Monthly Archives: April 2012

Perspective

the red roadside sign
proclaims Pain Management,
the letters stand out bright
in the brilliance of the
spring afternoon.

that is not a route for me
to contemplate. I am not
ready
to accept the concept
of pill-pushing
bottom-of-their-class
half-docs as a resource
for medical treatment.
soon enough we will
have open-pharmacy
pacification forced upon
us, and we will call it
progress.

I shall manage myself the
pain I carry, the days are
not so long, the discomfort
not so great. better a slight
twinge, here and there, than
to be a muddle-headed,
thought-stymied, creativity
drowned drone,
lacking in cognitive ability,
blocking life favorable to
inconvenience.

three in the morning, the dark
and quiet only broken as I
wander,
room to room, stretching legs,
watching out windows, waiting
for the stars to move.

opening the medicine
cabinet for the third time,
I remember
the red roadside sign.

Various pills

Various pills (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Touch

Shawna at Rosemary Mint offered the following words for her Monday Melting: tremble, prickly, lurch, asparagus, blackout, copper, scaly, smudge, skewer, sift, membrane, slaughter. She also linked to some of Margaret Atwood’s Poetry. Girl without Hands, especially the last stanza, inspired this piece.

TOUCH

“…you can’t hold it,
you can’t hold any of it.”
Margaret Atwood from Girl Without Hands

No Margaret,
I shall stay away from your
girl.
If I am to be touched by
one that knows me —
knows what has happened —
then I want to feel it.
I want the prickly, trembling
feel
meat must experience
as it is skewered and set
on the flames.

There must be feeling to
accompany the touch,
else simply sift me
through the membrane of
existence,
toss me out with the chaff
as was desired of Peter;
assign me to polish
the smudges from the
scaly copper skin of the
Dragon of Judgement.

Allow me to feel the
touch
of the one that knows,
connection and meaning.
 denial of contact would
be torturous —
rather, blackout my vision
and leave me to lurch blind
with the ignorant
herds, blissful to the
slaughter.

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Enough

It was enough.

Peace had been made
with remaining family;
she had preceded him
years before.

Earthly affairs were
in order.

He had promised her,
that last day,
had put it off.
The tears and words had
finally come.

The preacher had just left,
promising that it was enough.

Jesus and Mary at the deathbed of St Joseph

Jesus and Mary at the deathbed of St Joseph (Photo credit: Lawrence OP)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written for Poetic Bloomings Prompt to use the last line from a previous poem as the beginning of another. I chose the last line from Serenity Garden.

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True

In the coda of life —
amidst the aches
of old bones and the
grasping at abstract
memories —
was when he marveled
most at their differences.

She was his opposite,
an exquisite creation —
an ethereal origami with
spangling decoration —
he was rarely able to
fully appreciate, like a
shimmy of an image on
which he could not focus.

He was more rough,
enjoying the cacophony of
excessive night life —
falling victim to the dragon
that caused his liver to ferment —
and wilder exploits.

It was a wonder to him still,
she had never shelved him,
always took him back,
was here at the end to hold
his hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy one year anniversary to The Sunday Whirl!

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Just a Normal Girl

counting the
digits —
first activity of
new parents —
was not to be…

the fact that
she was born
without hands
is somewhat
irrelevant
to the winner of
the penmanship prize

studious, perfectionist,
determined,
possibly confused why
her accomplishment
is singled out —
she is simply doing
her lessons.

**Read more about this remarkable little girl. Sure changes perspective about the little inconveniences we may have to face.**

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dVerse – Framed Couplets

Trite Advice I Was Never
Smart Enough to Take 

Sneak quick kisses in the bright sunlight,
peak behind her wishes late at night,
hold tight to every passing moment,
boldly make memories others dreamt.

Take advantage of chances to dance,
ache for her glance, trust to romance,
lust fades in hours, words have power to hurt,
trust, give flowers, remember to flirt.

Show her each day the depth of your love,
blow dandelions, thank the Lord above.

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Apathy

She thought (in)dependence
was an ugly word, entirely
inappropriate. She did
not depend on anyone,
anything.
The pills were just a
convenience, kept for
those (often) ‘just in case’
times when sleep was
elusive, pain easily found.
Family, friends, watched,
silent,
as she continued
to rumple her life like the
restless bed she never
made.

Imogen Cunningham

Imogen Cunningham (Photo credit: rocor)

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The Price of an Education

In 2001 the Taliban were toppled,
no longer ruling in Kabul.
Women were allowed to show
their faces in public, girls permitted
to attend school.

The Director of Education
for Kandahar Province is
assassinated, spring of 2008,
seventy teachers share his fate.

Afghanistan, 2009 — a school
for girls is attacked with
Malathion gas, a protest
against the practice of
letting them learn.

Fifteen girls are attacked
on the way to class, sprayed
in the face with acid. Scarred for
life, punished for daring an
education.

Spring of 2012, the drinking water
at a high school is poisoned,
hospitalizing over 150 girls.
Attempted murder the price
paid for attending school.

No one arrested, no one assigning
blame, fearing additional retribution.
Eleven years does not bring
much change to a centuries old
practice of repression.

 ** I am not certain this qualifies as poetry, but it is tragic. The facts are all taken from multiple news reports.**

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When the Dream Changes

The dream was always
the same —
sunset on the ocean,
clouds adding effect,
slight chill in the air —
but this time,
the man’s face was
out of focus,
unrecognizable.

This meant something
to her in the morning.

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Prayer for my Children

Strap a ballon to your
back and sail across
the skies of your dreams,
then slash the strings
and fall into the abyss
of love.

Leave off the mask, show
the world who you are,
no pretenses or games.
Keep your finger on the
button of joy, make time
to enjoy silence.

Dream!

Dream! (Photo credit: Melody Campbell)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written from the Poetic Asides prompt to use the following words: slash, button, mask, strap, and balloon.

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