….why paisley???

this is a combination of the photo provided by monday mural on poefusion,, and the prompt “vinegar and oil” by read write poem… the prompt suggested we mix two things together that really don’t belong,, but in some way can share a common thread…

i used a snipped of a draft poem i wrote when i was in the deepest depths of depression,, and blended it with my clearest childhood memory,, as recorded in an earlier post called inner child…. a piece of prose that involves recalling childhood innocence…..

**********

where has the child gone..
the one who used to be,,
inside my mind,,
inside my heart,,
content not to be free??

jodi ~circa 1976

watercolor by leontine may

i spend way too much time
in the front yard
of my childhood home
thinking about dying..
never thought i would feel
so used up
in my white briefs,,
and no shirt..
so empty so old
so bitter so cold
most days i think, that
i’ve just had enough..
running around in circles
in the early morning grass
still wet with dew…

feeling shameful and yet
somehow- invigorated
i can’t remember my dreams
if i ever had them
life offers nothing
being outside with no shirt
in my underpants,,,
i haven’t already had
in full view,,
but seen by no one..
had it good had it bad
been happy been sad
no regrets
i just feel done..
running around in circles
in the early morning grass
still wet with dew…

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” Norman Cousins

the prompt for today on jane’s inspirations, is grief or loss… over the course of the last year, i have experienced firsthand the deepest depths of grief and loss,, and i chose not to revisit those emotions,, but rather to rework and share with you today, a poem i originally published in august of this year on just paisley….

i have chosen to pair it with the photo that was supplied by monday mural, as speaks to me of the very real parts of “i” that seem to have died as a result of having been “left behind…”

photo: abstract by: jdgumby

i talked myself out
of loving you once,
and i learned to live on my own.
i hid in the drugs,
and the sex,
and the money,
till i found myself
away,, far from home.

on a wing and a prayer
i started afresh,
a new life,
but i never fit in.
i never found a place,
where i felt i was home,
and i’m still looking,,
i guess, now and then.

over and over my heart
it cries out, for the love
we once had
you and i.
i have never been whole
since the day that you left
saying “watch me”..
with your sly, sexy, smile..

at the time i was angry,
i just couldn’t see,
that i needed you,
more than you needed me..
i felt i’d been used,
i felt i’d been betrayed,
but i had no idea,
how i’d feel today..

i have cut myself off,
and i hide in my head.
i work,,
but just enough to survive.
i tell myself ,
this is who i’ve become..
but i know to myself,, i have lied.

i know you are gone..
no, i know you are dead..
yet each night as
i lay down to sleep
the last thing i say
as i am closing my eyes…
is “it’s your turn
to come and get me…”

now i sit, in a house,
in a canyon, so far,,
from everything
we ever knew..
and i pray, every day,
to please be the last,,
that i wake in this life,
without you….

monday mural is provided courtesy of poefusion

photo: limestone carvings by: difreund

in sacred writ:
lot’s wife
longed for sodom
and was rendered
a pillar of salt

in history:
mankind’s longings
for religious supremacy
have rendered them
pillars of stone

which the blessing?
which the curse?

michelle at poefusion supplied this most excellent rendition of hamlet’s ophelia as our inspiration this week on monday mural..

by like_wow_24
artwork Ophelia Adeu

awash with somber solitude
in still waters does she lie
succumbed did she
to the emptiness
forever insanities bride
accursed by a love
that whithered
never plucked
from her sweet vine
scorned by
taunting lover’s words
“get ye to the nunnery!”
instead, she chose, to die

her love for hamlet’s
tortured soul
alas would n’er prevail
his torrential grief,
turned obsession-
her child’s mind
impaled…
she chose forever
in the stead of his love,
to partake,
once for all time
in the ever sweet
breath of loneliness
now she sleeps
in her watery grail..

this is brought to you courtesy of poefusion’s monday mural

artwork Tea Rorschach
by Jennifer Hines

act I

the inspiration for this was found in the words of marcia from meeaugraphie’s “hell, perhaps” and steve from rainbows reflect rays of the sun’s post for the sunday scribblings prompt “time travel”…. i feel this piece is far from finished and intend to expound upon it as the spirit moves,, or the “tea” blots become clearer……

having set up my easel
in what i thought was perfect shade
having prepared my palette
with varied hues in vast array
having made my choice of brushes
with what i thought was greatest care
i set out to paint life, as only i would dare.

