Enter the Dragon

I didn't start with my addiction until I was 13. It was at that point that I found alcohol. "Demon ***". And a terrible scourge it was for a majority of my life.

I want to preface this next segment by saying that I love my father dearly. He is now sober and has been many decades. But at the time my story is being told, he was an alcoholic. Of the first water. A "responsible" drunk. He held down a job. A job he hated. And so he ran away from life when he could. And both my parents liked to throw parties. There were always mixed drinks. Martinis. *Lots of them. After a few my father could no longer maintain. He couldn't mix the drinks. So guess who was recruited as bartender? You got it. And I began to imbibe in my own creations as I had to "test" the taste. They were good, alright. And my customers got plowed! I would have also, but God had His hand on me, even then. I somehow knew better. I got tipsey. But my REAL alcoholic behavior would come later. At that point I began raiding my father's liquor cabinet. The drugs came later, too...

... enter a little girl named CRICKET.**


SøułSurvivør
6/3/2017

It's stupid! You can only see one line at a time! C'mon Elliot! you are stifling creativity!

Catherine

I'm trying a new endeavor
Venturing into art.
I want to try
my hand at this.
Just to have a lark.

I am a visual artist.
As most of you know
And I think I can help
With books they wish to show.

There's a poet friend
who wants me
To illustrate a book.
I'm working on this project
And must admit I'm hooked!

If there's any poet friend
Who would like my art
I'm willing to
work with them
We'll talk about the part

I could play in their poetry
I'll do it from my HEART!

♡ Catherine

When the words
All run together
And the apostrophes
Look tired.
When the asterisks
Are snowflakes
And your work is
Uninspired
It's time to gather
Up your kit
& time to rest
Your head
When you see
The page begin
To peel...

it's time to go to bed!


G'night all!

... on the face of things the
world seems very solid
and real. But let's take a
closer look at that...

Even osmium, the densest
known solid, is only made
up of atoms. Neutrons and
electrons...

These subatomic particles
have space around them.
Even neutrinos have space
around them!

What is this *SPACE?

Every letter we write
is a muscle. Every syllable
a bone. Every word a
vital *****. Every sentence
a sinew. Every paragraph
or stanza a skin...

Every poem a limb.

EVERY BODY OF WORK...

*US!

A rich bird in
a golden cage
Saw the bars
& was enraged!

She couldn't fly
up to the stars
So beat herself
against the bars!

Again! AGAIN!
For all her wealth
She could never
free herself!

She wouldn't stop!
Would not sing...
Finally, she broke a wing.

With one wing
she went berserk!
She knew her methods
didn't work...

But she upped
her frenzied tack!
Finally, she
broke her back.

She looked up
as she was dying
from the floor
where she was lying

She saw the sun
and sky sublime

the cage door...
*open the whole time.

There was a poet on HP
Who had alot of ♡
He tried to stay
     out of the fights
He kept himself apart
He had a love of poetry
He lived for his art.

Talented, he made "the grade"
As "minded" poets do
But he didn't try
     to "people please"
And so mean writes
     eschewed.
When he encountered
     "lesser lights" he didn't
     make them blue
But put ♡s on them as well
For their hearts were true.

Time went by... how it did fly!
As if given wings!
He found he had "The Daily"
(When there was
     such a thing)
He tried to READ all poets
     but could not, everything...
So he decided just to read
The small group
     within his ring.

He would NOT be purchased.
He would NOT be sold.
He was TRUE to his beliefs
Of his Faith quite bold.

Not only did he ♡
He gave "thumbs up" as well!
He reposted and was good
In fact, the man was swell!

He had a grateful following
But, as fate is wont
He couldn't keep up
     with the load...
Found his health was shot
But he tried to be a light
He tried to give folks thought.

His readership got smaller
It seemed like every day.
He still tried to be genuine
And true in every way
But nobody wanted
     him no more
He began to fade away...
Where the
     rubber hits the road
He began to PRAY.

If you don't know
     who this is,
Replace the "he" with "she"
She believes
And truly grieves

That poet would be ME.


♡ Catherine

Death comes a child
suckled on the breast.
A nightowl's call...
a weighted chest.

Death comes a jester.
How he cavorts!
Kings and Queens will
share his court.

They jeer his antics!
They do... for now.
But in the end

THEY ALL SHALL BOW.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/28/2017

This is for the times
You don't know how to feel.
The times you hurt
And there's no reason why.
The days you try your
Damndest but go
Nowhere.

H. A. L. T.

H ungry
A ngry
L onely
T ired

If you're feeling this way,

W. R. I .T. E.

W orking
R elease
I nspired
T hrough
E nlightenment

Writing about
your problems,
Gives you a mirror
to look into.

And... R. E. A. D.

R ealizing
E veryone's
A ngst
D estroys!

