Sorry for the late prompt this week. I was judging the haibun competition–and yes, I know who won. But that announcement will have to wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, let’s poem!
For this week’s prompt, write the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. Simple as that.
Here’s my attempt:
“Even now”
With the dull knife of memory
barely pressing the skin
like a dream almost forgotten
but still grows and changes
as a child trapped in a room
with no way out and no where
anyway to run
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
A Memory Poem
I sit in the big comfy chair
(the one by the window)
The sun might be out
but I see and hear the rain
My mind is somewhere special
My mind has gone to the memory place
I can see us holding hands
(we dance together in the rain)
The wind is singing
I can hear the whispers even now
My mind is somewhere special
My mind has gone to the memory place
I wonder where you are now
(in a comfy chair like me)
when did time slip away
I don’t remember letting your hand go
If only I could sat somewhere special
If only I could live in the memory place
Hey Mr. Gunman
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
A lot goes through your head when there’s a .38 pressed against it.
Things like…is this minimum wage job really worth it?
Was all that cramming’ for tomorrow’s history test
really just a colossal waste of time now?
Would I ever get the chance to apologize to my sister
for the fight we had just before I left for work?
Funny how a little brass casing can hit the
big RESET button on priorities and belief systems,
and suddenly wipe away years of decision making
and absolute certainty. Suddenly, God doesn’t seem
so far removed anymore. And does He still barter?
And how ‘bout you, Mr. Gunman,
what’s a 16 year old’s Life truly worth?
© 2012 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Whew! Excellent!
I’m stretching the parameters again here – I recently lost a close friend to cancer. It may not be the worst thing to ever happen to me, but for the moment it tops the list.
Mixtape
I know it’s a misnomer
because no one uses tape anymore,
but you would know what I mean.
Like me, you still remembered cassettes,
record players, VCRs and dial phones.
Of course I meant a CD I burned
with some of your favorite tunes
by artists we grew up with –
The Beatles, Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel.
I tried to make it a tasteful mix –
uplifting songs, reflective ones –
“Bridge over Troubled Water”,
“Here Comes the Sun”, that kind of thing,
stuff I knew you liked. I hope it consoled
your friends and family when I played it
at the viewing, but what matters to me most
is that I know you’d approve, that these
are the songs we’d listen to on your deck
on a summer evening, beers in hand,
watching the last reds fade from the sky.
I had a tough time with this one, as I hope the following will explain…
g
——————————–
PRETTY LUCKY
G. Smith (BMI)
—-–————————–
Looking back over most of my years,
I’ve had my share of sorrow amd tears,
But I’ve not had to face the worst of my fears,
I guess I’ve been pretty lucky.
‘Cause I’ve known folks who’s lives have been shaken,
Had loved ones hurt or tragically taken,
Their hearts so broken and then left forsaken;
Yeah, I guess I’ve been pretty lucky.
The glass, I guess, I see half-filled,
“Poor, poor me,” I think until,
I realize, through another’s eyes,
I look pretty lucky.
I’ve lost jobs, and family and friends,
And I’ve lost love, but in the end,
Looking back, I know I’ve been,
Pretty dog-gone lucky,
‘Cause the worst things that’ve happened to me,
Are the same kinds of sadnesses everyone sees;
I guess it’s all a matter of degrees;
And I’ve been pretty lucky.
Yeah, the glass, I guess, I see half-filled,
“Poor, poor me,” I think until,
I realize, through another’s eyes,
I look pretty lucky.
Yeah, I look pretty lucky.
I’ve been really lucky.
I love this one. This makes me think of those poems people like to carry around in their pocket and recite at Holiday parties or Toastmasters or receptions. I hope you do something with it to bring it into the public more.
Thank you, Ma’ am… I am working with a co-writer on music and a demo to send out to “trash cans all over Nashville…” so who knows…
: )
g
what can one say? why share the “worst things?” I am not quite sure – to rip what is at best after all these years, a diaphanous veil, exposing to the air – those closed away and shuttered mementoes visceral soul piercing mementos that flow like a running river or beat like a pulsing heart beneath our words? Why? Certainly not for the acknowledgment of the awe inspiring capacity of humans to not only survive but to thrive – to continue to love when denigrated and abused to continue to hope having had hope cruelly snatched away – to simply continue? Why write of this? Certainly not simply to “know” one another deeper and more authentically? All of the foregoing are possible reasons for this prompt and for the pain that pours through “The Street,” all the offered embrace and the naked exposure evident of the trust formed over time among those eho have shared their words… The worst thing has not happened to sny of us yet – the worst thing would be the absence of compassion and the lack of either ability or desire to respond to a fellow sufferer – the worst thing to have no words , thought, remembered, expressed, shared, or the searing secondary pain felt, followed by the passionate desire to ease the pain of another. We, in my humble opinion have not experienced the worst thing, the inhumanity of unrelenting indifference to self and for each other, It is a privilege to live and a promise of possibility to continue to feel and to hope for peace of mind for oneself and others on this “Street” and on the spinning blue often crying in pain marble which we share,
PLEASE DISREGARD THIS POORLY WRITTEN – upon opening my eyes comment… I tried to do a bit better at my own blog… With wishes that there was a DELETE option…. enjoy the weekend – I would be delighted if you choose to visit my blog to read a slightly more coherent comment to this week’s prompt…
http://www.drpkp.com/2012/09/on-poeming-painfully-personal.html
The Worst Thing
The worst thing
Was not the fire,
The weeks in the hospital,
Or the scars left behind.
The worst thing
Was not the secret
I was forced to keep,
The time spent without
The most basic necessities,
Or the bullying taunts
About out of date clothes
That reeked of kerosene.
The worst thing
Was not the betrayal of trust,
The bruises on body and soul,
The pain twisting through my life,
Or the loss of my independence.
The worst thing that ever happened to me…
I stopped believing in myself.
I should write something new, but I think it’s already been said in “Put out” and “After burn.”
