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Elisa Christensen Poem
THE INNER CHAMBER
Please. Stop holding back on me.
Like a child standing at the neighborhood ice cream truck, arm outstretched, eyes huge, mouth watering.
I stand here longing to slip underneath your decades of cold-rolled steel armor and touch the real you.
Your soft underbelly where your greatest fears run amuck through your darkest worlds.
Where you hide the monsters you are sure will send me screaming,
Stuck deeply with their sharpest swords,
A trail of blood decorating my getaway.
?Where you go to revisit the smell of your newborn’s head and
The sound of the thousand “I love you’s” that have decorated
Your heart, like a high ranking general.
His bright, glistening medals lining his proud Chest
Just as your children’s “I love you’s” decorate your soft, gooey middle core,
That part of you no one else gets to see.
To open these innermost, secret chambers,
Would be to allow another warrior into your most private sanctuary.
The space where you lay down your weapons,
Remove your many layers of armor.
I get that. It’s a most dangerous proposal.
One you haven’t had much luck with in your past.
I understand that when the elixir of youth’s innocence,
Formed a rosy gauze over your insight,
And your understanding of how your species really works-
You allowed a few in.
I know what they did,
Betrayals scattered across
Your sacred sanctuary,
Littering the once pristine floors,
That you initially built.
Floors that were not lacking in any way-
From the purest white ideals,
The hopes and impossible delusions,
That a teen bride imbibes as she
Sweetly dreams of her white wedding day.
While your armor may be a suitable deterrent for most,
I can see it is transparent in some places.
Worn thin from years of overuse.
You should know that.
Through these unintended, accidental windows,
I can see what lies there.
Multiple masses of thick scar tissue where-
The injury of betrayal and the loss of innocence
Played out like a well-executed horror film,
Leading you to absolute conviction concerning
The danger such risks can afford.
Should I ever be the very rare, honored guest,
Chosen to visit you there,
I can’t promise you that I won’t ever
Pull a shank from my pinions and consider
Hacking at your soft underbelly.
I could probably even get a few small
Yet effective weapons past your metal detectors,
Your multiple teams of soldiers standing guard.
But would I? Would I pose that danger?
I’ve seen how we can dissolve
Into tattered, faded copies of ourselves
Marked with coffee rings and ink spills.
Our most evil versions of ourselves taking over
Like the energy vampires who manipulate
Every conversation and exhaust all those around them.
I cannot say to you that I have never attacked
With both barrels blazing,
After sustaining a life-threatening blow
From your finest canons.
You know that I have.
While certainly not my proudest moments,
I cannot promise that I,
In all my medieval humanness and imperfections,
Could rise above my own scars and
Open wounds and turn to face you,
With my finest intentions displayed proudly
Like the white feathers of a great owl.
When the salt is still burning through
The wounds that we both knew
Would probably not ever heal,
Due to the unexpected, additional attacks
They have been pummeled with--
When our shadow people join forces to
Show us just how ugly we really can be--
When my own fears and pain from
My own scar tissue turns me into someone
I’d avoid at all costs in a dark alley--
How can I promise you complete safety?
How could I ever be truthful in saying
I could never hurt you,
That I would never consider smuggling in
A small shank intended for your underbelly?
Am I any better, any more kind, less sinister?
Than the black clothed, face painted, stealth ninjas
That snuck in before me?
Littering your inner chamber with blood stains,
Chunks of flesh sliced away with razor sharp swords,
With words that should never have formed
On the lips of anyone who also tumbled forth
“I love you?”
I can’t. I cannot promise you my visit there,
Should I ever be permitted into your sacred space,
Will be one of godly like goodness
Devoid of human insecurity, self absorption
And crippling imperfections.
I honestly cannot give you that.
Even as much as I want to.
What I can give you is a broken, imperfect person,
Who at least understands the delicacies of
?Such an important journey into that sacred space.
A person who recognizes this space of yours,
As truly sacred.
A person who will respectfully take off her shoes,
Not trample the few square feet of soft,
White carpet that has yet to be stained with your blood.
