Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Early morning musings of an abused child

The dark before dawn
is safest.
The sun yet an eastern
pixilated hope.
The stars faded and flickering out.
The moon retired to dusky sheets.
It's quiet.
The parents are dozing, recharging
the molester/monster is sated
or dead
sisters vigilantly sleeping.
I lay breathing, listening for the
ominous creak
of warning floorboards,
my soul chilling, shriveling.

The adult me drives to work
inky paths securely traversed
in a snug cocoon of metal,
watching other brave lights
sleepily creeping along
black streets.
Well being purls through
my limbs, warming, soothing.
My employer's building
glows in the near distance,
a holy city of soft
white light on a hill
welcoming me to
another day of
clarity.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Three Jacks









The last of the three Jacks
passed away today.

These three sober men were
my heart,
my courage,
my balance.

Jack H.
bold in the face of
my anger
playful, joking me
out of my despair
admiring me for the
woman he knew
I was but had yet
to reveal.

Jack M.
fatherly mentor
Catholic titan
understanding my
family issues and
willing to step away
but showing up for
me anyway, on that
most important day.

Jack R.
spiritual giant with
a heart that spanned
the imperfect world
always encouraging us
to give others yet another
chance to say 'yes'
joining two. disparate
souls into one family

Mourning the last one today
as he joyfully runs to his
Creator's arms.

Jealous of his surety
of his God's Love
but he was always sure.


Friday, December 6, 2013

One day my lover

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Disappointed.
Disillusioned.
Again.
The usual male behavior
has not disappeared
or matured
with age.
I refuse to lower
ever
my standards for
yet another loser.
How do others do it,
the long term
the tolerance of bad
behavior, the acceptance
of indifference or
manipulation of the
heart on my sleeve?
My eyes meet the
horizon and
continue to
hope
for
a next time.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Halloween party













Ruby lips
leather snugness
curls bounce
swirling skirts
hot high boots
braided crop

Sweat beads
color blooms
skin gleams
voices murmur
fingers stroke
thanks given

And accepted

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Musca domestica










Lazily careening around
the office, bouncing off the
buzzing lights, dancing delicately
on each and every slat of the
mini blinds, buzzing vibrating
like a small chainsaw,
with time off to dive bomb the
human as she contemplates an
especially knotty bookkeeping
problem, and longer
pauses on the sill,
framed in cloudy morning light,
daintily cleaning each leg and wing.
antennae twitching thoughtfully,
compound eyes blinking, scheming.
Some suicide missions succeed as
it briefly careens off her
forehead to deposit microscopic
filth, delighted at thrashing arms
and low cursing.
Swatted at irritably, the fly
zooms off a new and
equally intriguing trajectory,
looping her head again
and again, until
suddenly
his guts crash
through his small brain as a
swatter slams him into
oblivion on a cinder block
wall.

(Inspired by the prompt at Imaginary Garden with Toads, Point of View With Place, 10/9/13)

Ode to a Woman on the Edge of Time

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You risked those
cliff edges of forbidden
topics and family storms
to pen dramatic truths of
women and their battles of
validation and identity.
You refused to be confined or
shaped by men's structure,
demands, or
capricious grammatical rules.
Your work inspired my life
choices, my master's thesis,
my daughter's name, and
my writing style.
To always, always tell
the emotional truth and
honor my feelings, my
history, my needs,
my tears.
Thank you for
not only helping find
my voice, but to speak
with it in my writing.

(Written for the prompt at Poets United, "Writers are Lovers", 10/9/13)

Orenda

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A word to describe
who I aspire to be
how I will be of service
where I am striving to go
how I understand the
Spirit of the Universe.
"A mystical force present
in all people that empowers
them to affect the world,
or to effect changes in
their own lives."

This word delights and
appeals to me,
a Higher Power by any
other name is still God.

The Presence shines in my eyes
exudes from my skin
radiates in my activities and
personality and intentions.
I glow in the dark when I am most
in tune and in sync with my Orenda.
Those around me take a little piece
of Her, of me, after every interaction.
I'm glad to share the wealth of
good and positive that has been
so freely given to me.

Almost ten years have unfolded
since You revealed yourself to me.
I am honored to know your name
at last.