i sketched with charcoal pencil
just the flimsiest out line, yet
distressed by the pervading sense of ordinary
i smudged out each and every line
rubbing out any definition
any resemblance to the norm
until the canvas of my life, was free from any form

intrigued by the paints indulgence
i added colors one by one
mixing, blending, muting, blotting
out, the outline with which i had begun
i lashed out with raw abandon
drunk on technicolor wine
till the life i had created, resembled anything but mine

~intermission~

to read the complete version of technicolor … please click here….

a combination of , monday mural from poefiusion and the “matinee muse” prompt, “perspective” from writers island…

photo by Mariposa Viajera

some time ago, i wrote a post called “lovely corpse”, inspired by dickens quote, “he would make a lovely corpse.” this is a redux…

dickens said,
“he would make a lovely corpse.”
yet i am fairly sure
when he said it
he wasn’t talking about you..
blue, unresponsive,
forever frozen in time.
needle still in your arm.
lover,, equally as dead,
beside you..
nothing,,
but a food stamp card
between you..

dickens said,
“he would make a lovely corpse.”
and i misconstrued it..
i imbued it
with all the pent up passions
of a woman, lost,, lonely
far from a home
she never found.
unfulfilled,, unloved,, unable
to make a life for herself.
to ever be
anything more
than she was
when she defined herself
by her love for you..

dickens said,
“he would make a lovely corpse.”
but i think what he really meant,
was that i
would remember you
as something you never were…
that i would chop you up
in little pieces,,
savoring the pretty ones..
carrying them around
in my pocket
fingering them
when i was feeling old,
and lonely
used up…
that i would ingest them
in small portions…
dew sodden miracles.
manna.
the body and the blood..
sucking my own life
out of you…

dickens said, “he would make a lovely corpse.”
but it was i that chose to make it so…..

the photographic inspiration today provided by monday mural on poefusion.

the birds of reason have flown
and taken with them
the most basic tools,,
the very building blocks
humanity has been given
to feather her nest….

conscience has given way
to laws, inspired
by the desire, of the few
to control the masses.
to conform them,,
by force, if necessary
to a singular
way of being, thinking, acting…
replacing common decency…
behavior has given way
to fear.. fear,,
that someone might be offended.
that someone might be slighted.
that someone might retaliate.
accountability, has given way
to law suits.
no one is willing,
to accept their own accountability
for anything…
“someone (else) has to pay…”

the worms of parental wisdom
the fossil fuel
of conscience,
liability,
responsibility,
acceptability,
replaced by chemical warfare..
(science is raising our children)
surely,
the child is imbalanced.
children just don’t
throw themselves on the floor
in fits of anguish, rage, temper
if they are not imbalanced..
help them.
drug them.
take away their -
…ability to control themselves..
their coping mechanisms.
their sense of self.
numb their desires.
numb their pain.
sever their growth.
set them free…

with a cell phone,
and a late model car.
and a credit card..
follow them to school,
defend their bad behaviors,
inadequacies,
lack of social graces..
with threats of lawsuits,
physical violence.
take up arms
against the teachers,
the therapists,
the soccer coach..
set the example….
watch them
enter a campus,
and unload automatic weapons
on other children
and then turn the gun on themselves…
so as to avoid responsibility…
and find someone else to blame
the drugs.
the therapist.
the doctors.
the school.
the man that sold him the gun….

we are building a nest
comprised of the bones
of those we have
become willing to sacrifice
in order to not be held accountable
for what we do,,
what we say,,
and who we have become..
the bones of our children….

photo:

http://i201.photobucket.com/albums/aa175/dreyertjie/birds.jpg

michelle provided this photo that she took herself in her home shower for our inspiration for this monday mural……

our lady she appeared to me
and in of all the dad gum places
she caught me in the shower stall
makin’ shavin’ faces

“gol dang” i screamed, right out loud
as i couldn’t believe my eyes
but there she stood outlined in hair
and much to my surprise

my woman came a runnin’ in
and behind her my daughter
and there i stood butt nekkid
wearin’ nothin’ but some water!!!!

