Category Archives: Inside Me

Court Jester

The bull roars
prodded by blazing iron –
branding him, casting ownership
on his steaming rump.
Check those whites,
they keep growing
obliterating pupils . . .
damn you all!!

Who the hell
gave the masses sanction
to have jurisdiction
in my life?

Since when did this
become a dictatorship –
I failed to catch
the civil war preceding it.
When was the loser vanquished,
and by what method?

Pompous asses all of you . . .
thinking your thoughts
in my mind
are so vile then
the thoughts I claim
ownership to.

How dare you presume
to control my life . . .
and by whose authorization?
I’d like to see
some papers please!

Arrogant paupers
claiming heir to the throne,
no peasant am I
to conform to your bidding –

When will you learn
that loving kindness, tenderness
Love bring ten-fold rewards
rather than harsh methods
more conveniently used?

Go find another jester
to amuse your court.
I no longer wish
to play your game,
So . . .
who won the game after all?

Unanswered prayers

So often God,

I begged, pleaded, cried,-
for men, money, success, fame
wanting so desperately
to know my purpose here
why I had to live through pain
ongoing medical and emotional
traumas – I prayed.

Time’s passed.
Dreams of long ago
are shadow figures now
and though my days are long
and my nights are shared
not with a man I prayed for
but a cat’s purr
I live with irony and resolve.

Younger years were the prevail
of two men who tore me,
split me into pieces and spit me out
bruised, battered, alone.
There were others for a time, but
all showed the true measure
of their worth far too soon.

It’s taken this long for me
to come to terms with my
inadequacies and limitations
who I am, what this skin
and my sin
have designed for me
there was no room for
more distractions

So when crisis or change winds blow
I pray for his wishes
Oh, I let Him know how I feel,
what I think and want
but I shut up and listen
and even if I don’t hear
I par for his will to come to pass
and know I don’t know the answers
or what’s best for me
or why I have spent so
many years alone –

Tears

Tears, tears,
wasted pools of stagnant morbidity,
dripping, splashing, splattering
aching vestiges of painful pride
dissolving last traces
of fetid humanity.
Torrents of undisciplined passion
dwindling ever so slowly to mist . . .
then .  …. nothing….
yet from the dank murk
of swampy Netherlands
is a seed nourished,
cleansed of grime
and cracked from it’s casing
to emerge
a waving frond
in a verdant meadow of life.

I’ll leave you behind

I’ll leave you behind
I bitterly cried
as I glared in the mirror
at a face ravaged by pain,
bloated with frustration
fed with rage and despair

But my child,
the quiet voice said
there are no chains around you.
Only your own fear
kept your eyes blind
to keep the radiant freedom
which was always within you,
could  not be chained
could not die, but slumbered,
waiting for conscious mind
to know her truth.

The walls, the limits, the boundaries
are only the product of fear.
True freedom was always
unblemished and held..

Soul chainer you were only,
ever, the visible reflection of me.

 

Scorching the Innocent

The aching which ripples through me
in ever widening waves,
permeates each pore,
suffusing it in the lament
for one to encircle me,
wrap me up, penetrate
to fill all those empty holes.
And yet I fear
for touch may burn skin,
sear the soul, the rage within me
seeking appeasement
still seeks the source
and not having divested itself
upon its owner –
knows only to burn all
who have come close and seek
to infiltrate hallowed halls
and so I, feeling the flames
flickering so close to the surface,
turn away from gentle touches
that I not be the bearer
of a scorching that maims.

Valentine’s Day missive.

My cat is momentarily favoring me. He seems to be my lover or familiar. I am so alone in this vast world, universe. Just so much dust. Maybe I’m feeling sorry for myself, especially because my cat wants my sole attention and as I am allergic to his dander, I can’t pet him for too long.

The irony of all this is I have been getting attention from male species lately after 20 years and I’m not interested in any of them  hell, my 1st husband from 38 yrs ago wanted to come visit but as he has a wife, I didn’t go for the idea. I didn’t like it when he had an affair when we were married and would never do that to another woman.   I have a very small peer group and not one member of my family – immediate or extended – don’t read my stuff.   I write in a newsletter for a Bipolar clubhouse and my church and rarely get a response.  My sister will be sitting next to me reading the church n/l and not say a word to me – Somehow I feel that sucks.

Anyway, it might be a manifestation of Winter Blues (though I doubt it), or being bi-polar II, or being such a private person, but I feel incredibly alone.

Guess I just needed to put it out there even though it doesn’t matter much and is certainly not great literature.

 

 

In the Dungeon

Deep in the hole I lie
Far down and deeper still
The light is but glimmer
A pinhole from in the distance

The hard, sharp rocks beneath me
Tear at raw flesh
As I peer over the ledge
Clinging in terror
Fearful of the abyss

These days I piece together
One rough, sharp edge at a time
Discomfort has its own reward
while I await rescue

I call to people who comfort me
Those who help lift me from the hole
For now is a time
I am a burden to myself

The frailness of body, mind, and spirit
Want to define me.
But with help, I am more than that.

Fabrication

FABRICATION

They failed me, built me up
with lies and illusions,
promised visions
far beyond mortal attainment . . .
told me fairy tales
were real and fantasies
were only life turned around.

What am I without them?
Is there substance
behind fabrication?
I cease to know . . . .
I believed in white knights,
castles nestled
in misty hollows,
eternal beauty and
supreme goodness.

Without those illusions,
that tapestry covering
of silvery hues,
is there a being of worth?
Am I enough
without the pretense
of mystery and magic?
What is a spider
without its web?

There is a promise
in some long ago story
that speaks of contentment
with the being
we are contained in . . .
but what of the quest?
Mere flesh and raw emotion
are all that remains
of the fantasy created . . .

… is that enough
to capture respect,
to gain prestige?
If naked I stand
among the masses,
will I be heard
above the moans?

Or will I become
just another frail being,
trudging down her
pathway to hell,
a wasted sacrament
to a parent’s pride . . .

Which am I

Once so cautious
to speak my mind,
and acknowledge that more
existed than fear
behind these placid spheres
of liquid knowledge.
Past points of confusion,
round dimly lit corners
of despair –
I seek the faint glow
of illumination
through phosphorescent images
of truth and understanding.
Pretending an ignorance –
false and impure
so as to protect
a fragile ego
from being trampled
by those more powerful
more forceful and strong,
but ignorant nonetheless
or their callous branding
of silence of stupidity.
Now, to speak vehemently
in more persuasive tomes
about subjects familiar
and search for comprehension
among vacant minds
peering in bleak dismay
as they seek to absorb
my convoluted logic –
am I the trampler
or the tramplee?
Have I, in my eloquence,
become more stupid
than I was before . . .
as I attempt to spread
purity and wisdom
among fellow blind souls?

 

Butterfly

Wings of satin gossamer
lie still at her side,
waiting to catch uplifting currents
to soar free, unfettered,
able to glide higher and higher
spiraling to undreamed of heights.

The time is soon.
She has fought through the
cocoon binding which
encased her,
holding her close . . .
bound, confined, stultified.

Patience is needed,
she has done the footwork
and needs only wait
a bit longer
before the winds to freedom
carry her to a flower
of her own choosing,
to meet her destiny
with courage and pride.

To be the butterfly
she was always destined
to become.