Thanks to Marie Elena for pulling “Put out” out of the woodwork … so to speak. So these are recycled.
AFTER BURN
There is nothing left here,
just the shambles
of our past life together
heaps of blackened pictures and
memories of a
past that’s better off forgotten.
We paint each other’s faces
with the soot
and no longer recognize ourselves.
–
PUT OUT
She breathes fire
the smell of singed wood
the subtle soot
sitting on happy words
It lingers
in the corner of her eyes
an insatiable heat
burning into her thoughts
The burdens
The book
The smiles
The love
Lost
You could see
in the corner of her smile
a wet sigh
extinguishing the fire in her soul
carried in the flames of her laugh
Twisted ankle
Clearly, I will need to change plans tonight—
and how far out in the future?
Cancel weekend getaway?
Drop out of improv troupe?
Invest in titanium bones?
I try to catch my breath.
You know that experience when you’re in pain
and you can remember just minutes before
when you were not, and time just
went its way with you—then here is this:
a demarcation coming so clear, wondrous,
strange fault line between just then and here now.
I sit cringing behind a running car
with the curb’s urine scent and rotate this
in tiny, dented circles and try to catch my breath.
The sidewalk is a blessing to us sitting dizzy,
and to me it’s a blessing that I know how to sit
and face the truth of this moment. Injured.
Outside a café, I press ice around this and
try to catch my breath and catch it again.
Minutes ago, I was having a walk.
Now I can’t figure how much is wrecked.
Guzzle the soda water I bought,
watch the minutes go, wonder when I’ll be missed.
Missing you
Standing in the room
as silence filled the air
news that you were gone
left me in despair
As the smile that i once had
moved the forms of my face
everything that used to matter
your life could not be replaced
You were my gentle giant
i stood on your feet
you would walk me across the room
with pain that made you grit your teeth
I no linger hear your voice
the void in our family is there
for a brother who is gone
but always loved to dear
As your anniversary approaches
we light a candle as we remember you
our prayers and thoughts surround
or memories of the things we used to do.
We love you with all our heart
our tears tare our face so worn
heartache fills our hearts
But our love will never depart
Mask
Made of ceramic
Unfaltering
Even with tears
Shattering the paint.
I cry for help,
Help to stand,
Help to make me whole.
I’m scared I’ll lose you,
To the lifelong battle,
A battle that has taken many before you.
You don’t know my pain,
I hide it,
You have enough to deal with.
My insides are crumpling piece by piece,
You have no idea,
The battle within rages on,
Our own battles we fight.
I fight to be perfect,
To be what you want,
You fight for your life,
To be there for me.
No one knows our pain,
No one knows our stories,
We’re together in reality,
But in different galaxy’s in our minds.
The cancer came back,
You fight and fight,
To stay alive,
I fight to keep my mask.
We try to be strong for each other,
But it crumples the walls around us.
I love you,
I do,
But I’m becoming too distant.
September 22, 1983
I wasn’t going to write my story
The tale is gruesome, but so are others
Sometimes it seems too simply gory
His hand grew larger as it tried to smother
The tale is gruesome, but so are others
His body, a steel plank, on top of mine
His hand grew larger as it tried to smother
He drove himself up toward my spine
His body, a steel plank, on top of mine
I prayed Hail Mary as his fingers gripped
He drove himself up toward my spine
With a cry to sweet Jesus, the scales then tipped
I
prayed Hail Mary as his fingers gripped
A man I loved did a Jekyll and Hyde
With a cry to sweet Jesus, the scales then tipped
Now a chasm betwixt, the great divide
A man I loved did a Jekyll and Hyde
Sometimes it seems too simply gory
Now a chasm betwixt, the great divide
I wasn’t going to write my story
Hard write.Good poem. I’m glad you wrote your story.
Thanks, seingraham.
Violence
(two you’s)
I thought that the pain of leaving you,
Would have been the worst thing.
But I was wrong.
It came like another nightmare –
My right arm numbed like ice,
Ripped from a winter river.
The unthinkable, the unknowable,
Plumed far off like a tornado,
Out of the red box of hell.
Then,
Ripped through my body
Like a raging animal,
Trying to stay alive.
And never seeing you again,
My heart.
The Secret
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.
Maybe she was right about it breaking up the family.
But I couldn’t stand keeping the secret any longer,
it ate away at me everyday.
I kept picturing her with him
and it made me sick.
I can never forgive her for what she did
but maybe dad can.
A Simple matter
Simple as that
lies let loose
simple as that
betrayal embraced
simple as that
foolish faith forgot
simple as all that.
STUFF HAPPENS
No more than a pebble
inside the edge of a sandal
that refuses to leave. One more block
and the next, nothing works. Finally
stopping to sit on a bench, delayed . . . can’t tarry
too long, removing the obstruction,
still takes too much time, but who knows
the upper limits of pain you suffer
until you are paralyzed and cannot move
better this way
so you get there.
What’s five minutes in a lifetime
of all the years you get to spend
you say expecting an amused smile
but no
a frown, looking at the clock above
the desk reminds you punctuality
is a virtue you cannot underestimate—
excused for the meantime, marked down
for future reference
consider this a learning experience recall
where you are going, look for the details
that cross your path. The next time you
set foot that nothing interferes to hold back
your daily rounds.
Zev Davis
I’ve not been spared the pains of life
Nor denied happiness in paradise
I’ve climbed with tenaciousness to summits on high
Plummeted to depths of despair and distress
I’ve loved and lived with euphoric joy
been swallowed by poverty both body and soul
I’ve laughed I’ve cried I’ve lived I’ve died
Been blessed and be-dammed yet I still stand
Whether it’s been good or bad happy or sad
I would trade not a day for any richest of pay
My path is my own, but to each their own
It’s all just a test for in life there’s unrest
Fall
One second
is all that it took
to lash out,
one second
of complete madness
and you have never come back.
“The unleashed demons slip evil into the space between beauty, honesty, love and peace”
Penned by MICH, I believe this is the most on-point visual of our collective “worsts.” Wow.
