She insisted on her own way.
Every holiday was at her house.
I am the matriarch, she said. I have the most children.
So I had thirteen, because she had twelve.
It did not make any difference. My husband still caved in to Mommy.
For Christmas she gives me a five dollar bill.
Our children each get a twenty-five dollar gift certificate
My husband wracks up anywhere between four and five thousand dollars.
Does she not realize we have a JOINT back account?
I believe he might stop getting his “you are my baby money” if she did.
I also think it is a suggestion for us to move out, but we cannot afford it.
She is not horrible.
I can live with it, because what choice do I have?
She raised baby to always get his own way.
All he has to do is have a tantrum.
He has had hundreds of them.
Which is why he cannot keep a job.
He goes from tantrum to tantrum.
I get the last laugh as she stays home watching thirteen children.
That I had to try and make her life a living hell in her old age.
It is working too. I pick up my coffee cup and leave for the day.
Glad she gets to see how much help “baby” is.
She raised him after all.
Categories:
wracks, humorous,
Form: Prose Poetry
I run the glass down my arm
But I'm afraid of the pain
as if it will be worse
then the pain that wracks my heart
I look to my gun
I check there's a bullet in the chamber
and I unload it
Remembering the patient
in the nursing home
I take care of
that tried to end his pain
that way.
I slam gifts from you to the ground,
shattering them
Into tiny pieces
just like the broken pieces of my heart.
I wish I had the courage just to end it all
there is nothing left in this world for me
I'm done.
But I'm too scared to end it all
so I'm just stuck in this
life, without love
and alone.
Shaking and scared,
hurting so bad it feels like my soul
is being ripped from me
God forsook me
and left me to face this alone
So it doesn't surprise me
that he would rip my soul from me.
All I can do is plod along and just hope
that I'll eventually die
and just dissipate into the wind.
Categories:
wracks, angst, suicide,
Form: Free verse
How limited the page by set of sail…
I cannot come to you except, I tack,
I sail into the wind, the ropes all wail…
You’ve crossed the sea, now, and cannot come back.
Thus, Time blows in my face, bids me return,
And, there behind, a Fisherman hooks me…
The Sun, too bright, is sure my face to burn,
And all my grief is not enough to free
Me from the Veils that roundabout me swirl,
That hide you from my searching, test my mind,
To THINK! I’m rapt, and wrecked, over a girl…
The One I Married, who left me behind
To fly into the Sun with wings of wax,
And Orioles greet… I greet the ocean’s wracks…
Categories:
wracks, loss, love, marriage, missing
Form: Sonnet
There are days like these when life patently doesn't come easy
like peas and carrots, tea and biscuits, moonshine & sun's resign,
more so resembling ill-assorted poked chocolates' wrongdoing of
dissemblance discombobulating conceivability mid hokey designed
disorderliness, inasmuch mute poetry impatiently awaiting lavishly
gifted muse's breathlessness to transform convoluted unreasonable
fractals pon escaped tauntingly mundane madness, twixt brass-tacks
wracks daunting tribulations throughout intervals of immoderately
spun matter-of-taxing challenges and perplexing puzzle pieces,
sans instructions far-side nonexistent proportions affixed with sticky
hot glue gun drivel or coffee pathetically absent jolting caffeine...
Categories:
wracks, confusion, crazy, humor, hyperbole,
Form: Alliteration
...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot
Loose leaves rustle.
The grey light of evening dips and sways.
Evening birds bleat their lonely tattoo.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the burnt-out end of smoky days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly cut.
The clatter of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a woodpecker
seeking nutrition, finding none.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the never land that has her clammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her, inspiration smacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!
Categories:
wracks, tribute, writing,
Form: Verse
How much mucus can one head hold!
I hate this stupid winter cold.
Quite a bit, or so it seems,
cause head’s leaking more than dreams.
Every cough just wracks my body,
someone grab me a Nyquil toddy!
Throat is rawer than a country road,
voice is squeaky like smashed toad.
Good thing don’t keep a shotgun round,
cause I’d sure put me in the ground.
Categories:
wracks, sick, winter,
Form: Rhyme
...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot
Loose leaves rustle.
The grey light of evening dips and sways.
Evening birds bleat
their lonely tattoo.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the burnt-out end of smoky days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly sharpened.
The clatter
of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a woodpecker
seeking for nutrition, finding little.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters
and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping
white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the neverland that has her clammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her,
electricity whacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!