Some may have problems
Worse than yours. Help them.

Thank you.

♡ Catherine

Out of an arid ocean you came.
Draped in kelp and pearls.
Lush lips and Picean hips
You've been a witness to
The liquid dreams of Neptune,
The lofty spires of Atlantis,
The beaded shores of
Islands unknown,
The phosphoric teeth of
Creatures never seen.
The languid swirling
Of seahorses tantalizing
The mating of tendrils...

Your rivals recline on the
Ravaged rocks... patiently
Waiting for the frigate or
Schooner, or if lucky a
***** Man-o-War. Silent
Smiles perch on their lips...
They look to the broken
Boards and driftwood around
Their rocky abodes. The
Skeletons have sunk into
The sea...

Ahoy! A tall ship, by Poseidon!
They lift their seductive voices
To draw the sailors to the
Rocks & reefs... to no avail!

The mermaids, like dolphins,
Cavortingly draw them with
Their antics to safe harbor!

Jewels adorn their swirling
Hair, and gems their tails.
Their pear-shaped *******
Modestly covered with
Glowing seaweed & shells...

While the sirens sit naked
On the rocks.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/27/2017

Here's a new idea!
A poem just for you...
If you're feeling worried
If you're feeling blue
Here's a little poetry
You can scratch n sniff
C'mon, my friends!
Take a coin
Then just take a whiff!
It's a lovely perfume
You can put upon
Your wrist!
C'mon, TRY!
Don't have to buy...
You need a little lift
It's an art, it's from
The HEART!
It is a free gift!
You can smell
Hilarity... c'mon!
Just scratch n sniff!

If you're feeling tired,
Your mind wracked
And grieved
It's entirely up to you
The odor you received.
It could be a
Crystal flower
It could be a musk
It could be most
Anything
That your senses
Touched...
That brought you
Great pleasure
Like a mountain
Stream...
A sense of peace
Will be released!
When you felt
Well-being!

C'mon my dearest
Poets! You know
You want to try...
You can scratch n sniff
This poem...
Now, friends,
Would I lie?

Scratch n sniff this
Silly piece...
I might have made
A gaffe :-P
But at least you
Tried it... and you

*Had a laugh!

Dungeons and Dragons

The world of my childhood
Was so bleak as to be
Untenable. There *were good
Times, yes. These were as
Gems set in clay. A black
Muck that oozed from the
Dungeon of despair.

I was so demonstrative
In my need for acceptance
And love the other children,
As kids do, smelled the
Blood in the water. And,
As children do, they attacked.
I was dog meat. Which
Made me all the more
Vicious toward my poor
Baby brother. Which
Made me feel more
Guilty. And so went the
Spiral of despair. Finally
I found the "cure" for
My angst. Fantasy.

I have no idea how
To even begin to tell
You about my fantasies.
I began to rock myself
To sleep at a very young
Age. A self-comforting
Action I acquired from
Babyhood. I also bounced.
On our springy couch, I'd
Rock myself back & forth
So as to bounce myself
From the back of it. I'd
Listen to music while
Doing this, and fantasize
Of being in lands beyond
My ability to describe here.
It would be too time
Consuming. But I was
Heroine of my
Daydreams. Beautiful.
Wise. Immortal. Like
One of JRR Tolkien's
Elves. I loved his books.
I devoured fantasy
Stories. And absolutely
Loved dragons.
I started drawing
Painting at a very young
Age. And the dragon was
My greatest source of
Inspiration. He was the
Catalyst which brought
The fantastic brew to life...

...and nearly destroyed me.

There's an upside to all
This, folks. The dragon is
Satan. He's the author
All addiction, pain and.
Suffering on earth.

Well. I know his secrets.
And I aim to expose them

One... by... *ONE!*


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/27/2017

The violin is sonorous
The cellos are in tune
The kettle drums
of thunder
Beat against the moon
Woodwinds through
the eaves
Make the nightbirds
swoon...

Coyotes are a clarinet
Such a lonely howl
As the night storm passes
You can hear the owl
Cougar makes his
entrance
With a roaring growl...

Crickets are ubiquitous
Rosening their bows
Sometimes in the
summer
Cicada's music flows
The nocturnal fragrance
Trickles through
the groves
It makes the
lovers giddy
Romances the nose...

The stars are
great musicians
At last, they appear
They play the piano
With the music
of the spheres
All the while, listening,
The cactus stands
and hears
God gave coyote
voices...

but Saguaro He gave

*EARS.

With holes in pockets
Can we buy?
Gain truth from
The lips that lie?
Without ever asking
Why?

Is guidance in
A folded map?
Wealth within
Bottle cap?
Does fine champagne
Come on tap?

Does knowledge come
From books fast closed?
Water from a frozen hose?

