Poem: Sitting


Stretching years

solitude

Fortress walls

stone comforts hold

Noise outside

blank inside

Endless seconds

turn forgotten gone

Thoughts come visit

and leave again

quiet quiet

While the walls

listen

listen

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Poem: Long Ago


Long ago

two strangers met

and their fate was sealed

 

A child’s life

had been hurt

but a woman helped it heal

 

She took her hand

and brought her home

to help her learn to feel

 

Some days were hard

and both felt pain

life could feel surreal

 

But the woman

always was there for her

through every life ordeal

 

So even though

not by birth

as my Mother you are real

 

Dedicated to my dear Mom on her 91st birthday. You are my heart and soul. Thank you for the day you found me, brought me home and have helped me on my journey ever since!

Poem: Anne


Just like every

teenage girl

hating her mother

adoring her father

(knock knock–run and hide)

confounded by her

changing body

as her clothing shrank

(keep quiet–voices down)

With her big voice

and own ideas

all alone and feeling

unloved

(thump thump–what was that?)

Just a girl

with a yellow star

who said what she felt

(Move that there!)

So the world would

live the truth

(Come with us!)

Forever

Poem: Sometimes I Forget


Sometimes I forget

when I am writing on the

steamy bathroom mirror

about happiness and joy

–my daily prayers

because life feels lacking

And I forget

when my wants

walk in front of my needs

I forget and I forget–

Until I remember

how close it was

the demon snapping at your heels

And every phone call feeling like dread

Or the day I looked in your window

and saw you lying on your mattress

on the floor

too still

Or when you first told me about

the problem

But then

I stop forgetting

and remember

and know that my life

has really been fine

since the moment

your life

got OK

 

Poem: Alone


Alone

is the silence of the room

each night

with the shadow light

and wearing

the blanket

like a shroud

to cover what’s gone

Alone

where memories scream

and eyelids darken

walking backwards

through regret

Alone

is hearing every sound

near and far

for the stillness

of it all

Alone

cousin once removed

from lonely

in a family

lathered with space

Alone

Quiet

Choice

 

Poem: Sleep Sweet


I love to climb upon my bed and sleep

and place my head upon my pillow deep

My body caught in one place all night

while my crazy thoughts soar off in flight

It’s the place I leave my morbid doubts

and also the endless brain bending shouts

They’re left in a far away place

and are replaced with open space

The space is filled with trips and tales

anything goes that side of the veil

And oh the places that I do go

some I recognize, some I don’t know

But the ones where I have already been

I often end up visiting long dead kin

And passing back through clicks of time

can give moments of the lost sublime

Because mistakes passed by twice

this time can turn out quite nice

And now with the Autumn chill

snuggling under the covers deeper still

Living the the land of dreams

is sometimes better than life it seems

So let me sleep long and sweet

and all those I’ve ever loved this evening meet

 

Reality Shootings


It’s not surprising (to me anyway), that our society is crumbling under an opioid crisis, people suffering from mental illness or comfort eating and heart disease, plus all the many other myriad diseases and problems afflicting us nationally.

One answer seems obvious to me, part of it anyway. Many of us are suffering from PTSD and survivor guilt.

With all the horrible events that have been going on now for years, and I repeat, years—our brains are inundated from the media and our devices by the trauma of seeing the scenes of these events. Many years ago, we rarely would experience the raw horror that we do now–first hand (sometimes from a phone of someone right there): the noise, the blood, the screams, the carnage. And not just once, but over and over. How much can the brain  handle, day after day, year after year, without going over the edge? Mine is certainly on overload.

What is PTSD? It is caused by the triggering of traumatic events: disasters, abuse or any kind of trauma. It can happen when someone you love has been harmed also. Normally we don’t experience it ourselves unless we have been through the event, but what about now? Do you think it’s possible seeing footage from the phone of someone who was actually there during a shooting, would this do the same thing to us? How do these ‘pictures’ stay in our minds: people falling from buildings, human blood everywhere, kids running from a school or actually watching someone being shot…

Let’s face it people, if you are at all caring about your fellow human being, this can’t be good. We are pretty much experiencing these things as though we are there. It’s like reality shootings. Maybe they’ll make a new TV series. They might as well for as much as they play the stuff–and we watch.

What does all this watching do to us anyway?  How does it make you feel when you go out somewhere (or maybe you don’t even want to)? Do you check where the exits are now? Does your heart rate go up if you hear something weird? Are you simply numb to this stuff now? Are you mistrustful of others? Do you feel sad a lot?  Can you sleep at night or have your dreams changed? I know I have been greatly effected by the heinous crimes crushing our country.

Even if we weren’t at these places, we can’t help but feel: why these people? As we pour through their stories, it makes our story feel somewhat meaningless. When it’s a kid… there’s a collective: why so young and what if was my child? It’s so chilling.

And the roulette guilt of: I’m here, they’re not. I’m enjoying my life, those poor people aren’t anymore. My feelings of gratitude just get ruined by the extreme senselessness of it all. It’s just hard to hold those two feelings in the same space.

It’s all this nation wide secondary guilt because nothing is being done about it. We all just sit around waiting for the next one to happen, because we know it will, while law-makers tell us now isn’t the time to talk about any changes in the laws. It’s all so frustrating! So we just wait…holding our breath and wonder where will be next. What venue? How many? What city? Is there a person out there now contemplating it…?

How’s that for your health, while we think: will it be me next time or my kid? That makes my heart thump. This is why I don’t sleep. What about you?

So I ask: do we really need to see this stuff so much? Is it only me that thinks the perpetrators may sometimes do these things because they understand they will be glorified by the media? And all of us watching and watching and watching… Their sick moment of fame.

I’ve made a promise to myself: I will watch no more (or listen or read). What if none of us did? What if we heard about these awful things and said prayers for those dead (and their families), but didn’t pick up our phones, or look on our computers, or shut off our TV and radios? What if we refused? Could we demand from our media sources to stop flooding our minds with such gruesome images and sounds? Instead just report the facts and move on.

Sadly, I can’t seem to create change to laws by my vote, but I can do this one thing instead. It’s something that I do have control over: to reduce the bombardment of the grisly media show to my brain. And by doing this, allowing more space in there for good energy.

It’s ultimately up to us. I’m not saying we can stop people from killing, but maybe we can stop ourselves from becoming a more ill society than we already are, and if we do, maybe this in turn will help in the long run.

Poem: To Those I Know By Heart


People are songs

melodic magicians

who orchestrate the chorus

of our hymnal life

Some drift out

in random times

where their notes are left

to dissipate

within the holy air

Others repeat over and over

stuck in the groove

the turning wheel

of fate

which plays endlessly

on and on

And there are those that

blast

loudly around our bones

only to shake us down

to listen for them

alone

quietly in the descending night

But

the ones that hum within us

and weave gently around our key

are easy familiar tunes

we will always

know by heart