me
It rages from the wind
There’s no stopping its power
It’s dark and gloomy and brown
And suits my mood
I try to pray
HOW DO I PRAY
Do I pray for healing,
Health, life, death
Joy, maybe peace
I cry out to you
I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PRAY
I look to the sky and see
The smallest spot of the most beautiful sapphire blue
In a sea of nothing
And I cry
I stumbled through twisted tinsel streets,
oblivious to ice and seasonal shouts,
muffled by snow-silence; a mannequin moving through mists,
quietly fragmenting behind frost-fragile walls of frailty.
Bleak winds blew open the hinges of my hypothermic heart,
wailed a wintry lament only I could hear -
ice-shrapnel words blown to lodge in my ear: you've lost the baby.
Those four words were spiked icicles, glacier-cold;
hope disintegrated like snow powder as they pierced me.
Streets seemed pregnant with the plumpness of babies,
their waxen doll faces bluish and cold,
their pink gummy mouths demanding, demanding.
And my breasts were frozen roses,
too iced to feed their tiny need.
Snowflakes trembled like butterflies blown from the Arctic,
or the feeble flutter of a failing foetal heartbeat.
The town became a barren expanse of white:
cold crystals drifting, acres of snow-diamond light.
But shops shimmered with heat, bulged bauble-gaudy
with the fatness of consumerism.
And I was reed-slender, my womb a hollowed-out tomb.
Everywhere, babies bloomed, precious as poinsettias,
mouths like petals, squirmy with hungry red cries and squalls,
echoing, echoing, as I squinted into the white squall.
And a ribbon of milk unloosed itself silently,
sudden and scalding, like a fountaining of tears;
a lacework trace soaking my shimmer thread sweater dress;
a single, small, white thaw as I silently unravelled,
stumbling through streets that spooled like silver yarn -
for 'Fragment' contest
This battle brews inside me
The pain I feel in my heart ripping it apart
And my soul who wants to be redeemed
The movement of my pen beats in my chest
In my veins my words flow like the rage of rivers in storm
I’m caught in these lyrics that Awaken my soul
That cry out for eternity
Yet my heart is trodden
at times I swear it is not beating
Our hearts rose up like kindred knights ready to defend our land
but the soul was fulfilling its destiny
it would not be beaten, no matter…
it had awakened to truth
but our hearts knew only torment
and could not understand
all that was happening,
that God had a plan
so my pain exposes itself
in my thoughts manifesting to script
as it beats in my chest with a rhythmic pulse
that brings me to my knees
We had no time to prepare
Only to fight
Flailing around Hope
With all of our might
as if it were the weapon that would save us from our enemy
for that’s all we had was our sword of Hope
This battle we were not prepared for.
Like a sneak attack, it caught us in slumber
when the army of death ascended upon our world
my heart said I love you
you are my universe and life has no meaning without you
I will fight till my shallow breath abates
Till your soul takes the last blow...
And I did!
We did not surrender
We had no chance
Our hearts fought a losing battle
My awakened soul shouts out with acceptance…
“you will one day know the reason, but not now”
For this is your time to experience
what was lovingly bestowed upon you from our God,
who knows what we need
So now I write from my pain… It helps me to cope…
It is the sword I carry…
My only Hope
Sometimes between the lines,
trembles the silence of unspoken goodbyes,
expectant and charged, like a theater scene,
in the moments before the curtain rises.
In a dream that I've had,
you are southward bound, so it must be early autumn,
which, fades to sheer, then disappears.....
Debris fills the gutters, and the shades are drawn
Wild thorn-berries have been picked, all the branches are bare.
And through limbs of old questions, and tall, knotted trees,
Limbs filter regret with a light, between
Leaves are adrift, as if disturbed,
littering the speachless sky
along with unfettered words,
that clamor against the leadlight of a window,
pleading to be heard.
Crushed leaves are swept away,
by a bridled hesitation.
No summer aria has been sung,
and the words go unsaid.
Leaves fall straight to the ground,
and the light leaves the world.
The red velvet drape descends,
leaving unfettered leaves, and unsaid words, bereft, in the dark.
For The Contest "Vibrant Verse" Sponsored By Charlotte Puddifoot
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.
