Summary

A collection of poetry around the theme of pain and painful memories. Poetry can express many things. This collection is a collection of poems about difficult times, abuse, post traumatic stress, difficult memories and the hardness of life. I find these poems do not depress but express an experience we all share and give testament to the resiliency of the human spirit.

When the Dragons Came

“Dragons?

Are they mythical creatures or extinct?”

That is what you ask me.

I stand here in front of you

Tears streaming down my face,

Occasionally gasping for air,

Occasionally remembering to breathe,

Heart pounding

Impossible to focus my thoughts,

But a moment ago when I had breath,

A moment of clarity,

Enough to spit out a phrase,

That phrase was

“Hic Sundt Dragons”

Here be Monsters.

I was trying to explain PTSD.

What it felt like

The sudden reaction to a trigger,

Surrounded by monsters

Is my description,

Real or imagined,

External or internal,

Right now I am

In uncharted territory

Surrounded by unknown monsters

Despite a trigger of familiar

And monsters too well known.

I am begging for understanding

From you, calm and dispassionate,

The one who pulled the trigger,

Knowing or unknowing,

Because i want you to be the slayer

And not the dragon itself.

Depression

Sometimes you’re just tired;

A weariness not physical

But of your mind, soul, heart.

Sometimes you’re too tired

With a fatigue completely physical.

Rest is but a long, lost sweetheart.

I’ve thought too much.

Brain turning –

Not a happy merry go round,

But a roller coaster theme park ride.

I’ve seen too much.

Hope burning-

Spirit now ashes on the ground.

Remembering always when hope died

I’ve loved enough.

Chose poorly!

Searching for sacred what I found

Romance but a creepy circus clown.

My heart is rough!

Used poorly!

Once full, shapely and round

Now rusted empty jar upside down.

I’ve tried too hard.

Back Breaking.

Always running from hungry hounds

Years spent chasing the golden crown.

I’ve stressed too much.

Not healing-

Forcing myself to hit the ground.

Years spent wearing a sullen frown.

Sometimes you’re just tired

In a way not easy to define;

Tired in heart, soul, mind.

Sometimes you’re too tired

To smile and pretend you are doing fine.

If only life could be rewind.

Sometimes you’re tired

With a fatigue that rest won’t forgive.

Sometimes overwhelmed and yet,

You still have to live.

Have. To. Live.

So you wake up –

Go through it again.

The Sun Sets

Silent, gentle, young, sad boy

Denies himself and hides the pain.

Macho image dictates the false

And life, they say, is sort of insane.

A man slain’d, a child gone,

Parents search to find her dead.

A girl, lonely, lights the bong.

The sun sets with shades of red.

The Rock Behind The Wall

I build a fence.

It makes me a good neighbor.

You cannot see my overgrown yard.

I cannot see the rusted car you bought for parts for a car long since wrecked.

Our properties are side by side

Touching under the fence

(In the dark- in our under regions).

A fence keeps us separate on the surface.

Only problem is a fence has a gate which means I have to explain either why I won’t let you in or what you see when I do.

I build a wall.

It has no gate.

The only way in is over the top or tunneling underneath.

Both methods are a lot of work and dangerous.

I choose a rock wall.

Concrete might be harder to penetrate with no possibility of peering through, but it is too smooth.

It would not reflect me the way a rock wall does.

Rock wall has jagged edges, uneven areas, some rocks are polished and some are raw.

A rock wall is more true.

I build a fence that has a gate and a rock wall behind the fence.

You can choose to do the work to scale over or tunnel under.

You might see it as a rescue; an attempt to extricate the maiden captive behind the wall.

However, be forewarned, the maiden might view it as an attack.

Prepare for her defenses.

The maiden is, after all, the one who built the wall behind the fence hoping it would tempt the soldiers who desire to prove themselves in battle.

An Urban Childhood

In the twilight there sits a child watching crimes committed by others.

“The sins of the father” the saying goes and, yes, this child pays

He cannot sit long if safety he values.

it is doubtful he would choose to sight see or listen

To the sounds of the night as it falls.

The child’s never contented though he cannot say why.

Its hard to find freedom in a sky scrapper sky.

No floating down stream or eating fresh blueberries

This is a child of industry, of the reckless rich city passions.

There sits a child – no reason to go.

His hunger to continue even after he is home.

Memorial Day 2018

Part One Thursday prior to Memorial Day Week-end

Unexpected change;

A life to rearrange.

Jump into the even stranger!

Will Robinson’s alert- danger!

Lost in time, Lost in space,

Lost my way, Lost my place.

Oh, well, it was never my home anyway!

One man bullies, threatens, screams.

Another man disbelieves.

Guess it is time for me to leave.

Guess it is time for me to flee!

Oh, well, it was just a place to stay.

It wasn’t my home anyway.