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

W^5-H

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Another email, full of the
usual cheery questions about
me and deadly silence about
you, making me wonder...

What if you were the
lunatic all these years
not the others,
whom you blamed for
your work
personal dilemmas
financial woes?

Why won't you ever
explain to me what
is really going on with
you and your alleged
health problems,
hiding behind
veiled innuendo and
the insisted upon
veil of privacy from
creditors and ex's,
pretending that I am
some sort of security
risk to keep me at
a distance from
the truth?

How dare you claim
friendship and long-suffered
love for me, while trying
to verbally minimize me
my needs my feelings?

Where did you get the idea
that you, like my
family of origin,
had the right
to make me into
the crazy one, the
unreasonable one, the
selfish narcissistic one,
just so that you
could look
normal?

Who do you think you
are, to attempt to
define my reality
my emotions, especially
twenty years later?

When are you going
to clean this up, make
things right between us,
and quit peddling this
sickly alternate view of
reality?

It really was YOU all along,
wasn't it, who was
the unsound one, the
logical lunatic,
the controlling mad man?

I was, in fact,
the normal one,
requesting
accountability
respect
honesty
trust
authenticity
love without pain.

Those weren't insane
expectations from
someone who thought
she loved you -
they were
real
human
normal.

(And don't ever tell me
again that 'normal' is a
setting on a dishwasher.)

Aloof













Centered
peaceful
detached with love
removed from risk
immersed in self care
yet
accused of aloofness.
Yes?
Your point is?
I didn't know you
were even tuned in
enough to
my station to
notice that
I have been
carefully
holding myself
apart
uninvolved
separate from
your personal
shit storm.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Differences

Why do I love my single life
so much?

Besides the fact it is my life.

What underpins his?

Mud. Dirt. Weeds. Dust.
Chaos. Indecisiveness. Mold.
Clutter. Water issues. Debt.
Insecurity. Loneliness.

Mine?

The shining floors
the carefully swept cement driveway,
contentment, meditation,
clean, healthy food,
music misting the corners and
candles scenting and centering
each room, purring furnace,
and leaf-blanketed yard.
Decisions about tough things
made, not disregarded.
A care for well being.
A home.

And...the soul-deep peace
with no need to long after things
unavailable or unwanted.

(Inspired by the prompt at Theme Thursday, "Cement", 10-3-13)

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Dark

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Again and again
I come to this place
where my biggest trigger
kicks my ass
brings me low
dishes me despair
flogs me hopeless.
Thunderous clouds of
financial worries
dull my eyes, raise the
blood pressure, feed
the addictions and 'isms',
terrify the Inner Kids
with old fears and hurts
judgments.
Weary of being forced to
my knees, bowing my
neck to the uncertainties
and pain of my very own
choices.
Please.
Please make it stop.
Pl....

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Synchronicity



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An old divey store front
peered through in the
dusk of now
remembering a party
long past
at this dark locale,
watching bodies dancing
lights flickering
glasses clinking
eerily vibing something
unexplained
wondering if I walked in
there today,
would I come
face to face with the
spirit of myself
from long ago
wearing the mask of
alcoholism disguised
as fun.

Off to see the Wizard












Sauntering slowly through fields of flowers
observing the horizon gently stretching towards me
wondering at the pilgrimage that is
every unfolding, if only I will behold the moment.
Sometimes, those flowers are wicked witch
poppies and I must be alert for obstacles
and tripping hazards and subtle quicksands.
It's too easy to get caught in the somnolence
of life's mazes, though the vista is fantastic
if I can balance the walk and the wandering.

(Poem inspired by and image from "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads", 9/30/13)

Taut

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Timid toddler
Abused child
Angry teen
Wild young woman
Reluctant mother
Middle aged possibly
veering toward
crone
but I don't feel old.
Living all those stages of
life
simultaneously
though more
poised and
accepting than I have
ever been.
A fellow traveler
I had not seen
or remembered
in two decades
solemnly informed me
that I was a hot mess
at twenty four.
I waded in that memory pool
for a few moments
musing over the
rage confusion
alcoholism
promiscuity
vulnerability.
I don't miss those days of
tension uncertainty fear.
Woman wise accepting self
in all phases.
(Inspired by the prompt at Sunday Scribblings, "Bio", 9-29-13)

