carolyne-mcnabb - Hello Poetry

I stand accused. Accused of a crime I most surely committed. A crime of the most heinous issue. More appalling than a sickness transmitted. The accuser claims I have destroyed my family, because of my crime. What did I do? What was my crime? I spoke out when I was molested. Molested by my dear, innocent cousin, who could not possibly have done wrong. I was molested. I did not point fingers or name names at first. I simply said "I will stay in a hotel this visit." But you cannot remain vague with family. Family has a way of enticing your confessions. They demand to know your sins. I stand accused. Not of a crime, but of a plot. A plot to destroy my family with evil thoughts. I am a trickster whose pleas are refused. I stand accused of being molested in a world that says "Get over it." and a family that screams "Who should trust you?!" I was molested, and I stand accused. Help from Lady Justice refused.

0

Sep 17, 2017

Sep 17, 2017 at 6:41 PM UTC

Lady Justice, Molested

I stand accused. Accused of a crime I most surely committed. A crime of the most heinous issue. More appalling than a sickness transmitted. The accuser claims I have destroyed my family, because of my crime. What did I do? What was my crime? I spoke out when I was molested. Molested by my dear, innocent cousin, who could not possibly have done wrong. I was molested. I did not point fingers or name names at first. I simply said "I will stay in a hotel this visit." But you cannot remain vague with family. Family has a way of enticing your confessions. They demand to know your sins. I stand accused. Not of a crime, but of a plot. A plot to destroy my family with evil thoughts. I am a trickster whose pleas are refused. I stand accused of being molested in a world that says "Get over it." and a family that screams "Who should trust you?!" I was molested, and I stand accused. Help from Lady Justice refused.

29

I found perfection. I found it in you. You of all things! For years I swore to never have children. I feared that I was too much a child myself. I still do. But I found perfection in listening to your coos and even your cries. Every time you smile your toothless smile is the sweetest of surprises and all the while I can't stop the bubbling laughter from within. You have me wrapped so fondly around each of your precious fingers. My son, you are the moon and stars. The glorious break of dawn cannot compare to the shine in your ravenous eyes- hungry to take in the curious world around you. I hope you'll never lose that hunger. My son, just as you are, I feel complete. A full life of living would be death when compared to my life now as your mom. I will forever love you with no end.

0

Sep 5, 2017

Sep 5, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC

Dear Grayson,

I found perfection. I found it in you. You of all things! For years I swore to never have children. I feared that I was too much a child myself. I still do. But I found perfection in listening to your coos and even your cries. Every time you smile your toothless smile is the sweetest of surprises and all the while I can't stop the bubbling laughter from within. You have me wrapped so fondly around each of your precious fingers. My son, you are the moon and stars. The glorious break of dawn cannot compare to the shine in your ravenous eyes- hungry to take in the curious world around you. I hope you'll never lose that hunger. My son, just as you are, I feel complete. A full life of living would be death when compared to my life now as your mom. I will forever love you with no end.

22

One day it won't matter how hard I try to be the best thing that ever happened to you. One day, inevitably, I'll drown in the puddles of sweat in my shoes. squish, squish Plodding down the hallway to your room I'll knock softly in case you're in a mood. How did I get here? A sappy, pathetic thing, standing outside your door, ready to **** myself if you're mad again. I stand with sweaty palms outstretched when you open the door. Your face... I should have known better then. A hug. That was all I wanted. You could have kept your frown. One hit and I was down, drowned. The door slams shut again. I can't smell dinner on the stove anymore. The blood fills my nose and drips to the floor. But I can smell the gasoline that I later poured out... On the floor where we once cuddled all night, on the couch that we bought from your friend you text sometimes, on the wall where I had meant to hang pictures of us smiling, outside your door that you carried me through once, as a bride. I don't want to drown anymore. Just like we matched once, one match is all it took tonight. One match to erase you forever. I took the dog that you liked to kick. We still drive your truck I lost my virginity in. We found ourselves a nice little beach house somewhere because God it feels so good to swim.

