|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
Time After Time
When they found him he was wet, shivering, naked and under three burlap blankets. His skin was riddled with insect bites, bits of leaves and indescribable things were embedded in his flesh. He had been struggling to finish what may have been a beautiful lullabye to a baby hummingbird when he had been discovered. He repeatedly uttered the following in a melodioc yet tragic and desparate yearn of passion.......'Forsake the slake of moonlit rise, for take the make of heartbreak prise, be my glory, my story my endless relentless tries....just be and be for me and mine'. ........ They covered him from the cameras as they walked him away from me. I stood in the days fading light at the bottom of that canyon. I knew this was my chance. My chance to be never afraid. Time after time I'd been afraid. I watched him in the distance and I had a choice to make. I could remain my final hours in the haunting moment as the dessert became a frigid and massive coffin or I could scramble my way up those canyon walls and break free into the night. Either way he was safe.
The sun was a sliver behind the western hills and I remained. To my left was my body. They never looked for it just for his. Thankfully before I died I was able to cover him with some material from our wreckage. My body was decayed and chewed. I remained. He was safe.
Time after time I make the choice.
Insanity.
Morning has risen and here they come again to look for him. He's covered and singing his sweet little song. I stand in plain view as they walk him away. My body is just bones now and I remain.
Time after Time.
Shauna Woodbury
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
She was strength and magic
Timeless and tragic
She was diamonds and dust
Just when you had her attention you lost her trust.
Refined and dignified
Reclusive and mystified.
She was a mystery and a disaster
She wouldnt like if you asked her
Fine wines and old books
Embroidered vintage scarves and large sunglasses
Yes she has the looks.
Jewelery from the island of St. Isadore
So you thought as she hides her face when leaving the thrift store
Elegance and poise
Brief glances and small responses never any noise
She would breeze past you in a busy place
You could forget everything except her expressionless face
Her eyes straight forward she never saw you there
Yet her intended avoidance was apparent in her indirect stare
She would angrily stab the cobblestones at the small street market with her red high heels so you knew she was near
She would hold fake credit cards so her facade would keep you in envy and fear.
She would examine the market merchandise as if she had no interest or desire
She was fueled by the ice in her fire
You could try to approach maybe offer a drink or meal
With one cold rejection your heart would fail to heal.
She was a local story and lie
She was a social write off but we never saw her cry
She wanted us to believe in her made up shine
I watch her walk away to the woods
I remember when that life was mine.
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
Just a view on the inner critic. Every time I read what I wrote I see a different angle. This person never even opened their eyes. Some day you can't.
The day had begun. Simple. It was early. Maybe 5am. The sun had frozen it’s rusty head in that moment just peaking over the sliver of black cloud from last night’s darkness. It was simple. Breathe. Begin. He was simple. To breathe and begin wasn’t. This endeavor would require movement and initiative. It was early. We know this. Seems simple. One arm, one leg, one eye. Move. Nope not so simple. This will be it. The moment. I will tell him again go. Go now. Simple right?
Hand on the door knob. One final look around the naked hallway. There were never any pictures up. Only the nicotine colored walls to greet our eyes each day. The orange sunlight just pronounced the discolored teeth stained shade of this hallway. Hand still on the door knob. What am I waiting for? This should be simple. Simplicity has become complicated these days. I turn the knob slowly. I hear the deadening empty thud of my emotions. He is awake. How do I tell him I can’t have him boot thundering around inside my skull anymore? He dances in my mind, he kicks the walls of my brain and he stomps his anger until the tears fall. He needs to go. Should be simple, right? Goodbye. One word in one second and it should be over. He will leave my thoughts and I’ll feel better. I’ll be able to think, to speak and to achieve without his insults, and backwards, damaging Johnny Walker wisdom.Holding my breath I complete the door knob turn and shove the door open. It’s brighter out than my yellow hallway. There are people and movement and then I hear him laughing.
