It’s time to write an ending to a story. Let go of those calling me word twister. The ending is dark, sad, devoid of glory. The one who named me twister was my sister. She has been dead a decade. I still miss her except for the calls of money gone awry. The cousins whitewash her and call me twister; past time for me to gently say goodbye. The small bird of hope has sung for ten long years. She lives even on crumbs of cruel spite. She sings in spite of no respite from tears. Quietly in day or night, in dark or light. The hope bird flutters: she’s waited years. I release her now and I drink a soup of tears.
My feelings are not that complicated now I feel sorry for your need to be quite cruel Sorry and occasionally wonder how You justify acting like a stubborn mule a distillation of your treatment is quite clear you choose to keep the people you control promises mean nothing when you feel fear Telling yourself we’re evil takes a toll You feel free and safe when you axe another friend You feel that all your problems are at bay A new need immediately builds again Who will be the next victim of the day? Your world shrinks every day you live A stone cold heart forgetting how to give.
Sonnet 14
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Isn’t it an amazing tree? Complicated and yet forming an overall beautiful shape.
Sometimes paths meet and we walk together for a while.
Still we are separate. Promises made, friends forever
and yet the path diverges, one person leaves. We
can’t see that in the future. I am wary of always and
never, I try not to use them. I will not promise friends
forever: addiction could drive me away or lies or betrayal.
I might still love. I might return to be present for death
but still, I will not say forever.
Because that is a lie.
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I took the photograph yesterday blind. We were on Marrowstone and could not see what was out in the water. It changed shape though. I took this zoomed all the way out and then still couldn’t see what was there until I downloaded the photographs. We thought it was a stick. Or a turtle. Then we wondered if there are turtles in the Salish Sea. I googled Salish Sea turtle and get this: https://www.epa.gov/salish-sea/marine-species-risk. That’s a bit sad. Read on down, though, because it lists seven things we can do to help.
And still, people are being found under the rubble alive, though far more dead. Prayers and praise for the searchers and the victims and families. A song for them:
Oooo, I put orientation up as the Ragtag Daily Prompt today. Then I wondered if disorientation is a word and it is! A mouthful!
This is a series of poems or meditations or arguments I had with myself last week. I was thinking about love and how to handle people that I love that have stopped behaving in a loving way or have actually been cruel or cut me off. Do I stop loving them and hate them? Do I love them anyhow? What would that love open me to? Abuse? It is disorienting to think about. Here is the series.
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The Fall
I am small. The adults love me and give me away. I grieve each time. It doesn’t matter if I behave well or not: they leave me. I decide that the adults are confused. They do not know how to love. Why don’t they know? I want to understand! Babies should be loved! We are innocent!
All babies should be loved and protected. I do, with my sister. The adults continue their mysterious crazy doings. I recognize that alcohol does not help, nor other choices.
All babies should be loved and protected. All adults were babies once. Sometimes they were not loved and protected and they are damaged. I train and then I doctor them. Healing is slow.
All babies should be loved and protected. All adults were babies once. All adults hold a baby that should be loved and protected: themselves. I try for a long time.
All babies should be loved and protected. All adults were babies once. Each adult makes their own choices, to heal or not. To grow or not. To love themselves and the Beloved or not.
All babies should be loved and protected. All adults make choices. The Beloved loves them all.
I am not the Beloved. Nor an angel. I dream of falling.
I am not the Beloved. I let go. I fall.
I do not love them all.
Rise
Yesterday I fell. I let myself dislike four people that I loved.
But no, I choose not. Angels fall and rise again. I choose love. If that means distance, then I choose distance. For now I will love the cruel ones from a distance. No contact.
The Buddhas laugh at the needy ones, the angry ones, the ones who press. Some will be enlightened, some wait for the next life. The Buddhas laugh because they do not control it. It may be the quiet one who says nothing who rises, while one who wants and wants and wants may have to want for longer. Why, Beloved? Isn’t wanting you enough? Isn’t longing enough? How much must one want? How deeply must one long?