0

Jun 19, 2017

Jun 19, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC

Swim or Drown

One day it won't matter how hard I try to be the best thing that ever happened to you. One day, inevitably, I'll drown in the puddles of sweat in my shoes. squish, squish Plodding down the hallway to your room I'll knock softly in case you're in a mood. How did I get here? A sappy, pathetic thing, standing outside your door, ready to **** myself if you're mad again. I stand with sweaty palms outstretched when you open the door. Your face... I should have known better then. A hug. That was all I wanted. You could have kept your frown. One hit and I was down, drowned. The door slams shut again. I can't smell dinner on the stove anymore. The blood fills my nose and drips to the floor. But I can smell the gasoline that I later poured out... On the floor where we once cuddled all night, on the couch that we bought from your friend you text sometimes, on the wall where I had meant to hang pictures of us smiling, outside your door that you carried me through once, as a bride. I don't want to drown anymore. Just like we matched once, one match is all it took tonight. One match to erase you forever. I took the dog that you liked to kick. We still drive your truck I lost my virginity in. We found ourselves a nice little beach house somewhere because God it feels so good to swim.

31

As we trot along this cobbled path, passing leaves of green and buds mid-bloom, life seems right; the darkness of night at bay with all its gloom. Our carriage of white portrays rescue from God's wrath. The sun is radiant and the birds rejoice in its warmth. We're passing through a town, large in size; as joyously as the singing birds, we smile on the people. In passing a church, we're in awe of the steeple. So tall is the pinnacle, white-washed and nice, we smile bigger seeing the people as on our side. But as the sun sets in the west and the coldness of night draw nearer in haste, the beautiful people change. Once friendly and welcoming, humorous and kind, now strange, hateful, and bitter they seem. Their faces, weary and affright, are thin and pale where fullness once was. We look on the once busy streets, now one huddled mass. What happened to the happy, beautiful people? A sudden crash and we search for the source. Where is the steeple? Alas! In the road lies a cross, once high in the sky, now in ash. What people would profane such a symbol of God's love? By the red glow of the setting sun, our driver quickens our pace. Searching for a road to travel out of this wretched town; every turn brings us back to their haunting frowns. Where smiles once were, worry and fear etch into our faces. The people watch as we become frantic. They're emotionless. God, where are you? At one's suggestion we cry out in prayer. God, answer us! Then I see myself in the crowd and begin to fuss. How am I there when I am here? Then, you are there too. One by one our company appears in the crowd. Panicked, we become angry. Confused, we become angry with God. Pointing our fingers in the sky, we shout curses at "God the Most High". He's the one that led us, He made us come. Our carriage has stopped and where an angel once sat driving, a man turns to us; perfect teeth shone in his grin. "My friends," the handsome stranger says, "It doesn't have to be." What could he mean? Where is the angel? Who is he? Knowing our thoughts, he coolly replies, scratching his chin, "I am a friend and the angel has left you." All gasp at this; some shriek in terror. "Calm yourselves for I have good news!" Some of us exchange glances but all is silent as he continues, "God has left you but I can help you through this evil town. Trust me to save you and it shall be done." God has abandoned us? Do I believe this stranger's tale? "Friends, if God was here, would you be a face in that mass?" He made sense to