Made of steel,
I have withstood
your darkness,
borne the blackened
traces of your hardened
words upon my soul,
have carried for you,
endured the weight
of your substance –
lack of substance –
this charred shell
all that remains,
tarnished metal
walls, contents
now empty.
(Daily Addictions daily prompt is scuttle)
Absence of table
echoes in a room
reserved for its
central role –
I am at a loss,
no explanation
proceeding
this disappearance
have just woken
from a slumber
deep, to this hole
in certitude
grasp for answers
wonder at significance
if I’ve missed signals
question permanence
left with silliness
of chairs, the mockery
of dust – balled
fragments revealed
stand at kitchen counter
nibbling, dubious
unable to relax –
the table is gone.
The years have done their damage,
resentments, like border guards,
line up between us…
and then you just show up,
as if somehow that makes you the better person,
as if your presence will make me forget, forgive
and I fumble for the right words,
attempt graciousness, even as I’m struggling
to feed the hurt, coddle the innocence lost
you hurt the deepest core of me,
the child, barely able to stand on her own,
the burden of her frailty heavy enough
what amusement must you derive
from revisiting our torturous past,
I cannot fathom – all too much for me.
Strength of conviction,
power of physical being,
his spirit timeless –
yet, he is weary,
wonders how he can
maintain
a life of integrity, ensure
a future for those he loves,
in the shadows of
civilization’s whims.
(If you’ve received this via email, and cannot see the posted picture, please visit the site. Â The image is of a wild stallion who graced us with his presence on our recent visit to Arizona. The poem is dedicated to the him.)
This path I walk is not my own;
it’s paved with genetic markers,
familial dysfunction, and ancestral angst.
Can you see them walking with me?
Those whose lives were cut too short –
the addicts, the tortured, the diseased –
none of us free – ensconced in blame.
If you walk with me,
I’ll help you carry your burden
and you can support me with mine.
I stand at the intersection
of broken dreams and hope for tomorrow
and in my altered state of awareness
see the commonality of our striving,
understand the patterns that divide,
and grasp the illusion of injustice
that denigrates our interconnectedness.
If you walk with me,
I’ll help you carry your burden
and you can support me with mine.
I stop and wait for an opening
to share this revelation
of underlying harmonious intent,
but the whir of societal traffic
complicates communication,
and I can find no voice to cut
through the din of the dead.
If you walk with me,
I’ll help you carry your burden
and you can support me with mine.
I turn the corner on my old life,
detach with loving sorrow
from a road that never served me,
a direction wrought only with pain.
Tiny arms await me on this open road,
eyes wide with wonder and possibility.
There is joy to be found along the way.
If you walk with me,
I’ll share this new adventure
and together, we’ll have much to gain.
(Changing Directions was originally published June, 2015)
Tired of same old endings,
in which hopes are slaughtered
and tragedy and insanity win.
Raised by the bottle, learned
to set standards low –
still afraid of heights –
have fallen as the ground
beneath my aspirations crumbled –
a certainty under alcohol’s rule.
Tired of same old endings,
in which self is battered by indifference
and ego loses the battle for control.
Mother’s denial a coping mechanism
negating children’s need, obliterating
safety, disregarding long-term damage;
even in the older years, when we tried
to get her out, were powerless against
his manipulation, his eternal imprinting.
Tired of same old endings
in which the heroine, resources spent,
succumbs to the madness, suicides.
Want to believe in a future, greener,
hopeful, in which relationships
are fulfilling, and life goals are
supported, in which encouragement
is not fodder for deviousness, and
personal best is rewarded, sustained.
Tired of same old endings
haunting my dreaming hours,
taunting my waking dreams.
(Inspired by Steve Still Standing‘s  “An Exercise in Poetic Styles”)
Even the river bleeds –
fiery frigid essence –
earth’s watery voice.
***
It is the river
that calls, waters flowing
through my veins
and I am the banks
steadfast in my holding
the razor sharp edges
like liquid steel
eroding my earthen
postures, challenging
the hardened places.
To stroll amongst giants –
straight-backed arrows
whose green bows aim skyward –
a directional pull so uplifting
that earthly matters diminish –
this is contentment.
Console me
when life, upended
shuns and ridicules
let me know I’ll be alright
Step out
of picket-fence thinking,
find beauty in my uniqueness,
show me that love has no boundaries
Teach me
to treasure all that I am
even if that all is beyond
your comprehension
Grow with me
encourage exploration
demonstrate courage
in face of the unforeseeable.
(A Child Responds follows yesterday’s poem: A Mother Asks. Both poems were inspired by a post I wrote a few years back: No One Will Ever Love You)
How to receive a child
whose untimely arrival
serves only to punctuate
existing turmoil; whose
cries further entrap
a despondent mother…
How to love a child
who differs markedly
from gifted sons
from idyllic daughters
bears only resemblance
to the crime’s perpetrator
a child who lacks
the finesse so carefully
imbued in siblings –
fiery eyes and attitude,
preferring solitude of nature
to niceties of family life
How to guide this child,
this symbol of a past best left
behind, this burgeoning woman
defying all expectations –
this enigmatic burden?
(Follow up to this poem is: Â A Child Responds)
One Woman's Quest 