“SHE”
I speak of love
She would not.
I gave my heart
She could not.
I wanted to marry
She would not.
I broke my heart
She could not!
(for those moments when we wonder what happened to our guardian angel)
The unleashed demons
slip evil into the space between
beauty, honesty, love and peace
We see. We hear. We speak. Once we live it
torture scars grow thick on caring hearts
scales blind the eyes to the soul
IF we think. IF we fight back. We have hope.
As long as one spark of empathy remains
the inner-human is not lost.
So many touchy poems and so many wonderful words… Here is my humble offering:
*The Worst Thing That Ever Happened To Me*
I knew you were going
some time before you were gone
And you knew that, too
No need for doctors
we just knew
every breath you took
was one of very few
I wonder what I saw
Around the closed exit door -
Bright light or shadow
of my horror
because of
the vacuum
that hurt
when
you
went
away.
well put.
Like Pearl, I just want to give my humble gratitude for your sharing of such deeply painful and painfully deep truths. I wish I could fully express what I am feeling toward each and every one of you at this time, but my words are not adequate. Not in the least.
Marie Elena, I echo Seingraham, in that you display such a remarkable, positive resilience despite the circumstances you and your beloved family have endured. There’s a quote that comes to mind now and then from the movie Return to Me “It is those with the strongest character that God gives the most challenges. You can take that as a compliment.” Carroll O’Connor said that. Your good natured attitude separates you from many in a special way. You choose to face the worst and it seems to bring out your best. I am honored to catch a glimpse of your sweet and loving spirit. You are an inspiration.
Wow. Thank you so very much, Yolee. So, so humbling.
Nothing Worse
Toward the end of a childhood in which I felt loved and safe, I fell in love and married. We had three children we adored, and I silently wondered why I was blessed with this charmed life. Then our baby girl had an apparent grand mal seizure, and was unconscious for twenty minutes or more. She was hospitalized while they ran difficult, invasive tests, believing she had a brain tumor. Days later, I sobbed in relief when it was determined to be epilepsy. I naively believed nothing worse would ever happen.
A short two years later, I discovered the love of my life and father of my children was regularly cheating. He claimed he loved me, and it had “nothing to do” with me. I naively believed nothing worse would ever happen.
Reality hit. I had a decision to make: stay or leave? Stay or leave? Stay? Or leave? He could not assure me it would never happen again. But it shouldn’t matter. After all, it had “nothing to do” with me. Remember? I made my decision. I had to tell my three innocently happy children. I naively believed nothing worse could ever happen.
Years later, I watched as my loving, intelligent son made frighteningly out-of-character decisions. I tried to tell myself it was just a stage. At 16, he admitted to drug abuse. I naively believed nothing worse could ever happen.
Several years later, my stunningly beautiful daughter walked down the aisle to her husband, and his two adorable children to whom we all became easily attached. This, coupled with my own marriage to Keith, and son’s enlistment in the navy, made me naively think our lives were getting back on track.
I watched as my daughter’s marriage began to crumble, then come to an end. I watched our “grandchildren” evaporate, and realized we had no right to ever see them again. I naively believed nothing worse could ever happen.
Almost simultaneously, my daughter’s mind and emotions began collapsing. This woman who owned her own successful business, juggling work and step children, became fearful. She moved, taking only her cat, to New Orleans, to start life a new life. Or so she said at the time. I later found out she was convinced she would die on the way. Over the months, over the phone, I witnessed her deterioration. I naively believed nothing worse could ever happen.
Katrina hit, murdering her beloved cat and more of her sanity. And I naively believed nothing worse could ever happen.
She made several moves, before being accepted at the New York School of Visual Arts. Hope. She moved to Brooklyn. Over the months, over the phone, I witnessed her deterioration. But this time, it was different. My lovely, intelligent, determined daughter was no longer. In her place was a fearful, voice-filled, hallucination-plagued, tormented, delusional, suicidal sweetheart who was afraid to live, and equally afraid to die. And I naively believed nothing worse could ever happen.
We brought her home for what we thought would be possibly a few months for treatment. Have you ever tried to release someone from hell? A few months, too many medications, panic-inducing diagnosis, and not nearly acceptable progress later, she was given a disheartening prognosis. And I naively believed nothing worse could ever happen.
The minimally successful medications began turning on her, adding Tardive Dyskinesia to schizophrenia. And I naively believe nothing worse could ever happen.
the worst thing
is fearing this is not
the worst thing
I apologize for the length.
Oh god you have been through so much. I can not even imagine how it has been for you we do share one common factor tough. My brother Committed suicide 16 yrs ago. His anniversary is 11th of october next month. My poem today is for him. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me and alot has happened over the years but this is the worst. He had manic depression which in turn changed parts of his personality. ( schizophrenia). He was so talented a really great writer but had lost all his belief in himself also. I lived with him to try and understand him more and try and see would this change his life and we did have many memories but still this couldnt prevent what was to happen. I am studying social studies and even tough im learning behaviours and why we do the things we do sometimes there are no answers as to why these things occur. Marie im so touched by your story and i hope times will change for you. x
Oh, Ber … how horrible for you. Your “gentle giant” brother sounds wonderful. It’s so difficult to understand what makes one’s life so intolerable that the only way out seems to be … well, … out. Mental illness seems to stalk and steal all that is left. I’m so, so sorry about your brother. You were a gem to understand (as best we can) and help (as best we can). And I believe you are right: sometimes there just are no answers.
Thank you so much, Ber. God bless you.
No apologies necessary – you have written of unspeakable pain eloquently, Marie Elena and with such sincerity that all it elicits is an aching poignancy, at least from this heart – You, who show the world almost unremitting cheerfulness, optimism and your profound faith … do not deserve having to fear any more worst things – Thank you for your candid sharing and especially for showing yet again what a strong and resilient woman you are – you are remarkable.