The lifeblood that the very ones,
You chose to love, and who promised only
To love and protect you,
Went before me and carelessly,
Sometimes wits the most frightening and shocking intentions,
Boldly splattered from your tender heart,
Across your white carpet, once so pure and clean.
I can only promise that my goal here
Is and never will be to cut you open any deeper.
I can only promise that I will keep this in mind,
Before I go forward and knock once again,
Upon your tightly sealed, inner chamber door.
The one you’ve outfitted with five, impossible deadbolts.
I can only promise that I will bring--
A satchel of tenderness.
A backpack filled with understanding,
Patience and genuine love.
And hopefully,
If I can fit it in,
A little, true selflessness.
And should I pack all of this for my journey,
There won’t be any room for my weapons.
So please, when I knock on that door,
Don’t greet me with a long, cold,
Terrorizing glance down the barrel of one of your biggest guns.
Realize I come in peace, unarmed.
Recognize and acknowledge the white flag
I hold high out in front of me.
Hoping just to know you.
To love you.
To lounge in bliss within your warm, sweet chamber.
Your sanctuary.
And finally get the chance to meet the real you.
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
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Elisa Christensen Poem
Addictions, restrictions, afflictions, decisions,
A needle, a bottle, step down hard on that throttle!
Disaster, no more laughter, destruction for years after.
Placate, eradicate, fornicate, masturbate,
Addiction. Restriction. Addiction.
No more art, no more heart, another false start.
No more honoring love,
Through God’s sacred benediction.
Just destruction, restriction.
Addiction.
Give it a go, run that prop right over top of her Skipper!
Hell yes! Sounds like fun!
Our souls through a wood chipper!
Addiction, a rather benign-sounding word, don’t ya think??Let’s call it what it is: Jack The Life Ripper!
Slots! Cha CHING! Sex! Food! Anything!
Addiction? NO WAY! I just like to play!
Hypocrisy, a democracy run on BIG PHARMA,
Don’t think about it! Sure! It’s all real!
Here’s your script for a 1,000 more pills!
Addiction. Prison. The System. What a waste.
What a horrific affliction in this human race!
Disgrace. Sadness. Do-overs don’t exist.
Deception. Desperation. Annihilation.
Another slit wrist.
Artistic brilliance being pickled nightly in a skull.
No more compassion, no more money, no more love.
Losing it all.
No more light in your eyes dear,
Now they are black and so dull.
Addiction. WHY??
Is getting through a human life really that tough?
That we all have to medicate,
With this poisonous stuff?
Addiction.
Don’t say you don’t know, you hypocrite you,
We’ve all been there at some point, to something, it’s true.
Don’t give me your shit. Don’t tell me you’re fine.
Doesn’t matter who’s is worse, yours or mine.
Addiction.
I’m SICK of crazy land! I want off of this ride!
No, you cannot have me, Mr. Jekyll and Hyde!
I’m SO ANGRY I had to say goodbye to my friend the noble king,
Way too early because of this Jack The Life Ripper thing!
Addiction.
As a mother, I’m simply scared out of my mind!
How do I get my babies through a world so unkind?
How do I keep them from running straight into it blind?
They won’t listen, most of us never do.
Premonition. Please! Not them! Not addiction!
For three years I watched in agony my greatest love dissolve,
Destroyed, I moved up here, to somehow get back my resolve,
From the frying pan straight into the fire.
This is not my sanctuary, this is another addict’s funeral pyre.
Addiction.
The human condition comes with such a design flaw,
We should come with two bodies, not just one,
The first to ride hard and wild, toss it out when we’re done.
Then step effortlessly into the second, shiny, new and clean,
And live the rest of it out, perfectly pristine.
Unfortunately, we don’t, we get only this one.
And when we go hard for a little too long,
The damage is done.
No going back, no saying “Oops! My bad!”
Because now you are screwed, nothing more scary or sad.
Addiction.
© 2017 Elisa Fortise Christensen
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2017
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Elisa Christensen Poem
I loved you so much it hardly mattered,
Blinded by your million, shiny shards of glass,
Before we laid our love to waste, bruised and battered.
I failed, refused to see the tattered.
Splinters of your future, forged from your broken past,
I loved you so much it hardly mattered.