He hisses “Where are you going? Nobody wants to see you. Stay here. Feed me. Tell me you need me”
I freeze. I can feel his foul breathe in my head. I look down the street. Children. They laugh. They don’t know how a parasite can become comfortable as you play its decaying host. I can’t go. He’s seething in anger.
“I said stay” he tells me. ” Why would anyone want what little you have to offer?”
I close my eyes and whisper back, “Listen to me. You….” My voice thins and trails. Not so simple. I huff up and try again looking foolish in my doorway knowing people passing can see my dull egg yolk smeared walls and know I’m not somebody any one would want.
‘Listen. You need to go. Find someone else to abuse. I don’t want you here. You hurt my thoughts you…” I trailed off again.
“Shut up!” He is angry. I cringe. Maybe today isn’t for me.
Two steps back and I’m in the shadows of my mucous shaded walls. I hang my head and remove my shoes.
I tell him quietly “You don’t matter to anyone either. You need to go. I don’t need you. I can’t have you. I can’t ask nicely anymore. Go!”
He laughed. He swore then he lit up a cigarette and sat down telling me I’m foolish and I need him. Without him I’d be lost. He was kicking the table leg he was sitting at and flicking glowing embers into the unexplored parts of my mind.
Today is the day. I need to do this. I held my head up. I breathed in and I said ” I want you out!”
My thoughts went silent. No movement. No fear. I began to worry. Did he go? Maybe it was simple. I put my shoes on and opened the door again and attempted to venture out.
A freedom was building. A hope. My inner critic had been evicted. I made him go.
I can believe again. I can be worthy. Without him… I stopped. I’d lost a friend. We spoke everyday. His words were harsh and cruel but I wasn’t alone. No. Nope. I have to do this. Do this for me. I stepped through my doorway and out into the bright day. Two steps at a time until I was running to my gate. Out and away! I looked back at my house. I’d left my door open. The hallway was shining bright. I smiled. In that house where all the doors stayed closed. The rooms where I kept the voices. Today was simple after all. I had evicted the inner critic.
I left my house door open. I heard all the other doors in my head open and everyone step out into their day without fear. Worth and Value looked great as they joined me outside yet in the hallways of my skull. Challenge and Achievement were bruised and rattled but they staggered to join us. Love and Hope were battle worn but they believed in me enough to survive. My head was quiet now and the hallways seemed inviting despite the dullness. I walked a few step and heard him.
“Oh no. Oh crap” I whimpered.
He said coldly, “Not without me. Not ever!” I was paralyzed. No. I buckled at the knees.
“No! It’s simple” . I was trying to rationalize with the irrational, “You’re gone and I can be hopeful of stability and function. To be capable and proud”. I looked at the ground. Fear was waking up. I forgot to close his kennel. Everyone in the carousel of the psychosis in my mind froze. He was back! No. Simple. He goes. We said goodbye right!
There were whispers. Were they in my head or on the street? I was aware I was being watched. Dignity. It was a small being in my head. Quiet and meek but today I needed dignity to be strong. Rise my child, rise! I fought to not burst in screams hoping Dignity would hear me. Determination suddenly arrived with Focus in a cab. They had been in prison for years. We all together screamed. “Go!”
I heard a door slam. I looked back at my house. It was dark. The windows boarded up and the grass black. Again we had hope. Again we had inner peace. Today wasn’t simple. Today was another day. Today he left. Today I smiled. Today I felt hopeful I can carry on.
Across the street a man walking a dog I couldn’t see said, “Hey. Why bother? Nobody cares.”
Today I had been hopeful.
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
Battle lines drawn
Stance firm
Weapon in hand.
I step into the war zone
I'm rigid. Already defeated.
So much to see.
All the red.
I grip, I breathe, I brace.
Everything in me says turn and go. You've lost this one. No shame. Just go.
The space around me feels closed in and tight.
I take a step. One more. Apprehension. Disgust.
So much red.
Do I have a plan? Do I have an escape route?
One more step in.
I'm so close. So much red.