I’m embarrassed and humbled by your more-than-generous kindness, Sharon. I want to wrap my arms around you.
God has big shoulders to lean on. That’s all I can say.
I knew the collective pain would be nearly unbearable – visceral beneath the most beautiful of words…yet once I read, I could not distance and shield myself… the only reply to such trusted sharing was to share in turn … we have all come through – and now as Jane mentioned in her poem – can return to our present selves – our past still living pain – once again safely contained and shelved. Thank you all.
(I had no intention of either reading or writing this prompt – after bearing witness I cannot simply turn away)
Growing in a place all wrong
Newly back from those
frangipangi islands
where ugliness melted
in rainbow colors, clear
water and hot air wrapped
like an ever embrace
Newly back to the chill
the cold, the clatter of
gray steel and ugliness
undistracted, unexpected
an already burgeoning
second trimester sown
in perfumed paradise
secretly flowering
a bouquet under my
heart sparkling glints
of sunlight warming
cold steel promising
possibility
I smiled for forty eight
hours, put up a huge
pot of stew, painted the
kitchen yellow of those
happy faces and decided
with paint still wet on my
hands, that it could be good
That was when the first pain came
powerful as a crimson tsunami
That was not the worse part
Sitting on the toilet a towel
covering bloody thighs waiting
for a ride explaining to a dimple faced
three year old that “No he wasn’t going to
be a big brother” wasn’t the worst part
Even at hospital under clean sheets
washed and fresh and given hope that it
might all be a mistake, to be told in the morning
it wasn’t a mistake at all
was not the worst part
Through all of that there was comfort
soft as a carribean breeze, that everything
was for a reason, and four and a half months
does not mean life, embraced by the certainty
that some things are just not meant to be.
The worst part arrived in a moment
of waking in a frigid alcohol fumed room
hearing a well intentioned doctor with a
swinging delicate golden catching-light-cross
smile a soft smile and sweetly say,
“your baby was perfect”
“just in the wrong place”
and slip me back into unconsciousness
into the black icy emptiness
of a forever frozen involuntary
matricidal accomplice
of my “perfect baby”
growing in a place all wrong
Dear Pearl – seldom if ever have I read such a touching rendering of this saddest of events … you have captured in words so much of the heartache that accompanies a tragedy that is often dismissed almost casually … thank you.
Dear Sharon – High praise indeed – you humble me with such words – I thank you
I’m frustrated with trying to comment on individual pieces. The work here is nothing short of amazing. YOU are nothing short of amazing. What some of you, most of whom I truly feel I know personally, have been through absolutely pierces my heart. What strength you all have. I’m honored to know you all.
Agree.
The darkness calls,
With it’s sleeping birds,
The still of the night,
The still of life.
Peaceful and calling,
It calls our names,
We will all render,
To the darkness at hand,
With the secret beauty it holds,
It takes away pain,
Yet leaving some behind.
It understands all,
Not fearing a fight,
Not all want to go,
But some embrace it,
Like an old friend.
It sneaks around,
Associated with night,
Only because it calls,
But you can’t see,
All misunderstood.
Judgement,
Hate,
Abuse,
Misguided,
All not good,
Causes it to come sooner,
and sooner.
This is called Dark Beauty
Thank you for the prompt Robert. My poem may be found at http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/09/19/365-creativity-project-day-254/
PHILOMELA
Circuits of sun over classroom,
kindergarten that will last a lifetime –
sweaters hung in rows in the cloakroom,
cough drops in sticky pockets –
and at last, it’s the blessed Hour of Art.
Blunt-tip scissors and blank sheets
of paper. Poster paint, and
crayons stubbed and broken, but bright
as jewels of the crown.
One small girl squeals “here come
the easels!” A child’s gladdest hour,
when she’s in love with color.
But Teacher sits her head-down
in the black canyon of Time-
Out. No colors for this unpainted
night-bird, no plaint. Her fingers grip
the table’s wooden limb.
nicely done. some worsts are the small remembered ones
Walking Through Tough Times
It all seems like the worse thing when
it happens until the next thing comes
along and you throw your hands up
in the air, wonder why it’s always you.
For me it was the fraud, fake alibies
followed by the wreck and hurricanes,
a suicide, too much too fast. I fell
flat on my face and faced the truth-
there was nothing I could do but
trudge ahead and muddle through.
Sending hugs.
And so you did … I remember some of these things as they happened. You are one of the strong ones Laurie. I hope you know that. Small poem but a good one and it packs a poignant punch.
Worst By Far
The look in their eyes
So betrayed, so wounded
The feeling in my gut -
as if I’d been kicked
in the stomach
I dropped to the floor
Worst of all
the sure knowledge
I brought it all on myself
The humiliation:
my kids learned of my deceit
from reading my journals
carelessly left open
My exquisitely detailed
damning and hurtful journals
Words that ended us
Well if that ain’t a punch in the gut…
Oh, that was not a good day. Hope it’s better with them now.
I was one of the fortunate … after a long time and much therapy, we were reconciled. It still ranks right up there tho’ …
Something beautiful
Can be woven from misfortune,
A delicate scarf
To fit my neck.
Something effortless
Is written in the clouds,
Doused by ocean breeze,
The teeth of a shark,
Cut through fluently.
Okay I just couldn’t help myself this time
I hope that I will never deal
With what John Wayne Bobbitt had to feel
By hook or by crook
Wasn’t by the book
Must-a taken years for scars to heal
Too funny!
The Worst is Yet to Come
Enough of life has passed for me to think
Of the worst days as those that happened
To someone else, some me I have not been
Since then, when that day changed me.
And now, so many worst days have come
And gone, that I no longer think of them as pivotal,
Choosing to assign them to a mental closet,
Boxed tight, shelved, door closed forever,
And yet, still stored there, unpurged, unpurgeable.