Our dreams of sustaining this ecstasy scattered,
Our time together spins to conclusion too fast,
As we lay our love to waste, bruised and battered.
My god! You were brilliant tho, smooth and lacquered,
So extraordinary, a demigod unabashed,
I loved you so much it hardly mattered.
I’ll always be grateful and truly flattered,
For tasting the angels’ elixir, unsurpassed,
I loved you so much it hardly mattered,
Before we laid our love to waste, bruised and battered.
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
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Elisa Christensen Poem
My dear,
There's nowhere I'd rather be,
Than by your side,
As you grow old with me.
I know we fight and carry on,
We wield our swords for all to see,
But darling I do love you so,
Settle in and please grow old with me.
When twilight sets and our bones creak,
When sunset is at the top of our hill,
When our passionate longing turns to comfort,
It is you I'll long for still.
When our luscious hair no longer grows,
When wrinkles show the many laughs,
When sighs replace sprints and jumps.
You'll still be my better half.
When our children are grown and living large,
When our teeth aren't as white or strong,
For every step I take down that path,
My love I want you along.
When flying dishes are replaced with shrugs,
When our joints groan instead of snap to,
When our lives are like the setting sun,
Justin I want to be with you.
You are the green in my garden,
You are the red in my art,
You are the harmony in my song,
You are the love in my heart.
I know we sometimes brawl and spur,
I know we talk of ending it all,
But the truth is, Rocketpants, there's no one else
But with you whom I'll take the fall.
You are my strength, my grace, my inspiration,
You are my reflection when I'm at my best,
There's no one like you in this whole wide world,
I choose you above all the rest.
You fascinate me and leave me in wonder,
You spark my passion and calm my bones,
When your strong arms are wrapped around me,
I can exhale. I'm finally home.
Let's walk this plain hand in hand,
But not too fast, let's take it slow,
Come grow old with me, my sweet love,
And we will walk together into the glow.
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
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Elisa Christensen Poem
So at 47 I have arrived.
A position most disconcerting,
Troubling? Nay,
Downright disturbing!
A blatant assault.!
An ego in default.
Should have steered left,
Perhaps joined a cult.
Having settled back into the lap,
Of my original birth sack,
I am anything but patient.
I now care for
My matriarch. Ancient!
As she skids down that slippery,
Persnickety, slope,
That slaughterhouse of all hope.
Toward her final expiration.
Once a beauty of
The extraordinary kind
With the quickest of mind,
Don't get it twisted.
Aging is nothing if not unkind,
Names of her clan,
She now labors over, unable to find.
Her once glowing blonde tresses,
Sexy, 50’s signature dresses,
Athletic leaps, impressive,
All night sexual feats,
Replaced now with wrinkles.
A faint frame, once sturdy
Now wobbles and crinkles.
I shall have her warped feet, it appears,
Twisted, worn down from all the years,
As I step back and upsize,
The navy blue faded from her eyes,
Now light gray, I see my own,
Paired with my offensive demise.
I say “Nay!!!”
Launching a rather
Loudly inappropriate protest.
With all of my feisty lather,
I attempt a half-assed jest!
But I'm not joking.
I am not.
Gravity. What a horribly shitty guest!
I opt out!!
I simply do. It just not for me.
This aging get-down,
Perhaps it's for you?
But not I.
Protesting with an icy chill,
This is a far cry from a thrill.
(Excuse me for just a moment,
I must go take another pill.)
Sore joints, crows feet, vision going South?
I have had my fill!
You must understand my decision,
Appreciate my unprecedented position.
I have been paying for the botulism syringe,
Carefully dodging sunbeams that offend,
From beneath my wide brimmed hat.
Ordering fine potions.
(Please! Ship STAT!)
Getting any older?
Nope. Not doing that!
I opt out!
Yes, you heard me,
I'm simply won’t go.
I've called the 800 number,
About losing my glow.
What about my sexual, slippery slide,
Threatening a possible dry run?
Not happening!
My feisty partner laughs and says,
“Princess Vanity,” you have no choice here!”
I say “Nay!” “I refuse!”
I’ll even give up my,
Lavish festivities,
The entire month I decided to show,
If I can dramatically get this aging thing to slow!