“jeez ow!!” i screamed and drew up quick
the curtain round my waist
“go get the gol dern camera, ma
we ain’t got no time to waste!!!”

and as i turned to look upon
our sweet saviors ma a-gain
the water sprayed off the top o my head
and she went down the dad burn drain!!!!

photo:

by michelle johnson

this weeks monday mural provided by poefusion features the following mural found on a wall in new york city… it was captured for us by: Brian Dube …. his website is NY Daily Photo.

this is my first ever attempt at a poetry form called a sestina…….

Irresistible Forces

was there ever really a time,, when this beloved melting pot,,
was not a raging inferno of racial supremacy? a boiling cauldron
from which the very perfume of her heady divine steam
was not weighed down with the ashen effigy of cursed fog??
when republic, democracy, and indivisible were the irresistible forces
on which we stood together,, strong and proud,, without irrevocable fear??

or is it more accurate to say,, that it is precisely that irrevocable fear
that has been keeping the fires lit below this melting pot??
becoming consumed by self, thus incinerating our own irresistible forces
foaming like molten dross,, just below the lip of this boiling cauldron
spewing forth-hateful epithets like bits of spittle through cursed fog?
adding the stench of fatted sacrificial calves to the sweet perfume of divine steam

steam which should be rising. steam that should be enveloping us. divine steam
that would forever cleanse us one and all of the demon of irrevocable fear
release us from the social darkness that has entranced us like so much cursed fog.
obscuring our vision,, pelting our senses,, polluting our beloved melting pot
inciting fires of cultural difference, racial segregation, fueling the boiling cauldron
until all good has been boiled out,, and the residual salt of the irresistible forces

can no longer be reconstituted. until the soot of these irresistible forces
has become so ingrained,, so inbred,, that not even the heady divine steam
can extricate it,, can separate it from the deep pores of the ever boiling cauldron
sitting atop the hate fueled fires that burn brilliantly, stoked by irrevocable fear
evaporating any real dream of ever being able to salvage this melting pot
much like the light of a single candle is forever lost in a sea of cursed fog

who among us will be the first to slice through the blinding cursed fog?
to harness the power,, the spirit,, the truth of the irresistible forces
to inculcate in the minds and hearts of those who make up this great melting pot?
to share with the populace the sweet smell of perfumed divine steam
as it sears through the very soul of that which causes our crippling irrevocable fear
and at last, returns to molten metal that fear, full to overflowing boiling cauldron

or will we as a nation continue to wallow in the blackness of this boiling cauldron?
gagging and choking as we attempt to breath in the ash laden cursed fog
filled to overflowing with the ghosts that have succumbed to hates irrevocable fear
denying in whispered tones so much as the existence of the irresistible forces
that might bring us all together like so much perfume,, amidst the heady divine steam.
the sweet smell of our combined souls melded together in this beloved melting pot

irrevocable fear can only be conquered,, if we unite all of our irresistible forces
cast off cultural supremacy, oh cursed fog, breathe our blended divine steam
liquidate once boiling cauldron,, forge one nation indivisible,, yours-mine-our-beloved melting pot……

photo:

http://newyorkdailyphoto.blogspot.com/2007/11/fuerzas-irresistibles.html

Endlosung der Judenfrage {the final solution}
raged on this side of the door
while untermenschen {subhumans}
dwelled, prayed and starved
in holes beneath the floor….

forced into insolent isolation
dehumanized, all dignity shed
till emaciated disintegrated
they sold themselves for
blood stained crusts of bread

loaded like beasts in cattle cars
reticent submission to nazi tyranny
chosen over starvation’s slow demise
concentration camps, extermination
their final solution?? or our epiphany???

with their unwavering iridescent hope
6.5 million jews all died in vain
if you delude yourself
into believing
it could never happen again…..

photo:

Photo Cristina M Russo
from the Writer’s Workshop in a Box
Jeremy P. Tarcher/ Penguin