So, yes, I remember when I knew for sure
That my husband would never be true,
The sting of betrayal fresh with his every word,
When divorce redefined me. I remember miscarriages,
cancer, long falls, pain that made death look kind,
And watching loved ones languish and die,
And losses, so many losses, and fears
Measured against hopes, when my life was cheap
To me and I had a ready argument for ending it.
But I will not live there anymore, and living
Involves surviving the many deaths before my own.
I fancy that I have not seen the worst day I will see
Yet, that fate has more in store for you and me.
Oh, my heart, beat on for a while longer,
And I will trade these bad days for a single smile.
I love this. Yes, this is what we need to do with things past.
And yes, for believers, our very best days are ahead; they will
be incredible — if we can just get through the ones here first.
I love your take on this. It’s hard to say what’s the worst thing. Time and context must be taken into consideration–and consequences!
The worst thing that happened to me
The worst thing that happened to me-
My shadow
Did not
Believe in me!!
PriyA Jane
Failure?
Maybe it was the moment
I knew my marriage was over
at twenty years old, and so
was I. More likely it was waking
up in a hospital, realizing
those lights shining above
me did not mean I was in heaven.
I had failed. How could I
manage life?
Been there. Does feel like that alright.
Oh so young! How many more years of living before you to do great things.
Really captures the feeling in a few words.
Unnatural Delivery
Words do not have clearance
to the worst thing that’s ever happened
to me. But there’s the incident in 1986
when Spring was in its trimester
and I was at the end of mine.
The anesthesiologist found the right spot
on my bent but still spine. Not soon after,
the obstetrician pinched my toes to make
sure I felt nothing. I felt nothing. Oxygen
via an ill placed mask whisked around my nose
and mouth. A hospital sheet went up like a dam
between my chest and water-melon. The cold
room was a field of surgical noises and dialect.
In, and then slowly down went the scalpel under
my bellybutton like a disturbing movie between pause
and play. Pain scratched sensations weaving in torpor.
Why were my arms strapped to the bed?
Breathe! I could not. I turned my head back
and forth after my brain demanded several times
that I alert unmindful professionals and my green
husband that the anesthesia was thinning out.
“Too late to stop” said the doctor whose trust
had been impressed on me like a proverb on a dollar bill.
I’m Sorry
I couldn’t drink the memories to oblivion
I couldn’t blink without seeing your face
I couldn’t walk without falling off the wagon
I couldn’t talk without losing my place
I couldn’t think of anything else to say
I couldn’t think of what else to do
I couldn’t save you from all of your enemies
When the enemy you fought was you
I couldn’t catch you, keep you from falling
I couldn’t catch the bullet in my hand
I couldn’t forget the sound of the hammer-fall
I couldn’t bury my head in the sand
I couldn’t forgive you for taking your life away
Couldn’t forgive me for letting you go
And I don’t want to learn to live with it
As the bottles on the table will show
I couldn’t make sense of the senseless
I couldn’t ransom the life that you stole
I didn’t have any pieces left to pick up
The family picture will always have a hole
Now I sit here with all of the lights off
As the scene plays over in my mind
If only I’d done something different
But time’s a tape you just can’t rewind
Wow.
Thank you
This is wonderful!
Thank you.
Let Go
numbers wrong
corrective action plan failed
your planets misaligned
but you stayed in your seat
best efforts, but Humpty Dumpty still in pieces
accountability
blame
no more excuses
if no one made the numbers
the doors would close
give me your id badge
apologies don’t matter
no more pleading
thanks for sticking it out
you’re a nice guy
good-bye
shown the door
the door locks behind me
An orange glow, an annoyance that won’t shut off
When I close my eyes and
Reopen them
A reprieve
A blast of laser, or fifty
Halts the scourge in its tracks
I learned to never let down my guard
Not that it would make any difference
There was nothing I could do
To stop the blackness
The sizzling invasion
Of Zeus’ hands on a black and oily day
The fountain of dread that would not be plugged
The fighting for clarity, a vain trial of tears
A problem for faith and technology
That finally saved my vision
After three months of a plunge into nothingness
Writing this poem a product of the miracles of medicine
Even though the punctuation battles with floaters
And words now and then miss a leter or two
Smile, dammit
I am
Such a great picture of what happened, and how you feel about it.
So glad your vision was saved!
It’s one of the reasons I started writing fiction ernestly: who knows how long we have until something important like vision goes and things you always wanted to do become difficult if not impossible.
What a powerful message so painfully learned. May I heed your words without having to endure the scare. Sorry for your hardship.
The Warning Signs
It was not the day I watched my baby brother
get run over by a car in the neighbors driveway
nor the day of snowmobile or motorcycle accidents
or even the day they told me my wife had MS.
It was the day I realized that you can’t live life
if you can’t even read the warning signs.
By Michael Grove
Yes. Well said.
Oh. How I hope all is well in your world today.
No Word Given
With no word given
my love moved out of town,
but I’d always known
something in her life was missing.
Someone else told me
she answered another calling
and went to nursing school.
For the past year
somehow I knew she was unhappy
from the times we met
and I listened to the connotations
of what she didn’t say.
But her leaving left me proud
of her efforts to become
what she was meant to be,
a truth bittersweet.
she’d let her tell me
lucky lottery ticket
early departure
by Michael Grove
Trapped
In my mind
Alive
In my mind
Paralysis disguised
As death
Screaming
In my mind
The scalpel nears
“I’m alive!”
I plead
In my mind
A tear falls
From a staring eye
As I cry
In my mind
A phone rings
And he stops
Fighting
In my mind
Fingers twitch
In my mind
My breath returns
And I scream
Very powerful!
What may be the worst dance
Could be the best waltz,
For the veil of the senses was lifted.
As the musical shattering of glass
Becomes a window to the soul,
The barrier between life and death was broken.
More from the free, the unsung and confused,
More life was gained than lost,
An endless plummet into the unknown
Could be the savior,
Of all that has come and gone.
Gravel embedded in skin -
Could be the cold water,
Splashed upon listless blood,
Courage sifts through ashes.