You enjoy getting older, but I’m showing age the door.
I shall remain the way I am at present,
Don’t care what’s inevitable,
It matters not who says it.
This girl is aging no more.
I opt out!!!
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
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Elisa Christensen Poem
My love, have you finally found?
That my steps don't even touch the ground?
My head's always wrapped in fog,
And I'm caught singing to the dog?
It's all because you thrill me.
I chase you around with a crazy hunger,
And in some way feel decades younger,
I sleep smiling big, ear to ear,
My stories are all bouncing with cheer,
Yes, my dear, you thrill me.
You always seem to have on hand,
A seamless, perfect, fail-proof plan,
To launch me past the fat, full moon,
While keeping us in perfect tune,
With just one look, you thrill me.
Just when I regroup my head,
You throw me up onto our bed,
Each move you make so spot on right,
I'm higher than the highest kite,
I'm thrilled, simply thrilled.
I try, oh God you know I do,
To realize that you're mortal too,
But there is simply no disguise,
When you seduce me with those sexy eyes,
You are not from this earth. Not you.
What is this magic that you wield?
No need for any sword or shield,
Your lightning rod and bionic tongue,
Have got me completely good and spun,
Just flat thrilled. Yeah thrilled.
It's not just that hard, delicious bod,
It's not your attitude or your cocky nod,
It's you knowing you've got me wrapped,
I'm helpless, my powers completely zapped,
But mostly I'm just flat out thrilled.
It's not just the fire that you have begun,
It's the intelligent challenge, all the fun,
Of tangling with my male counterpart,
Being wrapped up in your loving heart,
That always seems to thrills me.
What must it be like to really know,
That someone you love adores you so,
That just your energy in my space,
Is enough to light up my whole face?
Plain thrilled.
Your essence is such pure, straight dope,
You charge me up, you give me hope,
Each day I wake up wrapped in you,
Is enough to ensure I'll soar on through,
Because my love, I'm thrilled with you.
Someday when you snarly expire,
And there comes an end to all your fire,
My world will stop spinning and stand still,
And I'll scream out for my ultimate thrill,
For nothing does it for me like you.
On your headstone it will say,
For all to read as plain as day,
The message that for sure must be,
Written down for all to see, simply,
"HE THRILLED ME!"
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
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Elisa Christensen Poem
I dreamed once of my life's end,
24 hours only left to live,
What to do with such little time,
Delicate, never to have it again,
Only a day in which to give.
A limited moment in the fabric of time,
Understanding my own demise,
No concern in the very least,
For the great tasks I'd achieved,
Not longing to be more wise.
Quickly I searched for those in my life,
The ones who had fluffed my soul,
Those who had been my brilliant kites,
Lifted me high, made me whole,
To thank them for being my light.
I saw my life through shiny, new lenses,
My understanding of why I was here,
The beauty overtook my senses,
My heart devoid of all fear,
Reaching out to those so very dear.
Reaching each one, I began to speak,
"You are the reason I have lived,
My life has no meaning,
Without you in my heart,
For you're the very beauty in my art.
You loved me without any limit,
You embraced me for all I could be,
You celebrated with me my life,
For each locked door you were my key,
Now in my passing you have set me free.
Fully knowing what it means to live,
Understanding my circumstance,
I've been given the ultimate chance,
A single day to reach you now,
And thank you for this dance.
Thank you for believing in me,
When my efforts fell so short,
For your encouraging words,
The shade of my tree,
My strength when I needed support.
Now that my time is ending,
This is all I long to do,
Deliver to you my gratitude,
To the handful, the very few,
To the ones who loved me true.
It's simply not about quantity,
Or the things that we make ours,
It's not about how rich we become,
Or if we've traveled to places afar,
It's about those who loved us for who we are.
I sent this message out that morning,
Once my dream was done,
I didn't except anything to happen,
Just another day under the sun,
Until the messages back had begun.
One after another they came,
Out pours of the most brilliant words,
Singing to me how I was cherished,
More than I'd ever heard,
My heart wrapped around each word.
My loved ones blessed me with saying,
The precise words my heart had craved,
That I had also changed their lives,
Brought smiles to them each day.
That they prayed I would always stay.
