Be Not Proud

Most of us are familiar with the saying “Death comes in threes”. That nasty coincidence of the moment you learn of a person’s death, two more deaths tend to occur in rapid succession. “Rapid” being relative to the potentially bereaved of corse. Nevertheless, it seems Thanatos’ abacus is a bit off as of late. I mean think of the swath of musicians taken from the earth twit December and January, this past winter. It felt as if Death was working in multiples of three then. Was he bored then? Geesh. Clearly, he was equally as bored these past few days for me.

I sit here this evening trying to wrap my head around the fact that there are six wakes/funerals in my horizon. Between tomorrow and Saturday, six of them.

Six.

I cannot process this plethora of back to back death, I cannot attend all of them for my own sanity. Realistically, for the ones I will not attend, I was not close with the respective families. If pressed, one or two may remember me from one gathering or another, but really no will miss my presence among them,  but me. For the services I will attend. It’s a funeral, can’t really say much else.

Six people who I know personally, have died within the past six days.

It is too much.

Thanatos, seriously dude, get a hobby.

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I’m sure most of my fellow slicers are fairing much better – so go check them out:

sol

Day 21 of the 9th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!  

Such A Little Word

I know he can hear me
I see it in his eyes
I feel the depth of his frustrations
With every tear he cries
I know he’s trying to rail,
Trying to scream, trying to shout
But try as he might, true words
That we all know, just can’t come out
A four-year-old mind trapped
In a fourteen year old frame
Each day holds very little difference
But they’re never quite just the same
Searching for the rare moments
Of complete cognizance
For that miracle of his smile
His soundless laugh with a little dance
Autism is such a little word
For the mighty struggle that goes on within
That my six year colloquially describes as
“Missing a part of what ought to be in him”
For a childish blanket statement
It sort of holds pat
But even at her young age she realizes
It’s a lot more than that
As cruel as only kids can be
They take stabs at her young soul
When teased about her big brother
Who has about as much control
On how some days he’s happy active
Willing to play, pretending to help sweep
Versus the several days at a time
When he’ll do little more than sleep
And I don’t know what is harder on us all
The bad days when he withdraws from all we meet
Or the really good days when we can spend hours
Without a sudden episode in the middle of the street
Those times give a false sense of hope
A hint of the child that he could have been
We endure instead, the echoes of silence
He’s forever trapped within

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Today at dVerse Victoria challenges us to write a poem in the first person. An extra challenge to write from a perspective not your own. My muse takes me to the heart of a parent of a challenged child.

dverse

dVerse Poets Pub | Meeting the Bar: Me, Myself and I

When Never Happened

Sunlight streaming through my window
May as well be a cloudy day
Heartache and desire chill my spine
When thoughts of never come into play

Waking next to you that morning
The epitome of everything I once dreamed
The dread of reality crashing down immediately
Making me want to cry and scream

Moving my head forward was easy,
why does my heart keep stepping back?

Ignorance is bliss it is true
What could never happen would not be so
But the morning after never – happened
And I cannot undo what I now know

The feel of you beneath me, yielding
The dance of your fingers along my spine
The wanting with every fiber of my being
All the while knowing you will never be mine

Moving my head forward was easy,
why does my heart keep stepping back?
Stepping back to never

And if I could, I’d give this all away
But a song I never thought to sing
Was given voice for some reason
Now forever a reminder of this thing

It’s a bitch knowing the gods played us
It’s too cruel of both joy and regret
And the thing is most days I’m just fine
But today I’m an unstrung marionette

Moving my head forward was easy,
why does my heart keep stepping back?
Stepping back to never,
to when never happened.

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Drifting on a memory

Theme Thursdays | Never

Unrequited


Can’t call a soul to my defense
The blame is mine, this wound immense
Don’t fall! Don’t fall! – sworn to uphold
The secrets of new spring leaves hold
The heart, the soul, can’t be controlled
You paint the sky with stars so bold
My vow too gone to be consoled
The secrets learned too late are cold
This love for you never is told
For to another yours is doled
Love found, yet lost, is the penance
To ache in this profound silence

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Because I have not done a poetic form in a while – today’s form: Duo-Rhyme (12 line)

The Duo-rhyme, is a 10 or 12-line poem, with the first two and last two lines having the same rhyme scheme, and the center of the poem (lines #3 through #8 or #10) having their own separate mono-rhyme scheme.

Meter: 8 beats per line, written in iambic tetrameter (4 linear feet of iambic)

Rhyme Scheme: 10-line: a,a,b,b,b,b,b,b,a,a  or 12-line: a,a,b,b,b,b,b,b,b,b,a,a

 dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Open Link Night – 144

Unspoken

.
.

Hello darkness, my old friend
In twisted linen wound
My sweated girth

I’ve come to talk with you again,
In screams and wails without sound
Gossamer baggage weighting me to the earth

Because a vision softly creeping,
While the sun was upward bound
Turning this soul to flameless hearth

Left its seeds while I was sleeping
Taking from my flesh its pound
For all it’s worth

And the vision that was planted in my brain
The tick- tock of my own ‘gator run aground
Mocking me in a Cheshire mirth

Still remains
In the ever-growing mound
Of compassion’s dearth

Within the sound of silence
To seethe and confound
The truth never given birth
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Abhra is hosting at the Poetics bar here at dVerse Poets Pub today, challenging us to talk about secrets without actually revealing any.

