Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Sold my soul for union –
destruction built-in
Narcissism is a bastard
luxuriates in self-catering
Did not anticipate loss –
innocence slaughtered
Force to grow sensibility
don a tough shell –
Would not let betrayal
call me by name.
It was not meandering
that shredded my heart
but the loss of a child
caught in the crossfire
too young to discern
parental alienation.
(Image from personal collection.)
Of course she is away
caught in the schism
of her parents’ divorce
played like a pawn
She is emotionally numb
incapable of articulating
wants and desires – broken
though no one notices.
(Poem originally appeared on Twitter. Visit me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Married addiction
adopted denial
settled for basics
Espoused spirituality
ignored infidelity,
pulled down the blinds.
Believed compassion
could compensate
for indifference.
Limited my outlook
to windows, too insecure
to de-smudge the pane.
Missed the gaping doorways,
the blatant rudeness
of belligerent disrespect
Till withdrawal prompted
accountability, commanded
ownership, changed the lock.
(Image from personal collection.)
Absence fills the silence
with shadowy wings
becomes a raven
sharp-taloned,
razor-beaked
I cower
loss too
immense
for comprehension
would lay my body down
be consumed, but for
the children’e eyes pinning me
their woeful gazes,
begging to be uplifted
I am abandoned
and not
a flicker
called to be
beacon.
(Art from personal collection)
In darkened room
I lie, willing blackness
to obliterate blackness.
A scream, unearthed
from dankness
shatters the silence,
echoes off heartless walls,
shock waves reverberate
relentless torment
seventeen years…
committed, no…
dedicated
ripped away
leaving me
nothing
I fall, spiral
reel out of control
breaking down
tomorrow,
the children will return
the house will fill again,
and I will pick up
these shards,
piece together
some semblance
of normalcy,
and begin
to rebuild
in the dark.
(Written for dVerse pub, where Lillian is hosting with a challenge to focus on time: “To everything there is a season…”)
Winter came early –
seeped into intimate
corners, froze hearts.
Walls papered white,
intending cheer, only
accented bitter cold.
Layers of submission,
hope, denial, ineffectual
in refueling the warmth.
She followed him down
the unavoidable slope
deep into the abyss.
Chilled, shaken she
braced for the arduous
trek ahead, injected
lightness into an
impossible situation,
committed, unaware
that he’d moved on,
abandoned her with his
customary indifference.
Years later, thawed
by the warmth of solitude
she reflected, wondered
how the blatancy of his
oddities has escaped her –
his fixation on antiquated
ideals, how he furnished
her mind with incoherencies,
collected things, not values.
She had merely been
an observer in his life,
yet it had escaped her
that it was the fiery
summer of her soul,
that had melted his ice
her scorching, all –
embracing passion
that had united them
and, as in all things
seasonally inevitable,
their love would die.
(Seasons Of Love originally appeared in February 2016.)
mind regresses
in the aftershock –
tremors of misspent
devotion reverberate
suffocating debris
teenage hearts
caught in the quake –
a marital schism –
plucked unripe
sweetness battered
I, colourless
abandoned, like
a runner-up in
a beauty pageant
forgotten, flailed
failed as a mother
withdrawn, rattled
psyche exploding
survival a slow crawl
challenges weighty
aligned my burden
with that of another
six adolescents, and
a bi-polar man looking
for female direction
craved the laughter
of children, the sanity
of structures unbroken
dust of the aftermath
clouding sensibility
anarchy rejoices
at lack of clarity
loss of control, dreams
of bliss have no home
when depression rules
retrace steps –
ponder the road
that led to destruction
search for light before
darkness took possession
found a trail of
foundations lacking
fortitude, wrought
with cracks, underlying
angst threatening
the earthquake, I see
as inevitability –
my landscape strewn
with fault lines
corrupt under stress
drama follows the weak
an internal compression
and shifting, uncontainable
wildness – destined to
destroy – breakthrough
(Image: dictionary.reference.com)
He possessed a certain divinity,
a soft-spoken modesty she read
as safe harbour, fell for maiden-like
innocence, her blessed compliance.
Married in the sacred way, carnal
mounting accentuating a tailored
love – husband and wife exploring,
celebrating glorious submission
until joy plummeted – impossible
to duplicate infatuation in a void –
they grasped at objects, mystery –
remodeled, relocated, searched,
constructed a delicate balance –
contrived happiness, passionless,
spontaneous and fearful, rawness
of exposed souls clinging together
saw deliverance in the perfection
of celebrity, worshiped at the feet
of media icons, like fools pandering
to a naked Emperor, no amount of
polish could contain the anxiousness
of their precariousness; quietly he
undressed another, fiery girl, while
surprised onlookers, sensitive, yet
unwilling to intervene – the discernible
darkness seeping through cracks of a
once golden haze – closed their doors to
the holy union now veering off course,
shielded themselves from bludgeoning
nostalgia, the anguished cries of vows
slaughtered bleeding onto sidewalks,
as if pain bore tentacles, spidery limbs
able to infiltrate the secrets of their
own carefully compartmentalized
partnerships, disrupt the grind and
lay bare the godless infidelities within.
(Image: nypost.com)
Patience does not apply
in a family lacking ease,
nor is loyalty gifted…
my sister – a fiery red
corvette fuelled by hate
would slaughter kin
lived for the fight,
gleaned energy from
sinful behaviours
despite hard-work,
tasted power in attracting
meat – a fleshy cow –
processed sweethearts
with abandonment,
hardly caring, despised
public scrutiny – her world
a miniscule burlesque show
fluttering raw flesh inviting
scavengers – appeased out of
necessity – she shopped crowds,
possessed a light that shouted:
“Open for business” – dared
not endure loneliness, desperate
to annihilate the past –
her heart, a massive-winged
avenger, pummelled by
the memories of a brother
her twin – torn from her
by a deserting father – left
dying like an unwanted pest
an agonizing plummet
into an unendurable darkness
from which she sought any
infiltration, yearning to
pierce, to relieve, the musty
hold of her ground-up reality:
no virtue in patience,
no prize in loyalty
each woman for herself
(Image: insanityismyreality.deviantart.com)
An unexpected guest –
invited by a spouse –
sends a wife grasping,
stretching, unsettled
by sequence of events.
She has rattled around
this oversized ranch of
a house, treasured the
rapid upward mobility,
covered up insecurities,
believed their marriage
to be respectable, now
waking up to his secret
tries to calm anxiety by
downplaying interludes
outside the marital bed,
but upstairs the other
has claimed a presence,
her scheming husband
temporarily committed.
Does she keep the secret
or make it public; shatter
their privacy, tear children
from their father, or exist –
convince herself it’s not
real, is over with, sleep
in separate quarters,
hold onto the luxury,
live with what is, try
to keep heart in home?
She can’t handle it
anymore, hindsight
progressing, comfort
no longer valid, risks
losing children, too
weary minded to care,
wondering how she’d
missed the significance
of her husband bringing
home an uninvited guest.
(Image: divorcesupport.about.com)
