Best Recovery From...Woman Poems
Here, away from the weight of strain
where domestic thorns are spiked and ripped,
she entangles her damp hair
then bares frozen sighs, running barefoot
along softened meadow grounds;
her soul cleansed by moonglow's peace,
forced not to yield to a man's cycle
of incessannt rage, as moist eyes
float with the new moonlight's gentleness
rendering herself empowered once more
against the hissing of pierced words ,
lesions marked on a slammed body... until
a balmy oak offers a hammock of strength,
while she tries to grasp the truth; aware now
that an alliance quite violent is illusion's bite.
Mindful, she knows she must return home,
to finally unchain herself from the shackles
of his vicious game... it is all over.
John Hamilton's Woman in Chains Contest
8/29/2020
knowing where i hurt
she applies something soothing
i am put to sleep
If your woman should pack up and leave you
There’s no hiding the fact that it hurts
For there’s no one to do all laundry
And there’s no one to iron your shirts
You will sit there alone and dejected
Feeling so sad and bereft
When there’s no one to tidy the house up
God it’s tough when your woman has left
So your woman has moved out and left you
And you’re feeling morose and depressed
Don’t mope about, get up and go out
And get the whole thing off your chest
But alcohol isn’t the answer
Don’t sit in the pub talking twaddle
Get off your **** join a club or a class
And get out and find a new model
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She needs that drink to start the day
When the children play
To get away
Meetings, lunch, that damn report
The never-ending stress
A drink to rest
She makes love like the dead
Her mind ahead
Major decisions, racing instead
A drink to unwind
To go to bed
Tomorrow a drink to get ahead
Engagements, talks, drinks to go
The high-powered girl has hit the low
Make up getting thicker now
Drink the crutch
Husband having an affair
It’s all too much
Drinks to get up
Starts to fall
Crashing down against the wall
Pulls herself up
In a daze
Looks in the mirror
In a haze
Sees a face
A slight trace
Pitiful tragic being
For the first time seeing
The ghost finally screaming
She stands up
The words would set her free
I am an alcoholic
Her heart has been broken so many times,
And her eyes have cried so many tears,
That nothing bothers her anymore,
You’ll never see her cry.
She keeps to herself,
She blends in with everyone else now,
Because every time her heart broke,
A feather fell from her angel wings.
She may not act the same as before,
But she’s still the same person,
An angel without her wings.