us. We had been outcast. "Listen to me, I love you and my plan will not fail." Simultaneously we submitted to the stranger. Lord forgive us for we know not what we do. Lightning cracked across the sky as the sun disappeared, but where was the moon? The sky held none. It was to be a full moon as far as we knew. Then we realized with guilt in our hearts that like the moon, we no longer reflected the Son. God had never abandoned us; we left Him. And for what? The beautiful stranger changed then in every appearance but the sly grin that was plastered on his face. Satan. And it was too late to run. Our carriage disappeared and we fell in the dirt. We tried to brush the dirt off but the filth remained. Our white robes were now black tatters. Besides our sobbing, silence ruled. By tears our faces, once beautiful, were stained. Though the night was cool, we were covered in sweat. Satan was gone though his laugh did still linger; it was the thunder that followed the lightning's accusing finger. As the sky mocked us, we huddled together and were met by the townspeople who slowly came over to our party. The people we'd seen that looked like us had all gone, leaving no trace. We all knew the truth though none said. That we'd become them, weary and pale from foot to head. We were bitter, but more afraid than mad. How miserable we became! Tightly packed we shivered until dawn. The sun rose and with it the birds. Without feeling it, our faces grew bright as the green grass. All of us appeared as beautiful as the town and its mass; no one spoke in our party, at a loss for words. Yes, the town's beauty was restored but we knew it to be fake. This had been these people's lives, acting joyous to please the fork-tongued stranger who once tricked them as well. This was a town of lost children of God. In it we now dwell. Lost and afraid, this picturesque town only teased. A white carriage rambled through the scenic town; its riders laugh in each other's company but would they continue through to their journey's end, what awaits them in Heaven, the end that had awaited us? Oh please! Don not be trapped by the beauty of Satan's town! Though we wish to warn the unsuspecting strangers, we are forced like the others to greet rather than warn of dangers. Unable to control ourselves, we welcome them to our town. Wanting to tour, they smile at us and awe at the steeple. We smile back and look high at our beautiful steeple, we the people. Hurry and escape before the sun sets! Rush into the Father's courts and repent for your present dawdle. Do not linger here for we are rotting in hell. They begin to leave and just in time too; for the sun is setting but then so soon, a rider points into the street and all is not well. We are already changing into our true form. Now I know they are trapped for they know we're dead. It is no use to run but they cry out to God as we had. I want to encourage them but instead a rider notices his company appearing in the crowd. Knowing all is lost, I want to cry; but what's this? They do not curse God. More fervently than before, they pray. Satan does not appear in their angel's place. Finding their way, they leave this godforsaken town. Though my people are lost, we now have hope. If they can find God's grace then maybe we can too. Slowly I feel my strength regaining and I feel anew. My friends notice the change as I plan to elope. God save us please. Most of our company has repented by now; some chose self pity instead. God, hide us from the devil as we escape his town. By starlight we travel on the streets; praying for God's rescue until we come out of the town and there by the gate, a beautiful carriage awaits. God guide us to your home; we promise we'll go straight there. Though we enjoy nature's beauty, we'll not go off course to seek it. For You, oh Lord, have taught us to not love the world, so we may not become it. -CM