Motion from a
Locked up gear?
Faith from gurus
Full of fear?

Can oil flow
From stoppered jars?
Travel made in totaled cars?
Peace be won from
World War?

Calculating sums from nil
For naught we pay
Usurious bills
No winning wars where
ALL are killed

The wind listeth
              where it will...

We beard the lion
In his lair
Close the pane

To breathe the air.


SøułSurvivør
5/23/2017

The Dragon Hatched

Baby snakes are always
The most dangerous.
They have not yet
Learned how to release
Their venom. I was a
Horrible little girl.
A terrible tease. I had
(And still have) a
Samurai tongue.
I know just where
To cut where it
Hurts the most.
And just like that
Baby snake
I struck out at
My baby brother.
Poor Mark. To this
Day he bears the
Marks of my fangs.
I'm being brutally
Honest. I was an
Unholy *terror...

I wish for your
Compassion however.
Hurting children
(People) hurt other
Children (people).
There's a incubator
For bullies. Mine was
In an incident when
I was 3 years old.

My sister and I were
*****. Not molested.
*****. By a child
Predator on a train.
My mother was sick
With one of her
Blinding migraine
Headaches. She
Couldn't watch us.
So we ran around
The train
Unrestrained. The
Obvious happened.
My sister, only 4,
Always felt guilty
Thereafter that she
Couldn't protect me!
My SOUL cries out
As I write this!
That little girl was
So wounded that
She withdrew from
Me for her guilt...

And *doted on my
Baby brother.

This absolutely *slayed
Me! and my sweet
Little baby brother
Received the brunt
Of my brutal anger.

I WAS ANGRY!!!
At everyone and
Everything. And the

DRAGON HATCHED...


SøułSurvivør
5/21/2017

"The ocean is a desert
with its life underground
and a perfect disguise
above..." Dewey Bunnell

On a horse with
no name I rode
bare-backed in
the purple sage...
***** Pipe cacti
played the melodies
of Mexico.

Swaying sea grasses
were skirts for the
range fences...
broken and rusty.
To be avoided,
my parents warned...
Tetanus... lock-jaw.
Other things to be
aware of...
don't swim too far
from the beach...
don't stay too long
in the sun...

I was happy at the
tide pools... aqua and
pristine. Sea slugs...
far from slug-like.
Flat and purplish
with frilly edges,
undulating dancers.
Picked up and dropped
over and over.
Baby octopi... an
entire tidepool
drenched in purple
ink in its desperate
bid for freedom...
Sea Urchins...
"Their spines can
****..." my parents
warned. It was
fascinating how
they attached
themselves to
the rocks...
Almost as firmly
as the limpets...

We had
Hermit Crab races
Ate food disallowed
at home... swam
out to where water
was ultramarine...
jumped over the
barbed-wire...

with our arms

hugging

the

sun...*


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/21/2017

The Dragon's Egg

To understand my addiction
You have to know the
Back-story.

I was born in the dead of
Winter. Wednesday's child...
Full of woe. I was a preemie.
Mom fell on her stomach while
On a chair trying to change a
Lightbulb. As unpreposessing
A child as ever was born...

I won't go into my childhood
Difficulties too much, as they
Might prompt your judgment
Upon my parents. They were
Not really at fault. They did
The best they could based
Upon *their childhoods and
Limitations....

Mom was sick.
A great deal. The victim of
Horrific migraine headaches
And an undiagnosed (therefore
Untreated) bi-polar condition.
She had aspirations of being an
Actor. She really should never
Have had three children. She
Simply couldn't handle it. I was
Born only 16 months after her
Firstborn, my sister Chris. This
Definitely didn't help matters.
Then, because my little brother
Mark was born just as her
Acting career took off, she had
Much less time for my sister
And I. She had a newborn, a
Career, a husband and
Postpartum depression. Chris
And I (and eventually Mark)
Were neglected. Not really
Mom's fault. It was what
It was...

Dad was a complex man.
A hot-tempered stoic. A hard
Worker who hated manual
Labor. A war hero who also
Became a runner (he would
Become a severe
Alcoholic - an addiction he
eventually overcame).
A generous miser.
A cultured plebian.
A spiritually minded atheist.

I don't blame him. But the
Last dichotomy was our
Downfall. We were
disallowed from church. Went
To an atheist Sunday School.
We learned about all the world
Religions save Christianity.
Or maybe I missed THAT lesson.
But as a result I had no real
Moral compass to live by. My
Parents tried to teach us
Ethical behavior, but because
Jesus and the Holy Spirit weren't
A part of the equation it was
Doomed to failure. One can't
Simply be "moral" or "ethical".
Without Jesus, we are all
Rank sinners. Sorry if this
Offends some of you. But it's
TRUE. Jesus paid the price.
Only faith in Him can make
A person right with the Father.
All else is vanity. My father
Spent his lifetime trying to be
A "good" man. He tried to
Be a "good" husband. A "good"
Father. But his efforts
Always stymied by lack
Of the essential puzzle piece....