Nothingness
Knees buckling, plank descending backward,
Within moments examined to no avail;
Yet aware of ministrations, the mind
Struggled for meaning within that
Tunneled world out there beyond my world.
Traveling without voluntary movement
Toward pain delivered by those who would
Decide my condition, ignorant to my silent
Screams from inside mental walls erected
By what had shut off that outer body.
Days of negative answers calmed no nerves,
Told no tales, addressed no treatment.
As easily as it switched off, the body
Came alive once more, allowing voice
To that inner life during an immobile time.
Left without reason, perched as a vulture
Ready to swoop down again in the future.
Oh, Claudsy…how scary. You capture so well what this felt like. Your last two lines are perfection and offer a sense of vulnerability…this genuine offering is a gift of you. Thank you.
Thank you, Hannah. It was scary and never explained. There is no feeling like only being alive inside you mind, feeling all that’s happening to the body but not being able to respond. I hope never to have a repeat.
This should be posted in every ICU and every hospital beside every helplessly mute patient and at every nurse’s station to remind them of the humanity inside the frozen shell. Bless you, Claudsey.
How Scarry. Very well written. Remembering this must be so tough.
So well written. I can relate to this also in having an MRI and being trapped inside in terrible pain.
Yes, that vulture can swoop down at any time. What a powerful image. I am so glad you are okay now.
~MASKED~
Frozen motionless,
spiral-stair-case bound…
screaming, “STOP.”
Broken bottle,
Her broken glasses
twisted on the linoleum,
limbs splayed out… flailing.
Neck compressed.
Coughing…
Coughing…
You walking
like a zombie down the hall
to your bedroom;
eyes glazed, sickening rage.
All because your wife tipped
the last sip from your bottle.
She slept on the couch,
I sat in the reclined armchair
the remainder of the night
unable to close my eyes;
listening for the sliding
of your bedroom door.
Planning…
I would retrieve a butcher knife
to protect our very lives
if need be.
I was only twelve.
My siblings were only pretending
that they were asleep,
not wakened by her stifled screams.
Her bruises were half hidden
by a turtle-neck the next day;
your efforts to make us all forget
with a dinner out…
Lost on us all.
An unsettling undertone
masked your tactics.
© Hannah Gosselin 9/19/12
That any should endure this kind of experience chills me every time. Words can’t express what I felt when I read this, my friend, Hannah. That you shared it says more than some will ever realize. Thank you. You have been blessed in many ways. <3
<3 Claudsy your kind words are such a blessing…thank you immensely.
I’m sorry you had to live this, too. XOX
Thank you, Diana. xo
My goodness, you seem to have filled in the words that wouldn’t fit in my shadorma!
**hugs** backatcha my friend! <3
Reading your shadorma immediately brought this one to the surface, Paula. I thought your form and poem to be deep without going too deep….fine lines. Thank you, my friend. <3
Reading some of these it seems I grew up never experiencing some of the harsher realities of life. Well Done Hannah.
Thank you, Michael.
I so hope these things are far behind you now,
and that you are okay.
Over but some of these linger within forgotten but not as forgotten as I’d like. You’re so kind SharoninDallas.
Every parent’s nightmare. I wrote this for a group of parents who had experienced a similar loss: This was written almost a year after it happened, when I was able to write again.
Wrong Answer
Because it will always be “not you” answering the phone
Sending the e-mail
Not you complaining of the price of gas, the war that
Keeps going on and on, the quarreling candidates.
Not you who sends holiday greetings, happy birthdays –
(That one day we share forever locked together…)
Not you. Not you that turns around when your name
Is spoken. That name I gave you that you said you liked… Oh
Heart of my heart, why must I search for ever
For the one that is missing, the
ninety and ninth lost lamb – where have I misplaced you?
What was the word I could have said that could have stopped
What happened ? A word misunderstood? An undelivere
Letter? The e-mail left unopened, that contained
No more than neighborhood gossip
But let you know you were always in my mind…
Too late, I turn too late and you have vanished
What was left they packed and shipped
Across the country. Not you, it could not be—
Not you – an empty shell– I still embrace, kiss
Each chilled finger – no, not you, not you
Beneath the ground, beneath the sky
Not you, not you forever.
Heartbreaking..Marian, captured so emotively.
It can never been easy for that parent left behind. I can only try to imagine that sense of loss, but you explained it so that all can glimpse the aftermath.
Thank you so much for sharing this, Marian.
Too difficult to imagine. I wish each tear could help you heal, and hope every day makes the pain less.
Everything is heavy and serious…need to lighten the mood a bit…
Catch and Release…by A. Fish
Swimming
Minding my own business
Oh good! Lunch!
Ouch! What is that?
Oh no I’m stuck!
Is this somebody’s idea of a joke?
I can’t breathe
Let me go
Sharpness removed
Tossed back in the water
But lip is torn off
Not a good look
Oh, bless, JW. This is priceless. Love it. Kudos for sure!
*snort* Just what I needed to help dry the tears. ^_^
This is wonderful!
ALL OUT OF WAITING NOW
All out of waiting now.
When will my life begin?
All out of waiting now.
It’s almost to the end.
All out of waiting now.
Twenty more years I can’t abide.
All out of waiting now.
Please, God, don’t hide.
All out of waiting now.
PLEASE, PLEASE, guide
Me!
Words elude me, Sharon. Strongly aimed prayer.
Love to you, Sharon. XOX
Thank you, Domino. Thank you, Claudsy.
I hope you were heard. Truly.
Thank you. We’re getting there.
how can I choose the worst?
life is things that hurt,
that annoy,
that infuriate,
that fester in my heart like infections
incurable by any drugs,
the pain occasionally relieved
by short bursts of joy.
and who is to blame for all this?
usually me.
I replay the parade of my life
and think
the worse is yet to come.
You speak for many with this, deringer. And you expressed the dilemma very well.
Enjoy the joy, and relish it, and remember it as much as you can. As Westly said, “Life is pain…. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” And yet we still carry on and strive for those moments in bliss, don’t we? Maybe the best is yet to come, too.