One man bullies, threatens, screams.

It was like a good and then a bad dream.

It was like a good and then a bad dream.

Dare I sleep? Dare I dream?

Dare I sleep- perchance to dream no more?

I’ve been there before!

Dare I dream? Dare I sleep perchance to dream?

If I should die before I wake….

Part Two A Dream Post Memorial Day

Destiny kneels, gently touches my face,

“I think you might need some breathing space.”

I cry, “This isn’t what I wanted-

With current and past events to be haunted!

Pain, fear, terror overwhelming-why?”

Destiny shakes his head and sighs

“Your guardian angel might have mentioned

She was having difficulty getting your attention.”

“I resent this hard intervention.

To freeze me in fear was your intention?”

Destiny rises tall and strong.

“I think you’ve gotten this all wrong.

You were inertia. Now you act.

Yes, you leave, but with your soul intact.”

I stand now to look Destiny eye to eye.

“I was bullied, threatened, terrified.

I was truly afraid that I might die.”

Destiny replied, “this wasn’t by design.

This was not intervention divine!

With you I have always been circumspect.

Your desire for freewill I respect.

Your strength is the reason you survived.

I am here to remind you that are you are still alive.

Sometimes what happens by circumstance

Allows a person one last chance.”

Part 3: Waking alone

Aging, but not yet old, I wake alone.

The path before me is mine alone to make

While fully cognizant of every past mistake.

I was bullied, threatened, but I will not feel shame.

Where I turned for help came with the cost of blame.

I survived. I kept myself safe.

A man tried to break me, take me, make me less than I am

Out of his lack of respect for all known as woman.

Blame me, shame me, leave me tattered and torn?

You underestimate the strength of the gender to which I was born!

Part 4: The Future

No gentle awakening this Spring hath brought.

It pounded me until I fought.

Now it pushes me forward to a Summer’s Day

While blowing the past out of the way.

Summer says, “Come here, my friend.

You have some happiness to tend.

Yes, time does fly, but today let’s just be.

Dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free.

Your life is not over. There is still time to play.

Tomorrow might be your finest day.

You and I, we have much to explore,

You have not yet been properly adored.

I hear a song on your lips.

I see some dance in those hips.”

I respond in my way.

I smile and I sway.

I laugh out loud.

I say it proud-

“Yes, I am a Woman.

Yes, I am

A Woman! Yes!

I am.”

Memories: A Survivor’s Song

Memories-

Sometimes they creep in softly

When the heart is vulnerable.

At other times jump from the shadows,

Smirking at your surprise.

Always to remind you

That pain?- oh, that will never change

Memories-

Spark’d by a song from my youth,

A sweet, sappy, sad, silly tune

Slaps me in the face

With memories so cruel.

Memories-

Sneak in even when I’m at peace.

When I think I’ve forgotten;

When all is right with the world,

They invade my dreams, disturb my sleep.

When the wind begins to howl,

I wake-thinking then is right now.

Memories-

Return with each new hurt.

With fresh pain they dance and flirt.

Until I’m not sure;

Until I don’t know,

This pain that I feel,

How much does it show?

Mystic Moon

Oh, Mystic Moon, in you I confide.

You control the movements of the tide.

There are so many things from which I must hide

So many people betrayed and to whom I have lied.

Years hence, they will talk about the night I died!

They will comment on how the moon was full and bright-

Such a beautiful sight, this November moonlit night,

Sandy beach, clear water, the breeze so slight,

A night beautiful ! A night that feels right.

Beauty distracts and eases my strife.

Beauty – such beauty – ok, I choose life!

Mystic moon – did you control my mind?

Mystic moon, my friend, so kind.

The Pain

His eyes did not hide.

I could look into his soul

To see the unknown pain;

To his struggle to stay sane.

But the truth he does not share

Was how the pain cane to be.

That was his alone

To hide or to give

To keep or to confide

To wallow, to dissolve, to re-imagine.

He feared to tell.

He feared I would demean,

Insult, minimize the pain,

In an effort to show compassion

Perhaps, I would tell a similar tale.

This was his hurt alone.

Uniqueness made it special.

He guarded it tenderly, jealously

As a lover does the love,

The first morning after passion

Breakfast Time

Its’s breakfast time

In a memory

The last breakfast, last

Before normal went away.

Breakfast time

Brother and sister

Toast and cereal

Mother butters toast

Father reads paper

Hands coffee cup to mother

Not looking at each other

TV is loud

Neighbor’s dog barking

“Answer the damn phone”

It’s a land-line.

That’s what we had then.

Brother grumbles.

Father grouses.

Mother holds phone with shoulder

Searches through her purse

“Where are my keys?”

It is breakfast time

In a memory

The little girl now

Forty years later screams:

“Stop. Look at one another.”

It’s the last breakfast, last

Before normal went away.