My core submerged
In a comfortable dysfunction
Constructed in my childhood
Misinterpretation of Shangri-La
Perpendicular to reality
Where I entered into
A harsh betrayal
From a long line of turquoise loving women,
fiery, like opals of Mexico.
Unpolished, our souls, semi-precious,
full of narratives, to be recorded.
Red heads, educated, full of extremes and suicides,
tales of unrequited love filled my young head
igniting the story teller in me, where to start?
Where to stop? Do men get writ in?
What of the men? Grave diggers and thieves,
fed Thanksgiving dinner to the dogs to punish
mother for working that day, she didn’t like turkey,
there was never another holiday.
And what of the women that look like me, in
history, the ones I never met but cannot forget –
unphotographed, crowding my dreams, screaming
about: alcoholics, gamblers and philanderers,
a group of phenomenal women who loved turquoise,
world – I ask, ‘are you ready for the fiery souls of Mexico?’
On a day in August (forget what year now) –
you were so new,
I promised, I would always be there, for you
I dreamt of reading Dickinson, just you and me
on an itchy blanket, in the shade, under a tree.
I knew you needed a big name –
to match the mark you would make on the world.
I promised you the life of an artist –
the dreamers, the laughers, the lovers,
the reminders that life is for creating.
That morning I packed you up –
Just me and you, walked to the bus stop
In one hundred and twenty degree heat
paid eighty cents, to meet a girl –
I’m sure was an angel, she said,
‘spread your wings and fly’ I laughed
but whispered it in your sleeping ear.
Determined to teach you kindness,
I thought a good heart was better than any doctor’s degree
I was young, I didn’t know the life of an artist –
Could be hardship full of mixed emotions
about a world that could be, should be, better.
Brought you home – I stayed up all night, admiring you.
Now you are bigger than me, you have your own dreams,
I pray every night they come true, for you –
my beautiful little boy, I believe in you…
The unseen Wren up first thing piercingly sings ‘good morning
immortal world, today, of all days, a new beginning.’
Spinning in winter’s late snow little wren pleads for a daffodil cameo mustering a falsetto dedicated to blooming a cherry blossom tree.
Offering our inland as a vibrant canvas for extravagant radiance of creation, bartering unexpecting flower beds for aromatic beauty.
‘Blossom, bloom, blush’ – the little wren croons,
‘oh late spring I await the glittering fate of late spring.’
Walking on imaginary paths of concealed histories
young lovers crossed boundaries – made plans to
reconcile feuding families, hopes dashed in seconds.
Distrustful figures, pilfered failed hopes, delighted to
leave scars on the souls of those once so self-assured.
Darkness set in, covering sinking fields of failed expectations.
Some eternal souls found strength in not giving up, in learning
to listen, to look, to see simple acts of kindness start an
internal fire forcing individuals in to sudden happiness.
Seeing a sunrise, smelling fresh lavender, picking a daffodil,
admiring a unique drop of snow, listening to your first tune,
experiencing first love, true love, adoring your children –
learning life is always better this side of the ground.
Like an awkward coyote trying to read
a map, taunted by crows jeering from the gallery,
panic, if only I brought the right map.
My skin burns through disparaging shivers
of humiliation, self-loathing and embarrassing
premonitions of the price I have to pay.
Life sucked out of me by a swarm
of blood sucking mosquitoes left an itchy bag of bones,
how can I forget disparaging memories?
Muted by everything I wanted to say,
emotional fires burn out in the smouldering
The reason I write poetry is because of a feeling deep inside me that has to be expressed. When I start a poem I normally don’t know what it is about but the words come, it takes shape, I reorder the words, cut out a few, change words so that the precise meaning is expressed, I read it over a number of times and then just when I’m about to delete the poem I post it on my page and let it be judged by the world.
Over the last year I have grown as a person and as a poet. Poetry has taken over my life in my every waking moment I feel poetry, I think poetry, I see poetry, I hear poetry… And when I dream? Well, I dream in poetry too… The amount of people that want to read my poetry has grown and the sincere encouragement has helped to grow my confidence. In turn I have been in the unique position to encourage other poets to share their poetry on the internet.
I have experienced a lot of turmoil in my thirty five years on this planet and I thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read, not judge and taking the time to experience what I have to say and coming back to my page for more.
Anticipating you, I planned our journey:
All we would do, all I would teach you,
Inwardly I prepared to surrender to you,
You arrived, my life seismically shifted
And you became my teacher:
And I your willing pupil – your mother:
You taught me unconditional love the moment we met,
You taught me I was selfish, because now I am selfless,
You taught me true heartbreak – I feel your every tear,
You taught me guidance does not mean being right,
You taught me building memories is in the simplicity of the day,
My daughter, my darling, my pride and joy -
how can I ever thank you for showing me the way?
This beautiful painting by:http://neitin.deviantart.com/art/unconditional-love-197921606
How easily I could be a complicated whisper
blowing violently in the air
My mortal beauty caught eternally in an
ugly wind trap
Full of broken facades with vermin waiting
for whatever is left
My emotional turmoil erodes the long ago
Passerbys hurry past anticipating their warm
bodies growing cold in
My broken alley.