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I never hated on my mother.
Even though she never understood me.
I didn’t fit her mold or pattern
So she couldn’t accept me as I was.
Her world wasn’t very big
And I suspected there was more.
This led to arguments and battles
That spanned so very many years.
I always knew she loved me
And though she made my life a struggle
I never learned to hate her.

In my 30’s and in therapy
I began to understand how
She did her best with what she knew.
She was crippled by my Grandma
Who was hobbled by her mother,
And right back down the Franklin Line.

There were no butterflies or comets
In their genealogy,
Only standard plain-wrap people
Who knew the heights were not for them
And didn’t feel the need to miss it.
People who got on with things,
And never thought the grass was greener
Any place but where they were.

How could they know a dragonfly
Would fill the space where I once stood
and learned to flit on gossamer wings
And ride a southbound zephyr
To places, times and happenings
They had no way to comprehend.
They just wanted me back home.

I never hated them for that,
Especially not my Mother.
She even seemed a little proud
When my name was in the paper.
And she finally accepted that
My life was wildly different.
Any hate I might have had
While growing up a rebel
Was dissipated long before
I celebrated forty.

Then I wed above our station
And she was an outsider
Trying hard to learn the dance
And get in step with culture
That was foreign to her background.
Aided by her innate grace
She fit into the puzzle and belonged.

The years rolled on and life passed by.
I didn’t call her the way I should
I visited much less than I could
But love replaced all trace of disdain.
At Eighty-two she said goodbye
In agonizing bits and pieces.  
She didn’t get a graceful death,
The Christian rest that she deserved.
I still hate all the fates and furies
That robbed her of a sweet farewell.

I never hated on my mom,
Naive Carolina girl
Left to raise 3 kids alone
Encumbered by her heritage.
I understand it better now
And I have only love for her.
ljm
TOO
Too sad to cry
Too weary to care
Too worn-out to try again

Too stubborn to quit
Too stupid to fall
To give up and call it a day

Too needy to give
Too loath to receive
Too desolate to have any hope

Too angry to smile
Too bashful to sing
Too depleted to ever recover

Too hungry for notice
Too often passed over
Too much like the papered wall

Too late to the party
Too far back in line for the prizes
Too early to be forced to leave.
                      ljm
Another tome from a dark period last year.  I'm better now.
WHY won't this site post with the line indentations and spacings in what I pasted on??  It lines it all up every time and ruins it.  Hate Hate Hate.
Kneeling at the altar of the Sleep Gods
In supplication and in need
I plead for this thunder storm of stress to stop
And the lightning flash scenarios to abate.
My ragged sleeve of care needs knitting up
And I can not afford to buy the yarn.
ljm
 Feb 2018 RatQueen
Colin Makgill
Watching the monsters sleep and slumber
A masked owl whispers and wanders
Tree bark yawns with the break of twilight
Flames cackle casting embers of amber and seething whites
A cauldron of fireflies crash amongst the leaves
With the winter breeze hurling them throughout the sky
A mouse hurries late for it's meeting in the old shed
Where the spider lies back stretching in her web
The stars roll around laughing about something bright that was said
The moon sighs overhead while clouds encircle the lunar light
Puddles shiver and grasses bloom with frost bite
The aching orchard hums a tune of summer nights
to home i head, alone:
i'm down with pretending.

it's been awhile since i've met
a stranger, i forgot protocol.
but i know me, i obsess too easily
over what could be next week
or the week after that
immobile with fear, i tread into
a new unopened door in the
facilities of cohesive consciousness
literally, to my knees i drop
in fear

fear of dipping out of my element
spewing words i should keep to myself.
i dont know you.
i'm a stranger to you.
something sown,
silent seed shaking,
surpassing solid sediment
interstate 94, 7 july 2010
 Feb 2018 RatQueen
Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
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