back field in motion
Chose, chose, live grow leave! GO!
Leapt from heaven's gold
Jump started into a human mold
White clapboard poverty with tiger lily blooms,
blueberry rake poverty woolen looms.
Riffs of Emerson, Whitman, Longfellow dawns,
mothers’ hazel eyes, father Davidesque form,
chosen to drive twixt a Jew and a screw.
Magnet of lunacy...
Tumbled like an agate into the stream of life
part of the dream lesson
Abuser of power, one who had once roared,
Eve shaped now, weak and mewling
between the weeds of woe.
Care taken by lovers torn.
Watched over by pedophile uncles.
Befriended by lewd Father of sons.
Adult child, searching amongst the Word
for the Word is God and GOD …
There are so many words
Root ripped scenes from beauty to horror
Shiksa* taunts seep in with the smell of borsch.
A pumpkinseed amongst the pricks of Brooklyn
A wild rose planted in the asphalt soil
Jew’s bop to a Dago harmony,
bagels, bialys and the French twisted strands
of great grandma’s hair.
Clipped, stripped of family shoved whole
into yet another new mold.
True believers, ah yes, fanatics all.
The struggle to survive whole healthy
dipped in, dripped in, a bath of acid and thorazine.
Polish priests pedal platitudes to the sisters of St. Joseph
behind the gilded glory of the Church.
Raped by trust and betrayed by lovers,
a rose married to a prickles thorn,
so empathy is gained, and a healer born.
Metal must be formed in a crucible of fire
A healer can not be born without tasting the pyre.
I am a coward with open sores.
I write and wonder who it bores.
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly.
I see others carrying out my dreams;
that’s what’s defeated me.
I am a coward with open sores.
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way.
I touch base with the fear in my heart,
it tears me apart leaving me with nothing to say...
I worry the world will leave me.
I cry because no one believes in me.
I am a coward with open sores.
I understand nothing comes easy.
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me.
I dream I am healed and brave.
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave.
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours.
I am a coward with open sores.
* 1st Place in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire on 3/8/2011
* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand on 5/11/2011 judged
© 2011 ~JSLaM
Believing that marriage was ordained of God;
that, like a seed, it needed constant nurturing,
she sowed her deep devotion with a hope
that stretched beyond an ordinary scope.
That hope scanned schisms that had left her desolate-
until it reached the heavens with her prayers.
Time and time again, her spouse complained or failed to do small things
essential to cementing the marriage bond.
With unusual restraint, she held her tongue, forgave. . . and listened.
If matrimony were the fire in a hearth, she supplied the kindling and the logs;
then lauded him for twigs that on occasion he tossed in.
Some nights she’d lay a weary head upon the chest
of the one she called her husband (when he was fast asleep and didn’t know).
In those moments, she felt the beat of that heart he never showed to her.
With humbleness she supplicated God
that she might find connection with her mate.
She wondered and she wondered why. . .if thoughts, invisible,
which were transmitted to the Lord, were able to be recieved by Him,
why could not her words, directly spoken to the one on earth she loved, be heard?
Daily on her knees, she telegraphed celestially with a faith most extraordinary. . .
and wisdom came. Her love would not be broken, and she grew.
The seed she’d planted took root too and grew until there came a time. . .
she laid a graying head upon the chest
of one that was her husband (not just in word only);
a someone who now watched HER as she drifted off to sleep.
With his heartbeat strong in her ear,
she heard him whisper softly, “I love you” as he kissed her cheek goodnight.
For Audrey Carey's "To Err Is Human to Forgive Divine"
When anger rages
Resist the urge to speak
Words will only wound
Resolve is what you seek
Simply take a quiet moment
To let your feelings digest
Remember all that is good
Let nature do the rest
Within this moment of silence
Reason will abound
Again love is found
Take from me that which you will
Those things that I possess
Strip from me the trinkets
That speak of my success
Look at me with jaundiced eye
With disdain on your face
Treat me as subordinate
Keep me in my place
Speak to me with vitriol
Mock my point of view
Contradict my every word
Their meaning misconstrue
I can overlook these things
As you strive to denigrate
Because the measure of a man
Is forgiving those who hate
"Slipping into a coma, the emptiness of a dreamless sleep.
Nightmares filling your head, where nothing is what it seems.
You're underground, desperately tryna' find your way out,
tunnels all around, but doors are no where to be found.
The ground has no traction, and you're floating above air.
Tryna' hold on to something, but there's nothing there.
And then you fall, and all you can hear,
is the rippling of your clothes, and the wind in your ear.
And just before you hit the ground,
you feel something grip you, without making a sound.
The next thing you know you're looking into a Man's eyes.
You feel safe but afraid, all at the same time.
That's when you wake, but you were never asleep.
And you're lying in a bed, with the Man at your feet.
He welcomes you to His kingdom, and into His heart,
and He finishes his drawing, another of piece of God's art."
This poem is about one's struggle to find God. About having to search, and feeling hopeless. Like we aren't really traveling through Hell, but we are searching with no idea which way we are going, blanketed in a coat of black. Like an infinitely deep hole with a small stream at the bottom, and you've just got to hope to find that stream. Then when you think all hope is lost, you realize that He has been sitting there, waiting for you, pulling you out of the darkness Himself, knowing you would look for Him. He accepts us into His kingdom. It's as if we are a piece of art, and he is adding on to us everyday..
I was once a little twig with dreams of being a mighty tree
So people would come from all around just to look at me
As the years started to come and go I fell in love with the wind
I would open myself big and wide swaying to the music of my friend
My rings became many and my bark was as red as red could be
Then the day finally came I was the tallest of the tallest trees
I stood tall and I stood proud and everyone knew my name
As my rings continued recording my destiny to fame
Then the fateful day it came my friend and I had a fight
Looking back I can't recall who was wrong or right
I said, "You are but the wind something people can't even see"
" And I'm the king of them all the tallest of the tallest trees"
That night the wind started to howl she really started to blow
And I the tallest of all the trees learned we reap what we sow
My roots struggled to hold on tight but without a soul around
She who had been my dearest friend knocked me to the ground
The loggers came and cut me up then shipped me away
To my soul that truly was a sad and lonely day
Torn from all I knew and loved wishing I didn't have to feel
I was cut into boards and post down at the local mill
Now I'm back here at home just a few feet away
From where my friend the wind and I used to dance and play
I'm the deck on which you stand I lay below your feet
There is a bench made of me would you care to have a seat
Sometimes in life our roles change just take a look at me
The trick is no matter who are what you are be all you can be
See I was once a little twig who became a mighty tree
And now I'm a redwood deck as proud as proud can be
And of my friend the wind she visits me everyday
So I can thank her once again for helping me find my way
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
Why, Momma, why?
Was I not deserving
Was I not good?
Was I too frail?
Did you send me away
Because your own life
Why, Momma, why
Do I still secretly wail?
Asking myself what did I do so
wrong? How did I fail?
What you called rebelliousness
Was the only way I knew how
to stay strong sometimes, I'd
stay up all night looking after you
Got banged and bruised so that
he wouldn't hurt you
No one else did that
Isn't it true?
Did you ever think about my wounds
That was the only way I knew to
Instead of helping me
You banished me through lies,
Stripped me from my home,
My siblings, my life
Withheld your love
Because I tried to take my own life
But did you ever stop and think that
Perhaps something in me wasn't right?
Why, momma, why?
Does your absence whisper in me
A forever sorrowful lullaby and
Although, I miss you I love you more
each day that goes by
I forgive you wholeheartedly
Despite that yesterday, I cried
I wouldn't hesitate to wipe
The tears from your eyes if they
ever again were to meet with mine
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.