0

Jun 18, 2017

Jun 18, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC

Satan's Town (A very long and religious ballad)

As we trot along this cobbled path, passing leaves of green and buds mid-bloom, life seems right; the darkness of night at bay with all its gloom. Our carriage of white portrays rescue from God's wrath. The sun is radiant and the birds rejoice in its warmth. We're passing through a town, large in size; as joyously as the singing birds, we smile on the people. In passing a church, we're in awe of the steeple. So tall is the pinnacle, white-washed and nice, we smile bigger seeing the people as on our side. But as the sun sets in the west and the coldness of night draw nearer in haste, the beautiful people change. Once friendly and welcoming, humorous and kind, now strange, hateful, and bitter they seem. Their faces, weary and affright, are thin and pale where fullness once was. We look on the once busy streets, now one huddled mass. What happened to the happy, beautiful people? A sudden crash and we search for the source. Where is the steeple? Alas! In the road lies a cross, once high in the sky, now in ash. What people would profane such a symbol of God's love? By the red glow of the setting sun, our driver quickens our pace. Searching for a road to travel out of this wretched town; every turn brings us back to their haunting frowns. Where smiles once were, worry and fear etch into our faces. The people watch as we become frantic. They're emotionless. God, where are you? At one's suggestion we cry out in prayer. God, answer us! Then I see myself in the crowd and begin to fuss. How am I there when I am here? Then, you are there too. One by one our company appears in the crowd. Panicked, we become angry. Confused, we become angry with God. Pointing our fingers in the sky, we shout curses at "God the Most High". He's the one that led us, He made us come. Our carriage has stopped and where an angel once sat driving, a man turns to us; perfect teeth shone in his grin. "My friends," the handsome stranger says, "It doesn't have to be." What could he mean? Where is the angel? Who is he? Knowing our thoughts, he coolly replies, scratching his chin, "I am a friend and the angel has left you." All gasp at this; some shriek in terror. "Calm yourselves for I have good news!" Some of us exchange glances but all is silent as he continues, "God has left you but I can help you through this evil town. Trust me to save you and it shall be done." God has abandoned us? Do I believe this stranger's tale? "Friends, if God was here, would you be a face in that mass?" He made sense to us. We had been outcast. "Listen to me, I love you and my plan will not fail." Simultaneously we submitted to the stranger. Lord forgive us for we know not what we do. Lightning cracked across the sky as the sun disappeared, but where was the moon? The sky held none. It was to be a full moon as far as we knew. Then we realized with guilt in our hearts that like the moon, we no longer reflected the Son. God had never abandoned us; we left Him. And for what? The beautiful stranger changed then in every appearance but the sly grin that was plastered on his face. Satan. And it was too late to run. Our carriage disappeared and we fell in the dirt. We tried to brush the dirt off but the filth remained. Our white robes were now black tatters. Besides our sobbing, silence ruled. By tears our faces, once beautiful, were stained. Though the night was cool, we were covered in sweat. Satan was gone though his laugh did still linger; it was the thunder that followed the lightning's accusing finger. As the sky mocked us, we huddled together and were met by the townspeople who slowly came over to our party. The people we'd seen that looked like us had all gone, leaving no trace. We all knew the truth though none said. That we'd become them, weary and pale from foot to head. We were bitter, but more afraid than mad. How miserable we became! Tightly packed we shivered until dawn. The sun rose and with it the birds. Without feeling it, our faces grew bright as the green grass. All of us appeared as beautiful as the town and its mass; no one spoke in our party, at a loss for words. Yes, the town's beauty was restored but we knew it to be fake. This had been these people's lives, acting joyous to please the fork-tongued stranger who once tricked them as well. This was a town of lost children of God. In it we now dwell. Lost and afraid, this picturesque town only teased. A white carriage rambled through the scenic town; its riders laugh in each other's company but would they continue through to their journey's end, what awaits them in Heaven, the end that had awaited us? Oh please! Don not be trapped by the beauty of Satan's town! Though we wish to warn the unsuspecting strangers, we are forced like the others to greet rather than warn of dangers. Unable to control ourselves, we welcome them to our town. Wanting to tour, they smile at us and awe at the steeple. We smile back and look high at our beautiful steeple, we the people. Hurry and escape before the sun sets! Rush into the Father's courts and repent for your present dawdle. Do not linger here for we are rotting in hell. They begin to leave and just in time too; for the sun is setting but then so soon, a rider points into the street and all is not well. We are already changing into our true form. Now I know they are trapped for they know we're dead. It is no use to run but they cry out to God as we had. I want to encourage them but instead a rider notices his company appearing in the crowd. Knowing all is lost, I want to cry; but what's this? They do not curse God. More fervently than before, they pray. Satan does not appear in their angel's place. Finding their way, they leave this godforsaken town. Though my people are lost, we now have hope. If they can find God's grace then maybe we can too. Slowly I feel my strength regaining and I feel anew. My friends notice the change as I plan to elope. God save us please. Most of our company has repented by now; some chose self pity instead. God, hide us from the devil as we escape his town. By starlight we travel on the streets; praying for God's rescue until we come out of the town and there by the gate, a beautiful carriage awaits. God guide us to your home; we promise we'll go straight there. Though we enjoy nature's beauty, we'll not go off course to seek it. For You, oh Lord, have taught us to not love the world, so we may not become it. -CM

129

Morning sickness is a pain. Morning sickness makes it hard to gain healthy weight for my baby boy. My best friend is made of porcelain. Joy...

0

Apr 17, 2017

Apr 17, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC

I Hate Morning Sickness

Morning sickness is a pain. Morning sickness makes it hard to gain healthy weight for my baby boy. My best friend is made of porcelain. Joy...