My life has changed profoundly,
From the dream I had that night,
I see things now, so different,
I no longer always need to be right,
Out of darkness I can see the light.
Each moment of life I'm granted,
Each second I'm given with you,
Is a blessing, a single thrill enchanted,
And as I realize they are so few,
I now appreciate each time that I do.
I hold sacred the times that you hold me,
Or simply lend me your ear,
I celebrate the very moments,
You share from your life with me,
Celebrating that you want me so near.
I no longer live life with drudgery,
I no longer spend time feeling low,
I now allow myself to truly notice,
How when you're with me I simply glow,
For now I understand, I really know.
Each moment in time is so precious,
Our lives could end in the next flash,
How important it is to really appreciate,
The ones who enlighten our fragile paths,
And tell them how we love them so, at last.
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
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Elisa Christensen Poem
True love and frustration,
Songs of my heart,
On being a woman. Why?
I love you. That’s why.
May I? What?
Have more pain?
Please.
I cannot avoid the trigger, I….
Just cannot. Sorry.
Too often, an outbreak,
Of frustration—pleasure--pain,
When I simply cannot
Avoid the trigger. Who?
The trigger is you.
Waving my flag, we both play our part.
“Don’t matter what you do, Little Darlin’
Wave your flag, stomp your feet.”
The trigger, the frustration.
My heartbeat.
Look, everybody makes mistakes.
Pain is a witch’s brew,
No coincidence there,
No bad luck.
So intense. Interesting.
I malfunction.
In several, colorful ways.
What about you? Are you angry?
Self-centered, unforgiving,
Insecure, finding fault.
Can’t recall a single day?
It may hurt, but there is
A new season upon me.
Other people, not always
The problem, sometimes
It is me.
The end result.
Worth it?
Awkward.
Facial expressions,
Feeling special.
Still worth it?
Moodiness, imperfections.
Is that how you see me?
It will not be easy for you.
Blindly I strike back,
The nearer you approach.
Even as I demand it of you.
Irrational, fighting what I seek.
Underneath my mask…weak,
But there, you,
Just might find my love,
Again.
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
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Elisa Christensen Poem
The scent of musty, truly ancient fine books,
Waifs seductively behind the impossible doors,
As they swing wide, out into L.A.’s balmy air,
I enter, a shiver, over what lies therefore.
There they are, the true Hollywood stars,
Scaling the walls as only starlets can do,
Boasting of their love affairs, their ambitious climbs,
Some a lifetime collection or stolen moments, a few.
The mood is deep, heady, a bit complex,
Rhythm bounces off walls and then covers the floor,
Anticipation stampedes down my spine in a rush,
I can sense before I can think of what lies in store.
Here I shall strip naked and bear it all,
To a crowd critiquing every, last curve,
Here I shall haughtily shove at them my soul,
But only if I maintain my wobbling nerve.
The bookshelves rise in grand gesture and pomp,
As the guests gather in twos, threes or more,
Casually they sip their uppers and downers,
As I make my surreal walk up the precarious floor.
Standing as a lone clown who’s lost his way,
The mic beckons I give him my voice,
I question this egotistical longing of mine,
As I realize I now have no choice.
Shaking, my voice cracks and tumbles affront,
As my eyes attempt some semblance of force,
I pray to a god I know does not exist,
Allowing the earth’s spin to direct my course.
Shimmying, skipping and jumping rope,
My utterances, feisty pebbles, tumble on out,
I dare not glance at the awaiting faces,
I have no desire to see what they’re about.
The scent of caffeine and a mixture of clean man,
Intellectuals, well groomed, they expect top tier,
Reaches me as I wrestle with my circumstance,
Choking back the tangy taste of my fear.
But then I am knocked down by the familiar wave,
Of my vision, deep, and admittedly askew,
I present my audience with my most empowered of choices,
Those bold words that trail blaze my point of view.
The way the love for my cherub babes,
Can catch me and snatch me straight off of my feet,
Leaving me spinning away from this globe,
As they playfully direct my thundering heart’s beat.
Or the limerick of a certain adored demigod,
Whom I found and bedded one New Year’s night,
Then wrapped my heart around, emblazoned beyond reason,
As I held on with my life to love’s wildest flight.