You’re dressed in gray, and
tattered like the clouds
that hover above you.
with the look of a person
who knows of his own
Like the willow that cradles
dawn's mist of unwept tears—
a practiced sorrow,
earned from decades of watching
the slow meandering river,
as it draws closer,
and the banks weather and fall.
Only in a Different Life
Looking through the window of a shop,
I see you with a woman.
She lifts long auburn hair
while you, who stand behind her,
are fastening a strand of pearls
around her slender neck.
I close my eyes envisioning. . .
I've opened them to you facing me,
and I'm the woman
with the red-brown locks!
You touch my cheek, and in your eyes
I read an urgent need.
You lead me to the door,
around the corner to an empty alley.
Our bodies press together.
In the chill of night,
I taste warm, wild kisses on my mouth.
"Darling, my darling," escapes my lips,
then suddenly my reverie is broken.
A passerby has stopped
to place a dollar in my cup.
Murmuring my thanks,
I gaze once more into the store where
diamond rings and necklaces glitter
like new snow beneath a winter moon.
The man whom I could know
only in a different life,
who stands inside the store
where I could never go,
takes his sweetheart's hand,
leads her past me
pretending not to see
a common homeless woman
who yearns for so much more
than mere necessities.
(One of my very first poems posted at Soup. All I can see are
congrats for being featured, so I don't believe it was ever in
Anger flies with swift wings
As tedious pleas for more time reverberate through his mind
He is the servant of Time- yet takes the blame
When her clawed hand unwinds the clock
He, the sovereign of the dark, the one and only truth!
Is at the front of the onslaught of screams
He moves soundlessly, a shadow in the world
Tormented whispers scattering around him
Fear spreading wildfires' shrill promise
Mercy, a withering carcass in a crude burial
He became Hope's last regret
When he became the prince of darkness,
Forgoing all he once was, and all he could have been
When he sailed away from home, his love for Time burned
He had loved her, caressing her supple frame
Faithfully staying by her side,
And Time managed to wrap her cruel talons
Around his frozen heart
Dwindling him down to nothing more, than abject self-loathing
And she trapped him within her bondage, for eternity
Now he wanders, over and over again in his servitude
A trapped guardian of the dark
The fog horn groaned its complaint of “too.late”
Under darkened sea that once birthed horizon
And Hark! a maelstrom of black ink
Behold its terrific evil and terror!
A swirling whirlpool announcing you-have-been-fooled
And the cries of fright forever ruled
Scream in delight—“He suffers our fate…in pain we celebrate!”
He no longer looked along the swirls in terror
But was now part of its ferocious cycle
Tears mixing with the agonizing laughter
Amidst salty moans and tepid sweat
Soon… exhausted by the chaos… he sank into a most foggy pit
Ashamed, naked, barren of all past wit
A cowardly frame, shivering in unknown terrain
Inside a place where Time is gone….
But always looming in the brain….
As the errant fogs lift,
The grizzled trees’ feet curl in sensuous fervor of the cold
He envies e’en the trees, with heartless relish of their misty exhalations
Under shuttery breath he no longer truly breathes, … he sighs…
Might I never reach the heights of even the mel-lowed fog?
Shall I burn upon the dead leaves, rising only to fall?
From that day forward,
He wandered blindly
Both loving and loathing pulsing tempos of silence
“I’m still in love…” He whispers softly. “Oh how I am in love…”
The dark that once befriended him almost smiles now…
…then why do I feel so alone?
The wind blows in almost an unnerving jeer
A cool wisp enunciating Time’s uncouth rejection
For she loved no one, yet all
Loving with a cruel wish to watch the other fall
How many has she taken, he would never know
For in shadow comes confusion and woe
—and the voices he hears do not sound of his kind
But who am I? What am I?
A slave in Time’s forever grind…
A very special collaboration with Rebecca Larkin
Another would-be life slips down a hospital sluice -
a mangled tangle of tissue, a broken bouquet of limb buds.
Carmine carnage reduced to simplistic statistic.
But these hospitals are blanched mausoleum-white,
operating slabs are sarcophagi, stirruped legs are strung high,
and a crimson slurry seeps from between splayed thighs.
Death-pimp doctors are gloved and gowned, loom grandiose,
assume arrogance and surgical masks of indifference.
