She’s always drawing mermaids, and they bear
resemblance to their artist, for each one
is but a girl. Dark, wavy, thick, long hair
hides pre-pubescent breasts; Elysian
the islands drawn for all her mermaids seem . . .
so different from her own reality.
The islands that she colors are her dream.
She also yearns to swim the wondrous sea.
She’d have a mermaid’s iridescent tail . . .
No place between two legs to cause her shame!
She’d be a strong free mermaid, but she’s frail,
and so she sketches dreams she cannot claim.
Her mother sees each picture that she’s drawn,
yet fails to see her daughter's joy is gone.
A lonely figure twirls itself, concealed
by blades of wheat as clouds float through the sky.
The form, a boy, looks up from golden field
and sees the clouds as wedges of cream pie.
He hides despair as if it were that wart
beneath his sleeve. A no-fuss, lonesome lad,
he thinks of things most wonderful to thwart
forlornness. . . He rehearses being glad.
Skipping to the thicket, near a brier,
he spies some lovely flowers; standing there
he uses the demeanor of his sire,
pretends to hold a Bible, thumps the air. . .
and preaching to forget-me-nots, the boy
imagines what might be. . . imagines joy.
For Chris' Anything goes!
Released and slowly drifting to the earth,
the leaf departs her tree in mournful grace;
though both will live to see another birth,
none same will be returning in her place.
We meet as always in the space between
the branch's bud and parting leaf stem's end;
a tearful eye, a tugging force unseen
does will the laws reverse, gravity bend.
Enhanced though was the nearly naked tree
by springtime's bloom, her fallen trembling love -
released to serve another destiny -
in turn, will be the better than above.
Leaf falls to rest, and in her fading sigh,
she breathes to tree her final sad goodbye.
Sad boy, could anyone mend what's broken,
And dry your salty tears, but with a hand?
Is there anything we haven't spoken,
Is there anything we don't understand?
We have taken the rope, but not the pain,
I hope you know that we wish that we could.
We'll be here for you, through sunshine, and rain;
And if we knew how to help you, we would.
I know that you're angry with all involved,
And especially those close to your heart.
But surely, some day, all will be solved,
And you will thank them for playing their part.
So please read this poem, with thought and care,
Remember that we will always be there.
~ For D (you know who you are)
I dreamed a black; an onyx lake
before the sun’s first dawning rays
its surface marble smooth and makes
no sound without the warmth of day
I saw myself; a ghost it seemed
stripped naked on the grassy floor
beneath the waning moon’s cold beams
just staring at the other shore
From far away a whip-poor-will
called lonely, just a sleepy song
it tickled in the morning chill
and broke the water’s pull – so strong
to slip into that silent space
where never lived a false love’s face
Inside the lonesome garret, all was grey.
He sat there thinking of his broken dreams -
like how he’d planned to be so rich one day,
and yet he’d failed at all his half-baked schemes.
Tormented by the itch that went unscratched,
he’d grown embittered by his circumstance.
He loathed the one to whom he’d stayed attached,
a foolish wife who yearned for mere romance!
She’d loved him, rich or poor, which was no help!
Her acquiescence made him hate her more.
He smiled as he recalled her startled yelp;
he looked down at her corpse there on the floor.
His final thoughts were quite far from contrite. . .
and then a single gunshot sliced the night.
Growing up as a child I never wanted to sleep alone
In fear of the darkness and most of all the unknown
“Mommy is there monsters” I would commonly ask
Her reply was “only on Halloween, the ones we see in masks”
Still not satisfied with her answer and questioning her some more
Asking her the same old thing as I did the night before
Frustrated and exhausted she finally took me by the hand
Looking under my bed, in my closet and even inside my night-stand
“So see my daughter the monsters are only in your head”
“It’s time to get some sleep me dear, now do as I have said”
Respectfully obeying my mother; my little body trembling with fear
Wishing the hour was morning, praying for “him” not to appear
But as the darkness faded and uncomfortable silence came about
I could hear the monster stirring, getting ready to come out
Hoping the noises I heard were only my brothers messing around
Pulling the covers over my head, hoping and praying not to be found
The footsteps getting closer, the monster is almost to the foot of my bed
I now can hear his heavy breathing, oh God how I wished he was dead
Quietly he lifts my covers back and lays down in the bed beside me
Touching, groping and mauling, trying to cover my eyes so I cannot see
He took away my childhood and with that my trust and self-esteem
A pleading child without a voice, invisible as it would seem
So yes my daughters there are monsters, everywhere we look
Saying as I remember my childhood and everything he took
There is a delusional vision inside me
Full of eternal love and mental bliss
Is that vision so un-comprehendible?
For the vision now seems so far wretched
What is it like to live one day completely insanely free?
For I cannot remember the very last time
My disease did not entirely consume me
Control and patience they say;
These remedies seem very far and few
For walk a path of insanity just once
Then you’ll see what it’s like
To walk a mile inside my mental shoes
These broken, shattered pieces of me are aching
My selfish heart cracking and breaking
Can the healing of the rain
Ease your undying pain
Like a brat I helplessly cling to you
Unaware of just what my venom does to you
Until it is too late to take back the sting
To change this monstrousness I have become…this thing
Never once did you really hate me
And alone I never wanted to be
But my deranged mine created a scenario…a belief that you did not want me around
And I pushed you away…shoved you to the ground
And I can never undo this hurtful crime
Nothing can make this guilt and pain go away…not even time
The things that we value are lost in time
and only preserved in one's memory.
It's useless to try to capture in rhyme
as all else is changing ceremony.
I remember what it once meant to meet
or welcome a loved one at the airport.
Time spent waiting for a daughter was sweet.
Moments of recognition at the port
door was worth all the traffic to get there.
In this world terror and security
are acceptable so we must beware
and lose all the small forms of dignity
we valued a moment ago. Truth is
not war's casualty, humanity is.