Categories:
wracks, on writing and words,
Form: Light Verse
She’s mangled from the past she’s known
Spent years alone
Never known the love of another
Just abuse from her mother
He tells her “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”
Blending in was never her thing
Too many worries to bring
Razors stop the pain
A never ending dance in the rain
She wracks her brain “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”
Everyone says I’ll get through this
Don’t welcome deaths kiss
It’s not okay. It’s not okay
Cries alone in an empty room
No light from the moon
The edge gets closer
Thoughts of hope push her over
They told her “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”
Pills labeled toxic
Tired and getting sick
This is the end of the game
Only have society to blame
They put out her flame “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”
Everybody said I’d get through this
But I welcomed deaths kiss
It was never okay. It was never okay.
Categories:
wracks, angst, death, life,
Form: Free verse
This morning I looked into the mirror
The face I saw could not be clearer
Of a man with a chance
To face his way his final dance.
The time that I have left is fleeting
And yet somehow also appealing.
To the end of that which wracks me
Like the battle of the Bismarck Sea.
The end comes not quick or painlessly
And yet for sure its stalking me
Hiding as if a child game
Jumping out to call my name
I will go when it's my time
To my reward sublime
Knowing that I have been blessed
I tried to give to all my best.
I hope that someday I am remembered.
Not like January more like December.
A joyous season a joyous time
My life was for me...just fine.
Do not grieve, do not be sad,
Do not cry, do be glad
I am now free from pain
Eternal happiness I've gained
To all I knew or had once met,
Live your life without regret.
When into that mirror you next stare.
Remember me and I'll be there.
Categories:
wracks, inspirationallife,
Form: Rhyme
...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot
Loose leaves rustle.
The grey light of evening dips and sways.
Evening birds bleat
their lonely tattoo.
Gone are the jays and the wagtails,
the burnt-out end of smoky days.
No fancy gadgets,
just a jar of pencils newly cut.
The clatter
of a typewriter
haunts the silence, like a 'pecker
jonesin' for nutrition, finding squat.
Curtains flutter.
She's shabbily dressed and thin.
A lonely candle sputters
and she struggles.
Notes and erasers jostle for space,
still no inspiration will brighten her face.
Coffee and cigarettes,
vodka and tears, and none will curb her fears
of ever grasping
white from black,
light from limbo, the curse of the damned,
the neverland that has her clammed.
One word, one spark
of enlightenment nudges her back.
Exhilaration wracks her,
electricity whacks her
like a sharp evening breeze,
and her fingers are dancing all over the keys!
Categories:
wracks, inspirationallonely,
Form: Verse
There’s a young girl in my arms
Clutching me so tight that
I don’t think she’ll ever let go
Her tears stain my shoulder
Her grief wracks my own body
I can smell her hair, the beautiful scent
Engulfs my face
But I feel nothing
Except the warmth of our embrace
My emptiness swells
Is it strange to want to share someone’s pain?
Categories:
wracks, introspection
Form: I do not know?
Trace of sadness wracks your tear-stained eyes
and stream of sorrow creases your weary face.
You have been crying and you cannot hide it,
it is plain for all to see.
Now you know it is such an imperfect world,
yet, you just have to carry that heavy cross.
It is a rough road to the hill of Calvary –
Eden does not exist.
Sadly you wish for the past to return
to get away from your present trials.
But life isn't that way and you know it,
you just have to carry on.
So stand straight, bravely face the tempest,
with your pride intact and your head unbowed.
Wipe away the trace of sadness from your eyes
and find a different you.
Categories:
wracks, sad, song-
Form: Free verse
random thoughts carom from shuttered sights
in geometric harmonies of cacophony colors
reverberating drum rolls kaleidoscopically spinning
through theoretical manoeuvres of polished possibilities
Feelings of frustration follow furrowed brows of fluidic concentration
Trying to ascertain where these thoughts began
While my partner calmly chalks her cues with over studied indifference.
Four dimensional mind games in two four time with ever changing keys
What color was that harmonic?
What kind of english was used to play it?
The loser wracks his brain cells
Then steps back for a break
Categories:
wracks, life, love, wife,
Form: Bio
Docter's spout words of death
well timed with the swift assurence that there might be a chance
While you seem so hale and hearty
Something inside of you is failing
to perform its appointed task
No symptoms that can be seen
They stick needles in
until all your veins collapse
weight is lost where you look more
dead then alive
The doctor's say that you have a chance
But sometimes feels
like you want to die
Nausia wracks your body to where
drinking is impossible let alone eating
You sit at death's door waiting for the moment
When there is a choice
For you to get up and try again
Or just to fade to dust
Categories:
wracks, death, life, people,
Form: Free verse