Feminine thought frisks to freedom now:
the biannual foreign holiday, career climbing and the company car.
Birth is an inconvenient blip on the social calendar.
Huddled horror-mute before my Philips flat-screen last night,
peering through the fretwork of my fingers,
a sickening frisson shivered through me; vertiginous waves
breaking on my body's shore, faintness flooding my head.
Today I cannot elude my abhorrence;
it overshadows me, obliterates former complacency.
Tonight people will be on the pull in club-clotted towns,
and bedsprings will squeak a soulless sound
as more life is made to be taken.
for your arm wrapped around
my clavicle. I thought
I would loose my breath.
for the cusp of our hip bones
struggling to pull the drunken color
from our orange cheeks.
and our sweat, our sweat, our sweat
in the drenched summer air.
Our pants futile afterthoughts
Left crumpled on the floor
It is here I asked for your respect
And you filled me with it.
for the musk smell of our blanket den. I would watch the way dawn light
speckled your shoulders, pale, white-blue
I would trace the ink
of your skin, fingertip hovering a half inch
from your bone.
for how my name would hesitate
on your breath in brief puffs
like dandelion seeds blown from
My wistful lips when I was
waiting for them to bring back my wish.
for my sleeveless dress, as we strolled from
your father’s funeral.
It was the only time I watched you cry.
There were little holes in the cement sidewalk.
They filled with rain, oil
And your tears.
I watched your face change through
their watery colored reflections.
for the way your skin repels from my
Touch, quivers as though my finger-
print were a red hot poker.
You haven’t allowed me to touch you
In a year.
for the color of her font, as she responds to you. It is an eager
Color. She responds with all the passion of an Eskimo kiss.
You left her waitng..always.
I have been special to you,
she replies to your
like a maid
Who’s felt the hot moist
whisper of something naughty
tickle against her ear lobe.
for the way your eyes punch accusations
sharper then your razor tongue.
blue crackled lightening,
like an angry alley cat.
My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.
We will divide our booty
Words that once held my name like a piece
Of carefully folded origami
now hiss cold
devoid like the plaster of our empty room.
for the morning
now knocking on my window.
I am livid in my withdrawal, tossing and turning
I can find no comfort
the tangle of these vacant sheets.
If I cry
It must be the memory
Of a skirt unlifted by a gust
To still a boy's misery
And wipe my eyes dry
For the way time sears
Us like flowers
And reaped my mother
Before I was ready to let her go.
If I cry
I cry for days she sheltered me
From a child's web of fallacy
And put her spittle on my knee
Where bruised flesh
Was a boy's view of tragedy.
I would press my face
Against her dress
And feared no goliath
If I cry
I cry for evenings on the porch
When she gathered us
Our feet white with blowing dust
And hunger like a miner
We had so little to eat some days
But she with prayers picked fruits
Of heaven's mercy
And we thankful ate together
And heard her ancient anecdotes
Of ancestors' exploits that floats
Still upon a manhood sky.
If I cry
I cry that mothers' days are meaningless
When the sight of flowers
Are frail veils upon a grave
And the customized Christmas cards
Will not sparkle her eyes
Just before the kiss upon my cheek
Honoring me for faithfulness
And knowing her love measures more
More than a day
More than the years that sums earth's decay.
If I cry
I cry for the love of my mother
For the woman and life giver
For God to bring
Order to this unruly thing
That spoons our purpose to a cup
Before the dusk with each sup
Of time, diminishing us
I cry for faith to hold my trust
Against the agony of loss
Death is a demonic disgust
That makes me long
To substitute all tears for angels song.
If I cry
Preserved my hope with brine of eye
To live again
Without death or pain
And run with my mother
Through the clapping ovation of summer rain.
Wondrous of many blessings.
Smiling never a frown.
My prayers, Lord, are suddenly being ignored.
I've taken a tumble of fallen down
Lord, my life was plain and simple
How did it come to this?
Lord, now I carry a burden so deep
A torn up life not easy to fix
Hard to get my prayers before I sleep
Bleeding only internally!
Feeling very minutely!
God, have you deserted me or is it me who deserted you?
God, my Lord, my savior, how could you abandon me?
Must I drown in my own sorrow?