Always Keep a Promise to Yourself
As a result
of that thing you said,
when you told me
you didn’t love me
and thought you never
really
had
and wanted a divorce
after ten years
and 2.6 children
(because I was
six months pregnant
with boy number 3)
the worst,
very worst
moment
in my life occurred.
For about thirty seconds,
that seemed a lot longer,
my broken heart
actually
considered
allowing my car
to cross the center line
just
in
time
to
smash into
the oncoming traffic.
And when our son kicked,
in opposition,
I imagined,
I realized it just
wouldn’t be fair.
And then my natural
optimism
sprang to life
and said
“Things will get better.
Some day.
I promise.”
And they did.
Diana Terrill Clark
Your honesty is beautiful, Diana. I love the part that your title plays…so true…we owe it to ourselves. Well written.
Diana, I have to agree with Hannah. We never know, until later perhaps, the significance of each bump in life’s road. Well done.
Many have crossed that line and others could not bear to take the innocent with them. Wise decision to stay on your own side.
Thanks, all. Shaky still from all the pain on the pages of worst moments. But grateful to be in good company.
Last Conversation
You called
to wish me Happy Birthday,
sweet sixteen,
from your hospital bed
but you repeated words
and your thoughts were on a ramble,
confused by trails I could not follow
I pointed out your blunder,
which spurred your frustration
and spawned your anger
ending the call abruptly.
Saddened that your mind
was decaying as fast as your body,
I told myself the cancer
was talking, not really my Dad,
but even so,
our conversation on my birthday
lingered with underlying hurt,
greedy with the need
for a more loving conversation
on my birthday.
oh, Michele…my heart goes out to you. And I can relate…with two estranged parents that don’t even acknowledge my Birthday anymore.
Michele, your words still echo with regret and and unrelieved hurt. I can understand those feelings, having survived a parent’s loss from cancer and its effects. All you can do is remember the previous birthday, its well-wishes and loving care, and lay those memories over the one that hurts. At least it helps.
Well done, my friend.
Michele, so sorry. Unrelieved regret is awful. I find poetry really helps. <3 Good work.
I couldn’t pick just one.
Mother’s Day
Mom, a long time diabetic,
developed a sore on her foot
and needed an amputation.
Feeling numb,
I stood there staring
at the spot where Mom’s leg should have been.
At her home, I received a call from my husband.
When his mom took her daily walk,
two chows attacked nearly killing her.
I stared at my computer screen
of photos in the news
looking like a murder scene.
It wasn’t a good day for mothers.
Oh, Connie, my heart ached when I read this. There are days in one’s life that no amount of optimism seems able to mitigate.
<3 That last line choked me right up. XOX
Me too.
The Worst Thing That Ever Happened to Me
She said:
“Your mom asked me
not to tell you
over the phone.
Just come home.
Ok,
but,
promise you’ll stay calm.
Are you sure?
Your father died today.
He was mowing
the lawn and he had
a heart attack.”
I couldn’t hear anything
after that
except the sound
of my youth
slamming shut
and the
mockingbird laughter
of Fate
forever silencing
my Answer Man.
Wow. Your last lines…so striking.
Hannah’s right–striking, indeed, Buddah.
A loss we all have to face, and may I say, you are a lucky man to have had a father who could be your answer man. Love out, Mosk.
A very sad day in the life for sure. Well worded Mosk.
Daniel’s my brother
Ringing in my head
Was just a song
Until it opened up a memory
He was 20 years old
When he was taken
From all of us
Too soon too young
I was younger
Didn’t know him
Well enough to cry
Until years later
We could have been friends
Later in life
When I grew up
If I grew up
He went away
To serve his country
Should still be alive
Fate took him away
Less of a man
I have become
Without him
In my life
Don’t let him slip away.
So sad. I very much dislike that lives be lost this way at all. It seems there should be a better way by now…
This is powerful, JW. It speaks for many of us.
How very sad. I’m so sorry you had to lose someone before you really knew him. Bless our soldiers for what they do, every one.
I realize writing that even the worst things that have happened to me (so far, knock wood) have had happy endings.
Phone Call
That phone call from six hours away down I-40 confirmed
my premonition, the uneasiness I’d felt but left unspoken.
On your own for months now, your absence palpable
in the house, the piano keys untouched, your door closed,
we lived for the phone calls, the updates, satisfied
the you were doing well, making friends, learning.
But the phone call just before we turned in for the night,
the gentle way she told us you’d been in a wreck
left more questions hanging, not enough answers
to satisfy. You were alive. We hung onto that much.
Only later did we learn the full details—hearing phrases
unfit for the language of parenting—jaws of life, trauma unit,
head-on collision in broad daylight, breathalyzer tests.
Right then, making calls to closer friends, to family,
I threw some clothes into the car, praying ceaselessly,
and flew down the highway, heading west to you.
Broken bones will heal; twisted steel can be replaced.
You had your life. We had you broken but whole.
They patched you up, and after only days, we left
you well attended at the dorm and drove back home.
Your outlook is refreshing…it seems to me something good can come of bad, too most times.
These lines:
“Broken bones will heal; twisted steel can be replaced.
You had your life. We had you broken but whole.”
Are so moving…there’s so much said here.
Beautiful writing as always, Nancy.
For certain a parent’s nightmare, Nancy. Yet, lessons are learned, priorities put in order, and blessings counted. Another door opens, it’s said. You haven’t lost your touch, Nancy.
“—hearing phrases unfit for the language of parenting—jaws of life, trauma unit, head-on collision in broad daylight, breathalyzer tests.” Those words made me truly grateful I’ve never heard them. <3
Bound
The bonds of marriage
are freeing when
your heart’s desire
is to be permanently attached,
To love
To depend on
To respect
To support
To cherish
To be friends and lovers.
But when your spouse
loses touch with reality,
and you feel widowed
though your spouse is still alive,
and then repeatedly widowed
with every episode,
the marriage vow
truly becomes a bond.