My words danced and spun, out they came,
Purple, soft and edgy, some blood red,
The familiar, little fairies that are usually only found,
Jitterbugging to their fancy music inside my head.
The moment seemed to stretch from here to the moon,
Yet somehow sped by as if late for a dance,
As I concluded, tears rolled straight off my chin,
As if they were an invited circumstance.
The room hushed quiet like a mother near a crib,
And I dared so slowly up my gaze,
Then alas! Hands wildly clapped and one loud whistle,
Formed a collective, most endearing paraphrase.
Their expressions stated clearly that my job here was done,
My utterances had evoked the desired end,
For my dancing fairies had flitted down on their hearts,
Delivering to them cherished delights once again.
A warmth crept up from my groin to my chest,
My mouth, dry, cracked a crooked smile,
As one thought only entered my head,
I must repeat this indulgence in a very short while!
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
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Elisa Christensen Poem
Yesterday brought not a storm,
But a suffocating stillness.
Everything stopped.
My throat grew dry.
My bones began to ache.
The silent but constant rhythm of my little world seized.
Everything stopped.
Then in exactly two more beats came my tears.
Torrents of heavy rain,
Glossing my cheeks,
Soaking my chest.
It was the first time I imagined life without you.
I pretended a plan. Wouldn’t be bad.
Freedom, quiet, peace.
Unchained from the waiting.
No more defending my honor
Against baseless suspicions.
No more loopy, infuriating roundabouts,
No more worrying about your teeth.
No more disrespect,
Where there should only be honor.
Peace. Quiet. Reflection.
Throw myself into my work.
Forget him.
Forget.
I am a one-woman power force and this,
Just silly, fleeting, impossibly maddening love.
Conquerable. Do-able.
But then….
For the first time,
I felt our hearts unlock and
Begin to unwind from
The delicate, lacy Intertwine
We so carefully spun together.
Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.
The air, thickened to soup, stifled me.
Every other creature on this Earth infuriated me.
And the tears! Oh the tears!
Where did they all originate?
How could there be so many?
And you. Silent. Cruel.
My mind could not wrap around this.
Not even for a second.
What about my favorite past times?
Watching you sleep and hearing you click and coo…
Running my ecstatic fingertips over your silkened,
warm skin,
Taking deep, heady, delightful sniffs,
Of your sunshine scent in.
Inviting you deep within my body
To release my every desire and longing,
Sending them clamoring loudly,
Back to their beginnings in angels’ gardens.
Where would I go to relax and take comfort?
For you are my home.
Where would I search out the excitement that is only you?
For you are my ultimate thrill.
How would I stand tall facing what I must?
For you are my tree, my bridge.
No. This simply will not do!
You! Persnickety lover of mine,
Stubborn, impossible, unreasonable,
Incorrigible, untamable you!
I must somehow not take another step.
I shall stop and sit on the path of my life.
I shall pout for weeks, months if I must,
Refusing to budge until you rejoin me.
For you are my life path.
You are my summer day.
You are my thunderstorm.
My double rainbow.
My quiet, blood-red sunset.
Now I know that such a ludicrous plan must never be realized.
For it is simply not truth.
It is nothing.
It is my undoing.
Unraveling.
My ending.
So you, fine lover,
Bring both feet back here please.
Replant them firmly, judiciously in our garden,
Where crazy, wild, unreasonable fruits
Grow jagged, ornery thorns,
But the birds hover high in the air
To catch the sweet, majestic swill of our lovemaking.
Where clouds part and separate,
Scooting far around our center,
Where stars show off,
Jitterbugging on a black velvet dance floor,
Where breezes skip hopscotch like child lunatics.
Where I go to taste the nectar,
Hear the laughter,
See the wonder,
Of all that life
Shall ever afford.
Our world.
Our sky.
Our garden.
Ours.
Us.
You and me.
Let no man part this sea.
For without you,
There is no more air to breathe,
No songs to sing,
No garden to grow,
No music by which to dance.
The magic is you.
Me
Us.
Ours.
Let it be then,
Forever.
Amen.
Copyright © Elisa Christensen | Year Posted 2016
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