5

You are sweet and kind. I'm so lucky you're mine. You're silly, goofy, and strange, but no one makes me laugh like you can. You're honest, genuine- which is the best relationship to be in. I am so proud to call you mine. Most days, I feel I don't deserve your time. But you love me nonetheless, and I really must say you're the best. Not just the best person or friend, not just the best lover or future husband. What really has me smiling right now is knowing you'll be the best father, no doubt. And I really hope and pray it's true, that maybe, just maybe, someday our son will grow to be just like you. I love you, Alex. -Carolyne

0

Mar 19, 2017

Mar 19, 2017 at 9:47 PM UTC

To My Fiancé and the Father of My Baby

You are sweet and kind. I'm so lucky you're mine. You're silly, goofy, and strange, but no one makes me laugh like you can. You're honest, genuine- which is the best relationship to be in. I am so proud to call you mine. Most days, I feel I don't deserve your time. But you love me nonetheless, and I really must say you're the best. Not just the best person or friend, not just the best lover or future husband. What really has me smiling right now is knowing you'll be the best father, no doubt. And I really hope and pray it's true, that maybe, just maybe, someday our son will grow to be just like you. I love you, Alex. -Carolyne

19

My grandfather died the other day. A man I called "papa"- his breath was stolen away. A man of few words but many smiles when you earned them. In the 18 years I knew him I only heard "I love you" sometimes. Sometimes was enough though because what he said he meant He was father to my mom and aunt when they had none. He was my grandfather and now he's gone. I loved him, though I said it so few times. I wish I had said it more, but I think he knew in his mind. My mom and aunt called him superman, and that he was to everyone. He was always ready to lend a hand, especially when it came to fixing cars. He loved his wife, my Nana. I never heard him say it, but I saw it. The way he teased her and glances he stole even after 45 years said it all in the end. I lost my Papa the other day, but he's in heaven now so it's okay. He was loved and he will be missed, but he's free of pain now so we can only rejoice. See you later, Papa. -Carolyne

0

Feb 12, 2017

Feb 12, 2017 at 9:54 PM UTC

The Man I Called "Papa"

My grandfather died the other day. A man I called "papa"- his breath was stolen away. A man of few words but many smiles when you earned them. In the 18 years I knew him I only heard "I love you" sometimes. Sometimes was enough though because what he said he meant He was father to my mom and aunt when they had none. He was my grandfather and now he's gone. I loved him, though I said it so few times. I wish I had said it more, but I think he knew in his mind. My mom and aunt called him superman, and that he was to everyone. He was always ready to lend a hand, especially when it came to fixing cars. He loved his wife, my Nana. I never heard him say it, but I saw it. The way he teased her and glances he stole even after 45 years said it all in the end. I lost my Papa the other day, but he's in heaven now so it's okay. He was loved and he will be missed, but he's free of pain now so we can only rejoice. See you later, Papa. -Carolyne

33

I reached out and held your hand. "Mom...I'm pregnant" I felt your grip loosen, and I was afraid to meet your eyes, wide with shock, with tears glistened. You stood across from me, arms folded, ready for my big news. "Dad...I'm pregnant" Your gaze fell and you wouldn't speak. We both knew it was too soon. "Congratulations, Miss McNabb. You're pregnant!" I know it's true and yet it seems so unreal. Baby Lost... ...And Baby Reborn. I don't know how to feel. Excited of course, the obvious choice. But also scared, and maybe paranoid. My little Oliver Sparrow never made it out of the womb- taken too soon. I tried to forget the pain but pain is much too real to be waived. There is a baby inside of me. I have seen it on the black and white screen. I couldn't help the laughter that bubbled, when I saw its little hiccups and kicks, the way it seemed to dance inside. I believe in my baby, I can't resist. My baby is strong, that much I know, just from seeing its dance- almost like a restlessness to be free. My baby is loved- more loved than I could ever hope to be, and yet I wish I had more, more, more love to give. My baby is here, and real, and so is my desire to be the best mommy. Baby Lost... ...And Baby Reborn