Must I wake up like this today and tomorrow.
Why have you left me, or is it me who left you?
God, I need you like never before.
When I wake up,
When I head out the door.
Tormented in a mood ring of stock
Heavily my tears hit the floor.
God, do you not feel me, or is it me who no longer feel you?
God, what is your plan for me?
What things did I not see?
I asked for you to forgive me in my ways of sin.
Why do you let him provoke me?
Lord, I forbid for him to win.
Relieve me from his gutless pain.
God, do you not believe me, or is it me who no longer believe in you?
God, do you not hear my call
My pitiful excuses make me weak and small
In your eyes, I no longer feel tall
I remain cursed in every single fall
Lord, only you can break this wall
Do you not see me on my knees
Must I beg and crawl?
I am at your mercy, crying out with grief
Open the path to the lighted hall
O' Lord, the day you judge me before your throne
Please tell me it was a lesson for me to stand up on my own
God for now I will end this talk
With the dignity to never look back
I ask if you were there on my endless journey of a relentless walk?
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...
I was the object of your affection,
Useful for a time;
Lost in the ritual of loving
The man I thought you were.
How much of me did I give you
In the gardens that tumbled over the wall?
In the home that was your castle
Where the inner layers of my being
Lay exposed, vulnerable and imperfect?
You took all that filled your own need
And left me devalued in humiliating silence
While you manipulated your scraps of power.
Your love was the fantasy of possessing
All that gives your existence meaning;
Your illusions trampled the passion
Tenderness and trust that was yours alone.
With what do you fill the hollow inner spaces
Of your being? Hiding behind the mask of greed;
Unwilling or unable to grasp the anguish
Of those who bear the consequence
Of your flawed decisions.
Those who have no choice; the victims
That get in the way of your eagerness
To continue your dance
With the harlots of commerce.
And I am alone,
With the whispers of deprivation and denial.
Processing the pain of what I am
Who I was and what I might become
Between the no longer and the not yet,
Can I run fast enough to be me again
In this world where the mirage of being
Becomes ever more elusive?
“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.
Dear members of Poetry Soup, here I present my most awesome poem to date.
It is best appreciated while listening to my mate Andy's recital.
So please open-
and read along.
When the sanctuary
Of sunlight sinks
And dark shadows
Lay across your thoughts
Scrape against your reason
In your mind
Out beyond your vision
In the darkness of the hour
Your doubts stir
Foul damning words
That pierce you
Slicing through your certainty
Severing the flow
Of your integrity
Spoken so close
They breeze past your ear
And settle like ice
On your dignity
Sounds of movement so near
That doubts brush
In the gloom
Your every mistake
Real and imagined
Your honest intentions
Lost in the darkness
Surrounded by doubts
From hidden self
Torn from your chest
When the sanctuary
Of sunlight rises
And dark shadows
Are chased from your thoughts
Massage your reason
He says Do you remember the time we…
And she smiles
Shared memories have no need for words
Young and brave they chased their future
Found their own crystal Eden
ringed by sparkling waters
It’s in her blood this river of life
A current that has carried them
through love laughter spats and making up
Carried them through life’s precious moments
Watching children grow
Bicycle riding in trees
Anniversary cruises to beaches kissed
by the whisper of waves
He prepares to leave Eden
for true paradise where his Lord awaits
She waits steadfast by his side
Her place of thirty-eight years
Their shared laughter bubbles along
like a singing brook that cannot be stilled
And she smiles
For she knows someday in Heaven
he will be thinking about her and say
Do you remember…
Her heart will hear his voice and she will smile
as she sips coffee watching a pearlescent sunrise
Shared memories have no need for words
I just returned from a visit to Florida where my beloved aunt and uncle are
preparing for new journeys. He has been put on hospice and she is facing a
life without him. This is for Bob and Gail. I am blessed to be a recipient of
their love and joyous laughter.
The room is still,
Quiet but for wind and rain
Making music on the windows.
Empty but for endless shelves
Of leather-bound volumes -
The first editions you loved so much.
The desk is weathered, coated
In a film of dust.
The chair is old and worn,
Tucked in just where you left it.
I can almost hear it creak
Under your weight,
Hear you whistle in that absent way.