Head up. I forge onward.
I let out a deep war cry and face my opponent.
Effing spaghetti.
Will these dishes ever get done?
Geeze people not everything is about hearbreak
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2020
|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
Two rails and some broken boards. The train no longer runs through here.
Trees have wrapped themselves around memories of time and the past.
The rails shiny yet old and the boards rotted.
Leaves and the homes of small beings scatter across the design.
Once a world of adventure passed through this space and carried itself forward to docks, locks and town talks.
Now as I stand here looking down the hallway of majestic trees and autumn leaves I can faintly hear the ghosts of the forgotten years.
Parts of a train station remain and maybe what was once a grain elevator yet its too hard to tell.
The wind is warm here but the birds don’t stay.
I know I’m not alone though I stand by myself.
There is history here. The reasons for failure and abandonment stay a secret within these woods.
How did I come across this place. I was headed home. I was determined to work tonight yet here I am standing in the sunset amazed by the nature yet fearing the night.
The sound of the past has turned up its volume. I can hear the steam engine and the whistle. I can hear a master and conductor.
Women cry, children run. A horse has joined the crowd.
Im still alone standing on the rails of time. A world of class and travel revolves around my stationary self.
Theres nobody here but I can see a life I never saw. The ground has tremors.
The trains- ahh- comin!
I step off the rails. Out of respect or fear. I can’t be sure. The ground rumbles and the steam sprays out around my legs.
The third window in the second car catches my attention. I see myself from years gone by. We lock eyes. There is terror in that car. Up the rails are prison guards. I hear someone whisper “tell them you know how to sew”.
I have been guided to the spirit of my self. We will never meet.
I have never lived this life again. I will always be the same as I never was
Shauna Woodbury
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
Grapefruit sunburst, rainbows on fire, skylights of silver stars, black cherry ice spikes, mango splash slides and champange on angel wings.
We are craving the dynamite. We are tasting your explosions.
All the promises and the failed deliveries. The dangled broken pieces of romance and the loose fitting rumors but we keep wanting the truth we keep hoping for your reality. We watch we want and we believe as you dance and circle and flaunt. Run. No. She. We have to have you. Go. Wait. Show us more.
It's hypnotic erotic. It's disgusting and beautiful.
Hold still. Fly away.
There's whispers about you. Theres lies we've all had you. There's the tries and the fails and the denials and betrayals. Have you ever really? One time one word was spoken and the story was born to rip around the world as we waited on your next chapter.
Can you hang on to your game can you ride your rails of false fame can you headstrong ram the collision of shame. You'll be caught. Something else rises behind you. Stronger. No facade. A realist who drives harder. You're a puddle of backstory history. A new path has been carved. Run. Your feet will burn as your dance is cemented in frozen embers.
Your time is over. A power to bury you has risen. We want more. You can't deliver any longer.
A shadow across our land. A truth. Have you ever? Oh yes.
The spine of romance and the flirting of virgins. You've shown us your dark, your barbed wire and your back peddling doubletalk.
As followers of the next best mistake we turn to the new scene. You're old news. This different angle will launch us higher. The cigarettes will be smoked with thickness and the sheets ever stained.
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
It's fine. I don't care anymore. You can leave. You can stay. You can talk, I won't listen. You can cry, I can cry; but the tears that fall aren't for the same reason.
Black, white, pink, blue... it's all just talk; it's all just empty words filling up air space.
Your breath is foul anyway, poisoned by your lies, festered in bile. It doesn't matter. Preach, yell, rant, or offer creepy platitudes and cliches. I'm going on without you.
You are a stain in my memory. You are... There's no point in finishing this simply because I don't care. No need to call it off or stop our roll. We are just over. I don't care anymore.
You stare at me hoping for a breakthrough revelation and the power to fist slam with determination and resolve. No. Won't happen. You are just not worth it. Just like that I realized it. You are... well you are you.
Those were the last words I watched my reflection say back to me as I pulled the trigger. Now I lay with bits of my skull in blood on your floor.