0

Jan 6, 2017

Jan 6, 2017 at 8:04 PM UTC

I'm Pregnant

I reached out and held your hand. "Mom...I'm pregnant" I felt your grip loosen, and I was afraid to meet your eyes, wide with shock, with tears glistened. You stood across from me, arms folded, ready for my big news. "Dad...I'm pregnant" Your gaze fell and you wouldn't speak. We both knew it was too soon. "Congratulations, Miss McNabb. You're pregnant!" I know it's true and yet it seems so unreal. Baby Lost... ...And Baby Reborn. I don't know how to feel. Excited of course, the obvious choice. But also scared, and maybe paranoid. My little Oliver Sparrow never made it out of the womb- taken too soon. I tried to forget the pain but pain is much too real to be waived. There is a baby inside of me. I have seen it on the black and white screen. I couldn't help the laughter that bubbled, when I saw its little hiccups and kicks, the way it seemed to dance inside. I believe in my baby, I can't resist. My baby is strong, that much I know, just from seeing its dance- almost like a restlessness to be free. My baby is loved- more loved than I could ever hope to be, and yet I wish I had more, more, more love to give. My baby is here, and real, and so is my desire to be the best mommy. Baby Lost... ...And Baby Reborn

40

I stopped writing- a poet at a loss for words. You did this to me. Yes, you, reading this. Your beauty left me awestruck with no relief. Please... Please you must believe how unashamedly I've fallen abrupt into the snares of love. I haven't fallen nearly as graceful as your features fair when you tilt your head to the side. My love is just as intense though, as your focused eyes upon the words I write. It is true, from the first time your gaze stumbled on my humble scribblings of rhyme, of times gone by, my heart has swelled and shivered, knowing that I have your attention. But then I don't really have it, do I? You don't really see me, watching you from behind the text. My love, forgive me. I make such abrasive claims of love and loyalty, but they fall flat, you see- like the screen you read my words from (I clench the taut strings of my heart as I look up at your illuminated face). I'm stuck here and that is what tortures my soul, already sore. You can never be mine while I'm trapped in between these lines, these rhymes. I'm trying to find a way out. Until I do, just know this: Everything I write is for you- so I can see you once more. I don't know how, but I will find a way out. I love the way you smile when my poems have a happy end. Then I just feel so awful when I make you cry because my poems soured like my bitter heart that hates its apparent destiny. I'm stuck here. But the hope of seeing your face again, returning to read my latest work, that is what keeps me going without fear until the end. I'll find a way out and then you'll see me for real. The poet trapped in the book, waiting for you to look and see between the lines. You'll see me- the poet my beloved reader has, and will set free.

0

Nov 6, 2016

Nov 6, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC

Between the Lines (See Me)

I stopped writing- a poet at a loss for words. You did this to me. Yes, you, reading this. Your beauty left me awestruck with no relief. Please... Please you must believe how unashamedly I've fallen abrupt into the snares of love. I haven't fallen nearly as graceful as your features fair when you tilt your head to the side. My love is just as intense though, as your focused eyes upon the words I write. It is true, from the first time your gaze stumbled on my humble scribblings of rhyme, of times gone by, my heart has swelled and shivered, knowing that I have your attention. But then I don't really have it, do I? You don't really see me, watching you from behind the text. My love, forgive me. I make such abrasive claims of love and loyalty, but they fall flat, you see- like the screen you read my words from (I clench the taut strings of my heart as I look up at your illuminated face). I'm stuck here and that is what tortures my soul, already sore. You can never be mine while I'm trapped in between these lines, these rhymes. I'm trying to find a way out. Until I do, just know this: Everything I write is for you- so I can see you once more. I don't know how, but I will find a way out. I love the way you smile when my poems have a happy end. Then I just feel so awful when I make you cry because my poems soured like my bitter heart that hates its apparent destiny. I'm stuck here. But the hope of seeing your face again, returning to read my latest work, that is what keeps me going without fear until the end. I'll find a way out and then you'll see me for real. The poet trapped in the book, waiting for you to look and see between the lines. You'll see me- the poet my beloved reader has, and will set free.

62

Scotland, my homeland, oh! how I long to be on your green shores, where grey-blue water hides the nessie, and fairies in the glen roam free. Scotland, my homeland, in years to come I shall journey to your green shores once more, finally.

0

Nov 4, 2016

Nov 4, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC

Green Shores

Scotland, my homeland, oh! how I long to be on your green shores, where grey-blue water hides the nessie, and fairies in the glen roam free. Scotland, my homeland, in years to come I shall journey to your green shores once more, finally.

10