I can almost see you there,
Hunched over creased pages,
Reading Keats or Blake.
I can almost smell that familiar scent
Of fresh soap and musty books,
Of spices and cigar smoke.
A Summer To Remember
Summer exhausted, the fall chill begins
in those first days you and I fell
into each other as water into the sea
sunshine was you, light was all me
Winter's snows saw us meet its deep cold
a team that danced in that icy glory
sweet ink wrote our special story
Spring, our lives embraced a great renewal
beautiful pictures sought we out
tempting each into adventurous journeys
Summer returned, I found your shadow had fled
our love emerged from its sheltered cocoon
seeking love anew, its past left dead
A cold wind blows,
turning hardened walls to sand.
Breaking down the barriers
exposing the emotions that were held inside.
The pain builds,
from hurts buried deep within.
Storm clouds roll in
dark, cold, and threatening.
roars across the darkened land.
A voice breaking the spirit:
the words echo through the ears.
shattering the very heavens.
Words drift through the mind:
casting shadows of doubt through the soul.
The tears fall from the eyes,
from a heart broken and battered.
Rain pours down from above
overflowing, unable to be contained.
Then finally as the rage is spent,
a calm stillness overtakes the cleansed world.
In the arms of a friend
peace is found once again.
And a voice whispers to the night:
The moon's bow beckons to me,
wind's frosty fingers
and I lay myself on the balcony's ledge
immersing, losing myself
under that inky blanket sea
the clouds rolling past, so fast,
skimming like waves veiling moonlight,
then letting it peek through
like a shy bride
beautiful, so beautiful
a gentle glow of soul
a silent lullaby that rocks me
If only for a moment
I keep my cradle of tears at bay,
as I let the moon do the weeping for me.
Debussy's Clair de Lune
now mingles in my mind like soft smoke
and tears come streaming...
Tired, so tired am I.
Wont you find me here?
Drifting in an expanse of swirling storm
Outstreched fingers graze debris...
recklessly circling reminders.
Stand in the eye with me
Lick our wounds rebounding
Warriors victoriously smiting circumstance
leaving wolves discouraged
disparaging darkness with insane glee
Walk here and find me
Reach out think here
You create me and I construct you
Piece me in missing places
Mending voids delicate and knowing
I slay inherited growths of insecurity
Stating truths untold to your beautiful ears
Know this warmth....
Let these branches sprawl
grow in all directions to withstand walls closing in
A grand old tree would remain...generations of our eyes
taking glance from limbs strong and true
You crush my cycle--end it's existence
I'll destroy your boundary...kill it's constriction
Our tower stronger and rooted
Yet with loftier cloud grazing height
lets disorient ourselves in this foreign altitude
Touch this sky with me
Did you close your eyes? Did you think of them?
Memories come every year and I weep, alone and wondering
if at the top and at the end you had a fear of heights
as if the answer could make a difference.
Yet I'm dismayed to watch it again, acrophobic, imagining...
a room afire and the smoke making signals to the World
no easy means of escape, no places to hide, no exit.
Suffocated in that vision, I stay breathless trying to perceive...
Hot gasses in red eyes begging for the luxury of fresh air
a burning window and the fall-space: coin with just one side
pieces of crystals in livid hands without time to wave
sticky blood warming fingers in a last cold morning.
And I weep, helpless and thinking in what you saw from above
that pandemonium of alarms, yelling and the sound of the fire
just an instant to decide how to face it, how to accept it
an instant in which you may comprehend our brevity.
Perhaps, you could say goodbye... Did you have time?
Did you close your eyes? Did you think of them?
in their faces, their eyes, their voices, their scents...
Behind, below, inside...Death, waiting for your decision...
And I weep for your innocence... for your panic...for you
I'm with you now, terrified... yet, I can't follow you...
But you drag me and I jump with you, as every year
as the only way I can remember you...feeling you, being with you ...
And I weep...recoiling to that morning that will live in infamy
in its intense impact, in those images
Because the towers disappeared in its collapse
but you, through the years...you're still falling.
Footnote: This short video is very disturbing; it shows people falling and jumping from the towers. I don't recommend you to watch it because it may offend or hurt your feelings. However, it shows the true horror of that day and I think that it's the true extent in which those innocent people lost their lives.