A Few New Poems...

Royal Ladies at Tea

And I remember

tea parties with my mother,

sitting together,

legs crossed,

nibbling on our shortbread biscuits

and talking of lighter things.

I felt like royalty then;

a fair, red-topped princess,

Elizabeth in repose,

with my queen of a mother

like a gentle statue at my side

always reading, always being read.

Here we sat --

one lost in words, in loneliness,

in a constant stutter of marital doubt;

one lost in life, just lost

in a fervent search for the luck

of a private clover.

A tenderness was shared between us then

as mother and daughter.

But when the daughter was grown,

once 'woman' was applied to her title,

a common ground was absent

and precious memories

of royal ladies at tea

became petty and awkward.

~

Today we search for comfort in others

that should be found in one another.

A kind, healthy peace is unlikely

but still we struggle, struggle, and struggle for it

all the same.

February 6, 2012

- This next one is stupid, but still pretty funny...well, at least I thought so.

Friend in the Head

I have a little friend in the head.

He isn't alive but he certainly isn't dead.

He entertains me day and night

and comforts me when I'm a fright.

He's made of righteous DNA

and somewhat feminine; a little gay.

The fun we have is almost too much

and hand in hand comes trouble and such;

for every time we get called out,

and every time they scream and shout,

I always come out losing in the end

because I can't blame anything on my imaginary friend!

The ruckus he causes; the pain inflicted

is absolutely nothing to be predicted.

And just when you think you have control,

he turns you crazy like rock and roll.

He likes my habits; my bad ones at most,

and has a fetish for green eggs, ham, and toast.

I made him up completely but to me he is no lie;

he gives me what I always need and more than enough to get by.

He never leaves me, never cheats,

never mocks at what I eat.

Never leaves me hanging in the wind.

Never keeps me down and pinned.

The greatest addiction. The perfect drug.

What I dig he's already dug.

And together we be sinful, see.

My silly friend in the head and me.

January 24, 2012

- And this one is pretty much my life right now.

Stuck

I lie awake in a moan,

a fickle sigh;

the prisoner of the undead coffin.

A mask of fear

of the optimism of change.

The protagonist now the antagonist

and nothing more;

an empty blip in the sky,

an unwanted crayon in the variety box.

Pea green.

Lairs of animosity toward the self

breed like wild fires

in the depths of my mind.

They give me guilt,

sell me anger,

barter my strength for barren courage.

It develops in the mind

but feeds on the physical,

forcing its retreat into aging

and weakness

and foolishness.

A sad, morose, detestable prison,

inescapable yet inevitable

if one gets lost within the echoes of a pitiful moan

or swallowed by the cocoon

of an unaltered existence;

a stagnant evolution.

January 23, 2012

- More to come...I've been writing like crazy lately so I might as well share it, right?

First New Poem of 2012

The Curse: A Lovely Fairytale

When I was hatched

from the depths of mother's womb,

I was but a weak babe,

a light, little thing,

wrinkled and fair but quite silent.

I was born of many fathers, no doubt.

But my mother, with reasons unknown,

fled from that earthen sperm,

the one that filled my eyes

with an amber brown

likely similar to his own.

I was a helpless child

with bones not yet strong,

with a wit not yet formed,

with a beauty not yet desired.

My mother kept me latched to her breast

with a weight of fear

making her step heavy.

It must have been fear, yes?

Why else run from your husband

with his red-faced seed

tucked tightly under your wing?

With eight and twenty years on my hands,

I now know that my welcome to this world

was nothing more than a curse;

a foul disease; a dark witch's poison

that slowly erodes my mother,

lining her face,

plaguing her mind,

and removing all of her senses.

And what of that father I once had?

That glorious knight

from whom I prayed for a rescue

every night and every day

throughout my mother's unintended imprisonment?

Does he still survive?

Does he still house a beating heart

behind his armored chest,

and if so, does a snippet of that heart

beat for me?

Such answers remain hidden from me.

The wonder eats me away

as maggots to a dead carcass.

I fear time will never reveal this mystery

but instead will bury it further

until it becomes nothing more than myth.

Only then will I be forced to conclude

that I indeed was never born to a father.

I must accept my bastard status...

either that or my 'pure' mother

is the 'Virgin' Mother reincarnate

and thus I am the savior

come to forgive all sin.

A lovely fairytale, yes,

but even I couldn't fall for that nonsense again.

January 2, 2012