Oh, Connie. My heart goes out to you. May you know peace even in those times of unrecognized commitment. Thank you for sharing.
<3 <3
Confession
In love with love, I sorted through the list,
using a fountain pen, my finest penmanship,
addressing both envelopes, fanning them
until dry, sliding the engraved cream card,
the tissue layer inside each to seal and stamp.
My gown hung on the hook behind my door,
like a disembodied angel, blessing my dreams
of happily ever after, set to Mendellsohn’s
Wedding March. Why did you choose then
to confess to your own false heart. You,
the model of the man I hoped to marry,
had played false, giving away the heart
that wasn’t yours to give. Why tell me,
then ask my not to tell you told? Absolution
wasn’t mine to give; and forgiveness requires
penitence at least, desire to set things right.
Like the suicide’s gift to his offspring–
the possibility, the option–you made me
realize that happily isn’t always ever after.
I wonder how often this vignette plays out for the bride/groom on that most cherished of days? I think you were lucky, Nancy. At least you knew before the ceremony. I think it’s odd that many of us never consider that someone we know has gone through this.
Thanks for telling of the experience so well and showing us what a gentle lady you are.
Me? I would have decked him. That would have been my answer.
That would be a terrible thing to learn on that day. Bless you for your strength. <3
It’s more complex than it sounds. My father decided to come clean about things I didn’t necessarily want to know while I was in love with love. Not only did the groom not let me down, but he’s still around 35 years later. My dad, by the way, also made things right. He and my mother are re-married–for 25 years now–a total of way more than 50 together.
Mon and Dad split up,
Made me choose who to live with.
I was only five.
So sad…no child should have to make that decision.
I agree with Hannah on this one. Adults can be extraordinarily selfish at times.
It’s all good. When they croak, I get five days off work. We’ll call it even.
<3 So difficult. Well done, communicating that.
Unseen Scars
Sensitive to words
whispered or loudly stated
humiliation and guilt
run deep
whether the words were mine
or yours
So very true, so much of the time. Excellent job, Michelle.
Freeze Frame
vacation pictures
were not in the envelope
on the table
suicide in a barn
burned in indelible ink
on my teenage brain
crime scene photos
dad never left his work
laying around again
Michelle, such memories burn with their own flame. <3 This piece has power. It is a movie in three short stanzas.
Perfect title for this.
Rear View Mirror
he was cruising down the road
alone to somewhere else loosing
battles left and right in his mind
raced onward toward the image
he imagined in the windshield
while being fully consumed by
visions in the rear view mirror.
By Michael Grove
Oh my. Mike, this is amazing. It describes so many of us and our lives at different times. Thank you for putting it into words. Great job.
Oh, SO true, Mike…our pasts can be super consuming. Well done.
This took me directly to my trip to the hospital when I learned my son had a broken leg… Good poets can do that. Great job, Mike.
Thank You Claudsy, Hannah and Dianna. It is not so easy for me to write to this prompt. A lot of deep thought in the poems posted here so far.
ANOTHER DARK NIGHT
(a shadorma)
Loud voices
woke me from my sleep.
Pounding fists.
Breaking glass.
From the darkness I listen
to Mom’s muffled cries.
Two for two, my friend. Great.
I never take your words lightly. I’m truly honored. Thank you.
((hugs))
*backatcha*
Paula–well done, for many reasons.
Thanks (once again!), Claudsy!
Breathless, Paula. Like Mosk said, two for two.
Thank you, Diana!
The Worst Thing
Now
Then
How
Where
Why
Pain a Ten Then
Pain within now
Where
Why
How
Sharon, this says much in new words; something within it speaks to everyone. Well done.
JUST WALK AWAY
The crash was horrific.
A terrific clash of glass and metal.
In full control, the other soul wasn’t quite as lucky.
Broken bones that ache to this day,
but at least I was able to just “walk” away.
The other soul wasn’t quite as lucky.
Lucky, you were. This short piece tells much, my friend. Having been in a several that I “walked away” from, I can sympathize wholeheartedly. Good one.
So scary. Glad you’re here.
WOW. So glad we were the lucky ones that you walked away from that scene, and onto our screens.
A DARK NIGHT
(a shadorma)
Innocence
taken away at
seventeen
can never
be forgotten; in time, it
can be forgiven.
Powerful and wise. Well written.
Thank you, Mosk!
Powerful, indeed, Paula. And I agree, wise. Listen to Buddah.
Thanks, Claudsy!
HARSH WORDS
A three o’clock phone call
awakening from a restless sleep.
I can’t keep but thinking
it was a stinking thing I did.
The voice came frantic and swift
“Mom’s in a coma”
I wanted to take it all back,
but the fact remained,
my goodbye would always be
spoken as harsh words.
Sorry for riding your coat tails, Paula. Must’ve tried posting while reading yours. Both of which, as Buddha identified, are extraordinary.
Thank you, Walt. Truly.
As for coat tails…to be anywhere near you on the page is a privilege.
AIN’T SO BAD
I had found my muse heading
down poetic paths and ponderous ways.
Now, most of my days are spent
writing rhyme and prose. And so it goes
for one so inclined to purge his mind
of metered minutia. Our days are numbered
and I’ve lumbered through these streets
meeting wonderful poets and muses,
I refuse to go down without a fight
(or a Sestina or two). Between me and you
this was the best time I’ve had.
I’ve realized this place ain’t so bad!
And we’ve all benefited from your example, Walt. Love it.
A peace sign and 2 thumps up… not at the same time of course.
the diagnosis
is never a life sentence
if not meant to be.
<3
Indeed!
the diagnosis
of my lovely daughter
schizophrenia
Will return later with more.
Robert, yours is so terribly, strikingly real. Far too real for far too many children.
<3
Marie Elena– <3
Yes, Marie Elena- <3 <3 <3
Thanks, gals. You’re all so sweet and compassionate. <3 back.