Tag Archives: anger

Acceptance

Bitter, rasping, grieving, raw
Pain drips, seeps, crawls
Enters every orifice
Building in complex patterns
So severe, so horrific
Chains I have anchored about me
Ensnaring me in a choking, godless bankruptcy
I cannot breathe through it
I am drowning in it
There is no me anymore
Just obligations, duties, responsibilities,
Contrived relationships
Confusion, my brain is seeping away
So I’ll be no more then the man downstairs
Constantly singing his toothless songs,
His cells are in me, so is the dominatrix’s,
Mine? Mine are gone –
There is no me anymore –
I having been missing the memory of her
The one who was so smart, but in the end no more than
A sack of liabilities dumped on the doorstep of a woman who shows love
By beating it out of you
For the good it will bring
Oh, I am drowning
In a reflection of me
There is no me anymore –
I traded her up for this shell
With no respect for the casing
for the heart
for the mind
when others didn’t respect me
I believed them
Soaking it all up like wine
Becoming drunk on deceit
These are crone fingers, brittle, grasping,
Seeking to hold onto what long ago went away
In bitter disgust
At the wretch shivered and hovering in the corner
Trying the hold onto the dust
Left in their footprints
Alone
And self-created
Effervescent ________________________________________
My daughter’s laugh is effervescent
Bubbling out of her wellspring
From a source I don’t know
She took the best and seized it
Grasped it in her precious fingers and held on for dear life
Until she found the right people to share it with
She has her own Zen iridescence,
Sparkling in the sun, soaking up all life-giving rays
She is this generation’s Job,
She has ground to cover
And making it fast
Not time for bonding now . . .
I turned away, thinking she was at my feet,
turned back and she was gone
the door open, the dog left out

Anorexia

In the space between two breaths
she is caught unaware, unknowing –
having spent a short lifetime
eternally busy, frenetically paced
always in motion,
never internally directed –
she is lost, adrift,
her skills and talents
not having prepared her
for rejection, for misdirected words –
she has never allowed
for this contingency,
Who is she beyond the accolades,
the activities, the endless
leadership roles –
what lies beneath?
What feelings exist
in her picket fenced heart
which let in undulating waves
of anguish
filtering out love, trust, kindness.
Like a drug she moves
in perpetual motion –
running, leading, moving, teaching
no reflection of hows or whys
attempting to fill the void with verbs,
no static, resolute exploring
of hidden secrets and mysteries
which hold the heart’s true measure.
No breaking through the resistance.
The moments have arrived
when razor sharp clarity
begs for expression,
where it chips away subterfuge
so real work can begin,
to explore the dim reaches of the soul
to enter terms with
the bald face of reality,
finally unmasked, stripped,
laid bare, but . . .
will she take
the proffered challenge
to grow, or backpedal,
rewind the inner tape
until she can splice, edit,
a produce a facsimile
of the original in its unedited form,
honoring the pain motion covered
the fear leadership masked,
the need unhinged in teaching,
all the imports of a life
skated over in terror and avoidance

Emergence

Each day with you seems a reprieve
or a rare gift given to wonder and delight
Anger may flare, wills clash,
passion builds to a roaring crescendo,
yet for every hurt lie a hundred gentle memories
of softly lit eyes and hands caressing
in tender ecstasy either pliant or powerful.

I seek your presence as a thirsty soul
searches for water among arid plains –
and feel at home with tempestuous moods
or quiet perusals –
content in that special brand
of soul touching.

 

For Better or Worse

His memory lingers
long after the last door slam,
to unsettle emotions
and distort newly held beliefs
His legacy bequeathed
in the divorce settlement
are ripples on a mirror surface. . .
the crinkles of eyes laughing
arms meant for holding,
thoughtful insight of a kind
rarely seen in the eyes of men.
And yet,
the papers speak
of a different reality,
of dreams gone awry,
and a world spinning of balance.
No regrets –
but sometimes, in quiet moments,
when I forget to raise my shields,
the memory of his eyes
as he made love to me
tears at my heart,
that I remember
there won’t be another
such as he . . .
for better or worse.

In times of greatest anger
I find myself wondering
where did that great love go?
It is here, pocketed within secret places,
to emerge in the peace of the night
and remind me
how great the loss was
to walk away in anger
and carry the love.

Just a Plaything

This is an adult relationship
one not full of fantasies.
We’ve known each other
so very long –
before two marriages and after them.

And suddenly you were there
to fulfill the desires put in play
when we worked together –
but you were married, then I was.
I knew there was someone you
loved more – that I was a dalliance
until she finally broke down
and said yes.

Then you were gone,
no explanation, no call, no letter –
just gone   . . .
one night I didn’t want sex
and that was it.
What gets me most is how you ended it –
I could accept a quiet, this is not working,
But not a No Vacancy sign swinging in the wind.

.

 

 

 

Misplaced Rage

Huddled on the sidelines
I watch
as you argue, berate
those to whom anger
does not belong . . .

Yet understand,
for learning confrontation
is a painful process
taken in tiny steps
a little at a time,
until strength is gained.

And you know,
even as the argument wanes
understanding of your actions
shines clearly in your eyes,
and that haunted look
of a child who has wronged
creeps across your brow.

But the time
has not yet come
for anger to be placed
where it belongs –
inner pain still holds
too firm a grasp,
and fear of rejection
looms as too harsh a reality.

Better the waiter,
life guards, clerks, delivery people –
they are accustomed
to undeserved pettiness . . .
soon the day may come
when you can look your tormentor
in the eye and spit back
the grief and rage
hoarded in years of submissiveness.

But for now –
where does the waiter go
at day’s end
and who becomes
the unwilling victim
of his pain . . .
where does the cycle end?

I walk down
a leaf-strewn street
and glance upon a dog
with tail tucked between legs –
and cry . . .