I found myself, once, longing,
To be hated by you.
To feel the burning shame of guilt,

I won't say any more about feelings,
Because that place,
I'd occupy without them,
To see this nonsense through.

So few people seem to really give a ****.
And you actually do.
You really do.
Maybe if I wished too much for you
To love and respect me,
To see me as as a friend,
then maybe I risk the capacity to be hated by you, as well.
but I tend to see you as a force of nature.

If you ever began to love me, as I hope,
Then I have to realize,
Your capacity to hate me would also materialize.
And, like a force of nature, I know,
You would spare me: Nothing.
Help me: Not.
Trust me: Never.
but you would do nothing to me
Out of malice or for ego or for personal gain.
And I would have to trust,
With a child's trust, happily,
even to my death,

That it was better to be loved
    by a force of nature,
Regardless of pleasure or pain,
Beyond reproach or false intent.

Back at the shore, at the interface, I tried, once, to be free.
I found a human animal there, hidden beneath the sea.
It stared, defiant, back at me, perplexed to be observed.
It had no need for company,
It had no need for words.

I felt unable to understand,
Understanding all too well.
The pain within the heart of man,
The pain they buy and sell.

I spoke aloud, though, anyway,
I thought I knew those eyes,
Believed my voice could make a change,
In other creature's lives.

"You're hurt", I said, to the ocean waves,
"Why hide beneath the sea?"
"You're a fool", it said, "presuming that",
"There's something wrong with me"

"Go back to where it's warm and dry,"
"Just walk away from here."
"The water gives me all I need."
"Spare me your hope and fear".

Perhaps", I said, "We all are broken,"
"To some extent, in body; soul..."
I saw my own, afraid but happy,
So unbroken as to seem whole.

It shouted at me once I had left,
We would never meet again.
Then whispered an unheard, but felt,
Admission to the pain.

You think you have me figured out already,
don't you, Carol Lynn?
Well, I hope not, because it would mean the chances are good,
That you actually have.  This would be sad because it means,
there may be no intrigue remaining,
nothing new to discover,
and you might go away,
bored with me and the evil,
you must, inevitably find,
buried in my side like a stone.

There may come a day when you finally see,
Where this tension, releasing, comes from.
You said I was wound, unbound, like a spring.
The watch of my appeal always did have a short run.

So, a relationship moves toward it's end, right from the start.
Interest can wane, obscenities uncovered, doubt can enter,
and set up shop like it always does.  

What we should hope for instead is a slow burning ember,
nurtured each breath with whispers, with mindfulness,
and contentedly, casually, delay it's demise for just one more day.

Wednesday 17 December 2014

This one was beautiful.  I sculpted it myself.  Did you know that?
It took years and, if I’m completely honest, I was overly fond of it.
I’d made many, of course.  I had to.  We all had to.
Cupped, round, and smooth, heavy in my hand like a clay pigeon.
So beautiful...

Somehow it began in light,
Naïveté and youth.
I used to say it just felt right,
And free from all abuse.

At  first it formed a perfect ring,
Of lies I thought were true.
I bring it, now, to end the thing.
I bring it, now, to you.  

Because every thing must have its place,
Every thing in its own time.  
This beautiful thing has failed it's need,
Inspiring only pain and rhyme.

-but may it live in memory, still,
May the growth outweigh the pain.
When pain brings growth beyond your will,
Remember fondly, this thing, again.

So why did I smile when you asked me to hold it?
Why did I find it fitting that you made me load it into the trap?
Why were the lines formed by your braced shoulder,
your leveled forearm, your
outstrectched, cradled hand,
so beautiful...
when you inclined your head,
Closed one eye, and,
Steady, raised your sights?

Why did I love you so much for pulling the trigger?

She never lied, she never lies,
She just ignores.
The truth,
I tried to tell her how I feel,
She just ignored,
The proof.
"Then try to think of something else", she said.
"Write the other way"
Whenever she'd drink and rant like this,
I'd stay out of her way.
Because “real”, for her, seemed to signify,
I tried it once, but should probably try again.
I was real with you, that once,
Only, later,  to find
That those imploring me to "relax",
Insisting things would be different,
If only I could "flow", If only I could "see"...
You said, “be real”, and now the memory
Just turns my ******* stomach
Since all of those whose mantra called,
For a plea to just “be real”
Were the least capable, almost to the man,
Of being anything close to that.

"A vice grinds hard in the gut..."
Began a poem from decades past.
From one hard lover, now a ghost,
Whose words have long since passed.

She scoffed at love and poured another,
Drunk, to dull the pain,
Sober, I held her in my arms,
On guard against the flames.

But love grew, still, within the dark,
Inside her body, bourbon-tied.
Unseen to me, there was a spark,
And the gates below blew open wide.

Discarding friends and lovers, too,
She ****** them for their care.
Believing this was what to do,
Her love became a dare.

She sang her wrath in poetry,
Self-loathing, hatred, blame.
The gilded coach that had to be,
A vehicle of pain.

I made farewells once she was gone,
They formed inside of sighs.
I gathered up the rhyming note,
And kissed her peaceful eyes.

Secretly, I envied you...
Forgive me if it presumes too much
To wish you happiness and comfort.
As far as I can tell, you'd have me think
Those things are not for you.

I used to think that this was appalling,
and pity the creature who lays claim
To misery as their lot.
but
Secretly, I envied you, before even
Understanding,
That my pity was like hatred,
A misery in its own right,
And worse than that which I judged.
I resented the affront, another deadly sin,
And you were right.  
You were right again.
You were right.
All along...

We took a drive. I had things to say.
My heart was aching, shattered.
I rehearsed the words throughout the day,
Believing that it mattered.

I met you then but I only saw,
The mask you chose to show.
If you were suffering underneath,
Then how was I to know?

I said,
" Your grey facade hides worlds so vast,
Naked flesh of fruit, beneath the rind.
Your future's informed by its turbulent past,
Full understanding; when you look behind."

You said,
" You try too hard, you think too much.
You never live for now.
Wrapping words around the wrong ideas,
You miss the point somehow."
"Stuck in place, because it's safe,
You're too afraid to grow.
If you had begun to change your fate,
Then how was I to know?"

You saw me within a grey facade.
I saw you within a grey facade.

We could not say more, it seemed sufficient,
That love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love is ignoring all that came before,
Loving only the moment.
That coin of the realm: elusive, bright.
Your grey facade hides
Such a beautiful light.
Love has many names.
Call any one aloud and I will answer.
I will come.
You will see.
You'll see me clearly, even behind this grey facade.

In a room full of people, you're reading our words,
Silent, to yourself, alone.
Because bearing the stress of talking aloud,
Is much harder than sitting on your own.

And when we let you in, it's all the way.
We keep ourselves safe, but we have to say,
The ideas from within, the shadow or light,
Can comfort a stranger or set things right.

Our words have reached you,
       they've made you see more,
And understand better than you could before,
In a form that can never completely remain,
       untouched by the heart of it's writer,
We share this very real part of ourselves,
While the audience glows, ever brighter.
And vulnerability opens a door,
pulling strength on the strings of a lyre.
Our melody and lyric, not wanting for more,
Can raise each of our readers up higher.