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Doors

Image credit

Each beckons
seductive
commanding
demure
imperious
humble
terrifying.
A choice must be 
made, they demand.
One is especially
emphatic that
she be the only option 
- the one I am least
interested in,
the only one that 
does not serve or
promote
my dreams,
needs.
I turn my back 
despite the clamorous
protests
stride into
open space
unconfined
true to self.
(Written for "Theme Thursday", Doors, 9-26-13)

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Becoming visible













The layers come off
isolation
fat
dark colors
no makeup
white hair
glasses
hiding out physically
mentally
emotionally
spiritually.
All around
I am noticed
sought out
loved
after hibernating
in my mind and
thickened body
ignoring the beckoning
of those who would
know me and
those who would love me.
Little by little
the color and vivacity
seep back into my skin
from the deep well
where they quietly waited.

(Written for Tuesday Tryouts "Photographs as Metaphors", 9/24/13)

Monday, September 23, 2013

Within




















The inner child
flying freely
rejoicing
freed from the
prison of dysfunction
that was my mind,
lately a garden of joy
dancing around the
light of blinding self-love
attracted to unfolding identity
moth like, compulsive, tireless.
But even she eventually
wears down
must rest and recharge
the intoxicating abandon
of being our true self.

(Written for "Magpie Tales" prompt, 9-22-13, Mag 87.)

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Old, new















After seeking self empowerment
in varied venues and many years,
it is finally found, fulfilled
in an unexpected source.
A underground group
of specific activities.
The strap is placed in hand and 
wielded with self love, 
scouring the
resentments and anger
from the wrinkles of the
brain as marks appear in
flaming reds, patterns of
blues, purples, black almost
breaking skin, blood pooling in
controlled tattoos of domination.
Surprising empowerment
surges through the veins,
singing along arms,
hair follicles, tingling toes.
Finally awake.
Absolutely free.
The strength that was always
within
has fully emerged 
firmly rooted, spreading
encompasssing,
enfolding, caressing.
Striding with assurance, sexy, 
wielding the leather 
confidently
precisely
doubtless
queen of my own life
at last.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Quinquenagerian - to be real

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A half century after birth
attaining an age most of
the grandparents and great grands
did not achieve and
after surviving a life threatening
illness in this, my fiftieth year,
I wonder what the next fifty
might hold.
I hope I am only
just past half.
Just past center.
I intend so much more.
The first fifty were
amazing, but
I am now, more
than ever,
striving for more
for positive
for productive
for love
for joy
to fly towards and upward
not to slide downhill
to the end.
But mostly
to be alive
healed
grateful
the fur is rubbed off
and the body is lumpy
but oh so grateful
to breath
daily.
(Posted for the Poets United prompt, "Just Past Center", 9-18-13)

Friday, September 20, 2013

Transformation














Vitality to
dying
eating starving sleeping
making
changing.
Old foes got old,
passed beyond
understanding or
amends.
New friends too.
No sense to who
goes or
stays.
Mortality is
sparkling eyes
the cane in hand
dancing steps
the dust
of confusion
swirls around
grateful toes
alive.
And how.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

To be me



















I am an adult.
I am not asking your permission.
I am giving you the courtesy of being
informed about a decision that
I have made.
Have you ever known me
to make any life-changing choice
without thoroughly researching it
and prayerfully considering it?
I have done so.
I accept myself
and
my decision.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

thirty feet



















That disassociation between
father and foe
that was declined,
a distance that could have
healed, but only hurt
and betrayed.

The hypocritical dishonesty
that spanned that
same space
under the same,
the
exact
same
circumstances
with a
favorite
child
of equal sins.

(Facts are facts,
after all,
by
his
very
own
faith definition.)

Blessings given that
were spitefully withheld
from one who needed them
even more.

The distance between him,
his self-assigned salvation
and the God of
my understanding,
only
tentatively spanned by
an auspiciously timed
apology.

(Why am I never good enough?)

I wonder how his God
sees this discriminatory behavior,
now enacted thrice.
I know how Mine does, and
She does not hesitate
to soothe my troubled
heart with Her
unconditional
Love.

Here comes the bride.