I choose love.
Prayer to Kwan Yin
Kwan Yin, I am sorry. I cannot be a Bodhisattva. I am tired. I grieve. I want to love everyone. They hate it. If I love the small child within they are reminded of the hidden hurts and they lash out. I am tired. I don’t want to be the target of that. Kwan Yin, how to do you return and return again, loving these? I am not strong enough. I give up. I throw myself on your mercy, I bow to your infinite love and strength, I abase myself. Forgive me, I am not strong enough. I give up. I do not have enough love in my heart and I am so tired.
Beloved, I am sorry. I tried.
Every Being (Sonnet 9)
Keep the cruel ones at a distance far. Hold your enemies close in love’s embrace. None to hate, yet cruelty glints like stars. I hide quiet with cats in this home space. My heart opens like the universe. Projections batter me from head to toe. Why tear at me with their deep hurts? They project their pain: inside they know. They know, don’t know, choose not to learn. Dark rooms and texts and staring at the screen. My skin scalded, heart black with new burns. I think they’d like me too to turn out mean. I will hide here with Beloved’s dove. Each tear I cry sends every being love.
In spite of want
Sol set in my heart and rises again. I can love whoever I want. There are no boundaries to love. But I will not be abused or used, I will love quietly and silently and without letting my love know. And I will love who I want. No, I will love in spite of want, though I do not want to, though it is not deserved. But I honor my stubborn heart that does not let go of love.
I spend a long day wrestling with love arguing with myself back and forth I am no angel descended from above Those undeserving of my love make me wroth yet my core argues that it still loves them and agrees their cruelty’s beyond the pale I snarl and cough and choke on bitter phlegm Defend my self staying far away and hale My core agrees I shall not tolerate abuse Forgive yet we despair we’ll ever reconcile They show no guilt nor shame for their misuse My core says let them be: she is so mild Negotiation done: Agreed. I may love those who I love But I leave contact with them to the angels and Beloved.
What old deep wound causes you to hurt me and other friends you’ve had in past. What terrors hidden in that brew make you glory in making others sad? You boast to me of throwing people out of your life forever, never friend again. You don’t explain what crimes reroute your heart to where you never speak again to him or me. How many people discarded from your heart and at what interval? How many “friendships” have you departed? And yet you boast that others call you spiritual. “Friends forever,” you said. I wonder why you tell yourself and me that petty lie.
I chose a more difficult word for the Ragtag Daily Prompt than I realized! I was thinking of imminent, but came up with immanent when using spell check. Then I puzzled because it did not mean what I thought it meant. In the ragbag ragtag immanence of my mind, I was really thinking of imminent, meaning about to happen or near in time!
It’s a nonsense poem, so the picture has nothing to do with it.
Words in my mind are immanent but the Ragtag prompt is imminent spellcheck I thought was eminent turns out it is more cinnament now I’m in my element nonsense poems being elegant and Tuesday being swellegant and you’re wondering if I’m intelligent don’t worry, this won’t be permanent which doesn’t really rhyme with immanent
This too I want to remember. Discussions of the world together. The mysteries of science and sweatpants strings. String theory and medicine, cabbages and kings. Why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. This too I want to remember.
I am very happy to have another poem up on Edge of Humanity blog. Thank you so much! I love all the art and photography and writing from all over the world. Check out the many contributors!
The chances of you changing are quite small. I know from very early in our time. Why God makes angels that will one day fall. We could be sent to teach each other rhymes or something else. I wonder at it daily. My heart opens like a flower even so. The candle just at dusk burns quite palely. I wonder what excuse you’ll use to go. It’s a comic denouement I see at last. You denigrate my knowledge and my skill. After exposure you refuse to wear a mask or test. I rise in anger at ill will. It’s comic that I’ve liked your busy mind. Respect for mine is nil: you elk’s behind.
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
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