Now there's no me only you.
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
My name is Nate
I'm looking for a mate who can carry this crate and can't wait to follow our fate and is old enough to not be jailbait. We will have one date by his mother's garden gate I will most likely be late and the mother will hate at this rate but this need I have to satiate.
I see Stan! He says "Hi I'm Stan. I have a plan to drive a van to Japan to buy a tan fan from my Nan who's name is Fran and she bakes flan with the clan in Taipan.
There's a ban brought on by Princess Anne and her dog Han for my brother Dan who's dating Jan. She used to be a man. We will put in your crate my pan that I purchased in Iran from an Arabian lesbian that chews bran and reads from the quoran in the back of a pink sedan.
I'm Stan"
I said "I'm Nate. That's great. But you're ugly."
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
It's damned and it's free.
It's torture and it's passion.
It's you. All things to be.
It's hypocrisy and the attitude of similar fashion.
It's the cliches and the daily platitude defying the laws of attraction.
It's you.
The midnights and the rainy sunrises and the white nights and the see you at the grocery store surprises the long evenings the no wine and lame tv endurance....go me. The suspended time on a Saturday morning between eyes blinded by sun and the moment we say it. Life finds a way.
Everyday. It's you.
It's the wind on a Sunday and the silence in December, the dust on a freeway . It's you.
I fail to forget. I die when I remember.
It's you
It's the ballgame I watched yet saw nothing it's the pints I drank it's the talk I faked and the peace in solitude.
I'm not lonely alone I'm just on my own.
I'm learning to live I'm learning the sun sets despite my small self. I know I can give and one day put you on a shelf.
It's the whispers and the thunder it's the screams and the six feet under. It's you.
It's always gonna be you.
There's no run no fix and finish there's no home free to be
It's you. It's never me.
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2019
|
Details |
Shauna Woodbury Poem
The air stale, thick and cloudy with years of gin soaked carpet odor and cigarette vapor of inconsiderate drag and chain smokers.
The colors smear together and the music disconnected and hypnotic.
The smell of flat beer and warm rye burn the notrils with every inhale and the sweaty bodies of strangers press together in a desperate attempt to be socialble.
HE stands alone in the back of the room. The blood dribbles inside his shirt. No one knows. HE watches his girlfriend grind her hips into a nameless figure while trying to reach for his drink. His fingers barely around the glass, he tries to move it to his lips. His hand shakes and he drops the glass and feels it wet and sharp as it shatters on the floor and rebounds off his shoe. No one knows.
A lake of blood has formed along his waistband. His color has drained to a party white and his finger nails a greying blue.
The music thumps in his ears and pushes it's beat against the one of his fading heart.
His girlfriend flings her hair and gives a pathetic yet flirty laugh to her dancing stranger. A laugh that only she can hear. The stranger held her waist as they danced and blew smoke past her red and watery eyes.
HE is slumped against the wall with the base of the table holding his feet in place. His hair is soaked to his head and his shirt possessing a crimson river threatening to seep through the fabric and leak. The pain of the bullet lodged in his stomach was searing dry heat from inside his body. He hides his agony. His girlfriend sharing her tongue with the dancing stranger in sensual vulgarity.
She see HIM in the back and thinks he's drunk she turns so he can watch her taste the other mans mouth while keeping her eyes open.
He feels more hate for her. She makes him sick. More tortured memories from the fight earlier that night. Now one more flavor of the evening she visually disgusts him with. Nothing changes. She is heartless and he is dying. No one knows. No one cares.
He can only see her now. The room has enclosed around him and peripheral sights have gone dark. The music is distant and the beat skips in his ears. He watches her walk out with the stranger. She looks back at him and flashes a slanted lipstick thick smile that only a wench likely her knows how to give.
His eyes open yet glazed. The gun falls from his own hand.
He is dead and no one knows.
Shauna Woodbury
Copyright © Shauna Woodbury | Year Posted 2020
|
|