creativity · Love · poetry · relationships · writing

A Thousand Whys

In summer they were rock,
a picture poured
of woman wanting,

but men are lazy,
could drive me to ask
a thousand why’s

Is it her play?
& will these drunks
blow through
or licker?

(Friday is magnetic poetry.  The Oracle provided me with a little pun there at the end.)

creativity · Family · poetry · relationships · Uncategorized · writing

Adult Child

So my luck –
father’s favourite child,
me, no boy for him…

he drinks –
thousand morning scold –
knows I respect, make peace
and, you’d think
protect them

star – wishing god
was there, us
together, working it.

(Friday is Magnet Poetry online.)

adversity · culture · Family · poetry

Gains and Losses

The mistress, meticulously groomed
glows a sun-kissed bronze shimmery
invitation, promising seductive
sensations of pleasure and release.

The husband, tense, overworked,
emotionally overwrought
heeds the call like a sailor
following the lure of sirens.

The flirtation begins in innocence,
he sips from her splendour at a party,
tastes her bittersweetness and
feels himself losing all control.

She is a master, a pupeteer
mesmerizing him with her smooth,
easy ways – lulling him into compliance
and alone; for private indulgence.

The wife, tired, lies awake
the empty space beside her
echoing the hollow place within-
she no longer holds his desire.

Spent and reeking from his illicit encounter,
the husband stumbles into bed,
reassuringly reaching for his wife in the dark.
Unresponsive, she feigns sleep.

They’ll not speak of it tomorrow-
awake and re-engage in the routine they call life.
Not tonight, he’ll tell himself,
Not tonight, she’ll hope.

The mistress sits smugly in waiting,
a never ending supply of liquid gold,
bottled with a promise – subliminally
conditioned to bring personal gain.

(Gains and Losses first appeared here in December of 2014.  As a child of alcoholism, the Christmas season is always a reminder of the pain.   Some gains are just not worth the cost.  If you or someone you love has a problem with addiction, please make it a resolution to seek help.  There is so much more to life.)

abuse · Family · poetry

In-just-ice

Be done short patience,
chores!  I need libation
(preferably organic) –
not that I’m dependent

I’m just a bit anxious,
could use a boost of fun,
imbibing makes me less
mechanical, loosens edges

none of that hard stuff,
a little nip will do, keep
the dream alive – feeling
a little lame here, seems

my supply, having waned,
needs replenishing, and since
I’m semi-aware with spirit,
and my driver has left me

I’m making social calls –
won’t be repeating any
dangerous family patterns –
this outage’s unscheduled

seems no one is home –
surely, I am capable, I mean
this need is understandable,
allowances can be made, right?

Maybe if I just go quietly,
without causing a scene –
I really need a shot of patience
just to get through this day.

(Image: www.boldrugs.com)

Family · memoir · new project · nonfiction · writing

Four Voices

At the age of four, I moved with my family into a new house that my father had built, on the outskirts of town.  The day of our move my mother disappeared, and left to my own devices, I defied my father’s rules about staying out of certain parts of the house and discovered secret places, the beginning of my awareness that all was not as it seemed.  When my mother returned, she was carrying a new baby sister, and all was seemingly well, until one day she too discovered that the walls had secrets.

Four Voices tells the story of growing up in a family where secrets defined us; and examines the relationship between a daddy’s girl and her father, split between two worlds.  All names have been changed for this story.  Part I, starts at the end of seventeen-year-old Betty-Ann’s home life, and can be read here.

I have attempted to write this story for most of my life, however; I was always missing an essential piece – my father’s perspective.  Now, armed with new understanding, I offer you a tale of tragic misunderstanding and hope for healing.

Feedback is deeply appreciated.

 

dreams · Family · recovery

Fall from Grace

The proverbial can has exploded –
transparency of our deceit now lies
like swarms of glass snakes writhing
at our feet – litany of hissing truths.

Bent on keeping innocence alive,
I strategically attempt avoidance,
point to wealth, abundance, nurture
focus – the onslaught continues.

Slivers of slime, maggot-like hoards
mobilize – a sea of protestation, I
overwhelmed by filth and disgust
encroaching on my sanity – helpless.

Familiarity colours the devastation –
have witnessed it before, watched
as my mother bit into the same
serpent defiled apple – turned away.

There are no barriers to block out
the vile beasts – no refuge for broken
souls, whose lives – twisted in denial –
have mercilessly fallen to betrayal.

Family · recovery

Ocean’s Legacy

My father’s eyes were the ocean,
hypnotizing, alluring, and I desired
to know their depth, their mysteries,
certain that true love dwelt there.

Volcanic was his temperament,
a constant fiery, churning nature,
that both awed and frightened –
danger always lurking: precarious.

He was the mountain, and we; his
offspring cowering in his shadows,
smothered by his darkness, only
dreaming of light: tortured souls.

Impotent in the face of his angst,
sought reparation elsewhere, looked
for his soul in the heart of others,
longed for healing from his disease.

Found eyes like his, mannerisms
that mimicked, aspired to love,
encountered unspoken truths:
learned of addiction’s demons.

Ran from one man to another,
constantly confronting same
wall of denial, dance of anger,
insurmountable debilitation.

I am my mother’s daughter,
congenial to a fault, driven
to please, pleased to submit,
an alcoholic’s dream mate.

Like my mother, I long for
something indescribable –
certainly unattainable – believe
that I am fated, unlovable.

Fallen, as I have, as she had,
into the mesmerizing blue
of his ocean, craving to know
the love that surely dwells there.