Using the ever familiar lyrics of Simon & Garfunkle’s “Sound of Silence”  in a modified combination of Glosa and Trireme Sonnet forms.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics : What is your secret

Because She Knows

.
.
Because she knows the end is near
No, things weren’t quite as they appear
She’s forced to face her own worse fear
Proof that he holds another dear

Her world, now turned upon its ear
Because she knows the end is near
A love that had no other peer
Has turned to one that can’t adhere

The pain she feels is so severe
She may lose all held in revere
Because she knows the end is near
She starts to get herself in gear

Her actions now become quite clear
Protect what’s left, which she holds dear
She wipes away her final tear
Because she knows the end is near

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Having another turn with the Quartern.

National Poetry Month 2014 – 8

Perfect Stranger

I do love her still, for she’s still mother
Though oft she calls me by names of others
Her soft eyes remain, shining warm with care
The curves of her body, her graying hair
But her mind now slides from what’s really there

Her concave lips form that familiar smile
Like when she showed off her latest hairstyle
Even with loose curls each strand was in place
Particular to the point of basket case
Never walked out the door without her face

Made a clean home look easy to attain
My haphazard ways were always her bane
It gave her license for years to nitpick
My style she joked was an urban beatnik
But she loves my roast chicken with garlic

Her home now’s not what I thought would occur
But she’d gone beyond my means to help her
After jumping with haste to a rescue
When she tried to melt wax for a fondue
Insists utensils could be eaten too

She’s no longer the mother that I knew
Some days it takes all just to muddle through
I look at her and it’s my face I see
So it’s twice as hard when she looks straight at me,
And then asks ‘And who are you sweetie?’

That I remind her of her little girl
Who fidgets wearing pinafore and curls
She’s the woman that once knew me so well
But if she knows me at all now I can’t tell
Yet I know her deeply, and that’s my hell

Roles reversed, she’s the one whose hair I comb
When I visit her at the nursing home
“See this pin my girl gave me yesterday?”
I was a child, it’s so old in years even I cannot say
But for her, the years time has washed away

Seeing the pin makes me break down in tears
She coos “Oh miss, it can’t be that bad dear”
I fall in the familiar arms of hers
As everything becomes just one big blur
And I cry upon a perfect stranger

Closets

He hangs up the latest hand-me-down
Something else his brother has outgrown
Hating his brother’s favorite of ordinary brown
Grateful at least his underwear is his own
Mike dreams of the day of going uptown
And the price tag is for him alone

She steps into the enlarged paneled room
Where Manolo & Versace jumped to her call
She covers the self-loathing she consumes
Hating her reflection on the mirrored wall
Casting aside yet another custom-made plume
Victoria complains of nothing to wear at all

Crashing glass wakes Jenny from a dream so sweet
And knows Dad’s drunkenness is profound
The lumbering sobs signal her mother has just been beat
She won’t be protected from this newest round
Tears blur the pastel characters on her sheet
She takes the pain without making a sound

Knowing all his habits to the “T”
Leslie’s watches him undress as before
Patiently waiting, naked as you please
For the look of surprise when he opens the closet door
Even as his Uncle swears, this won’t continue to be
Leslie’s not stopped as he kneels on the floor

She cries out and bangs on the locked closet door
Desperate not to make Mommy sadder
Fearing a worse repercussion if she did it “once more”
The frustration makes Shelly madder
As she clutches Big Bunny and clears a spot on the floor
And finally loses control of her bladder

Prejudice is an injustice! Fight for Equality!
Public words Rick’s parents have always touted
Having lived in a home of hypocrisy
Their true feelings he’s never doubted
Hoping his loves endures the difficulty
Of his fear of being outed

The commissioner blinks hard as sweat gets in her eyes
But Marlene can’t stop to wipe them away
She will reappear in a few moments with refined lies
“Oh I’m just a little under today”
But right now she desperately feels for hidden supplies
Her jonesing having the ultimate say

To judge in this age is not for us to call
The clock ticks on our own souls’ debts
Whether made of the mind or a physical wall
The secrets who can say better yet
The susurrus to which we all befall
In smiling silence of our own closets

Losing Score

.
.
Smoke filled rooms stage the plays
Gyrating bodies form a human maze
The next face may be for always
Looking for true love through the haze

Words barley audible through the din
As if what’s wanted is conversation
And if it doesn’t work tonight, tomorrow try again
It doesn’t take much persuasion

Another night of pretext, a major pretension
A small piece of latex, the true intention

Variations on a theme standing still
The titles change, the players remains
Clubhouse, disco, honky talk, bar & grill
And the morning’s desperation of remembering names

Another night, another chance to explore
Last night found what you were looking for
Hung out, now hung over the cool white throne
This morning finds you still all alone

Smelling of cheap everything, feeling cheaper all the more
Playing a game, that guarantees a losing score

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub |  OpenLinkNight Week: 125

Behind the Façade

.
.
Please, don’t look too close
Ambiguity is all I ask
Can’t allow society to see
The woman behind the mask

And I have many facades
It depends on who I see
each person expecting
a different face from me

A professional face for work
Maquillage done to perfection
Spending just a moment in the mirror
Not looking in the eyes of my reflection

But I wonder are we truly fooled
Do we believe the faces we see
Or do we fall into the easier role
Choosing just to let it be

For to look behind the mask means
To acknowledge the silent tears
And to admit all that hurts
Means we’re forced to face our fears

Looking at a life of uncertainty
Despair undermining dreams
Clouded by rejection and strife
My smile is not all it seems

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Theme Thursday | Faces