JESUS**.

The Moon Man sat
Upon a branch
Fat and jolly
Strong and staunch
Just sat there
Broke out his lunch
Put his banjo
On his haunch...

Began to strum
A happy tune
I asked my favorite,
"Clair de Lune"
He said he'd play it
And we'd spoon
It's gonna be
So HOT in June
The heat is comin'
Comin' soon...

He rested there
upon that limb
The cats played sax
Upon a whim
They were right
In tune with him
The Star-fish
Began to swim!

The Moon Man played
The crickets sang
Through the night
The music rang!
We had such fun!
The drums would bang
The tympany
Made beat and clang...

Then he got up
His full height
He made his exit
To the right
Flew off that branch
Into the night
now the fireflies
Hold his light!


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/18/2017

The bane of my existence
As a HePo writer
Every time I go to read
I get this stupid blighter!

Don't know what is up
What is going wrong
I have a reading backlog
10,000 miles long!

I'm really beside myself!
This is the last straw!
I want to read your poetry
Not test Murphy's Law!

Just be patient please
I'm under the gun
A LOT of folks
are out there

*And I will read everyone!

where do they go?
to mountains of synonyms
pushing lilac or purple
or puce or lavender
from valleys
of russet metaphors?
do verbs frollic?
nouns place themselves
before mirrors
asking themselves
"who am I?"
adjectives, do they
answer?
do the long words
most people don't
understand
do they go on
spending sprees
with their
million dollar
Lotto winnings?
do conjunctions
play matchmaker?
or hitch up
boxcars for
the more expressive
poetic engineers
to haul through
the long winds?

ghosts of past tenses
invade present
and mixed metaphors
haunt the nightmares
of learned readers.
gerunds run on
their little wheels
and stuff their cheeks
with prepositions.

where do words go
when they die?
they must hang as

DANGLING
PARTICIPLES.

I was never the hero of
My own life. Nor did I try to
Be. I ran. No Red Badge of Courage.

No Olympiad. No laurels to be placed
On a head bowed in humility. I ran...
In the wrong direction. I had a Dragon
To chase, you see. No St George,
However. I wanted to embrace the
Monster, and take it home. And in
Doing so, i was severely burned
In the process.

I've spent a majority of my life
severely addicted to drugs and
Alcohol. Anything. ***. Amphetamines.
Acid. ***... Anything that could
Alter my pathetic state. I was the
Walking Wounded. Dead. My drug
Of choice was *******. Crack. It did
The job better than anything else
I tried. The euphoria a road to
That fabulous beast unlike any other.
That pipe and lighter its flaming maw.

But, ironically, the rock of my shame
Lead to the Rock of my Salvation.

And I finally ran... into Jesus's arms.

A dish best served cold?
Well. A poet can whack a
rock-solid frozen bowl of
Alphabet Soup their rival's
direction and lodge it
between their teeth like a
HOCKEY PUCK.

But to what end? To prove
they CAN?

To be deadly cold means
LIVING IN THE FREEZER

♡ Catherine

dawn whispers softly
its conch shell pink lip placed
on the sky's dark ear


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/17/2017

Here's a little pome
From your little girl
Dedicated to the one
Who brought me
             to the world...

I wasn't an easy child
I thought it would be fun
To run through
              the house screaming
              tormenting everyone!

There was the time
              when I got "lost"
It must've made you bats!
But, of course, you found me...
               in a cage with feral cats!

I got lost on that Hawaiian trip
In that department store...
The largest in the country!
Couldn't find me anywhere!

Another time I climbed on up
To cookies on the shelf...
The top of those cabinets!
I could have killed myself!

Then, as I got older
I became more wild
I won't go into details
But I was a tough child!

I'm surprised I'm still around
For all the things I've done
I must be here to love you now
And I DO love you, ***!

Yeah, I'm surprised I'm living!
I've done SO many things...
I got high... could've been higher...
With a halo and some WINGS!

'Cause moms?
They can be tougher
They can do more than shout
They brought us
IN to this 'ol world...
            and they can take us OUT!

Here's to my Maternal Unit
Yup... you must've passed the test
And when God gave out the hearts

He gave you the BEST!


♡ Your daughter Catherine

°○
°○
○
°
<o[[[><

when you feel like
you're drowning


learn to be a fish!.

[10W]

earth and wind
spew cloudy corruption.
I bite the breathing blossom
trying not to inspire
inky irritation.
ignorance.
ignominy.

I inhale anyway.

how, after all, can one

stop breathing?



SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/13/2017

shivering
shadows
of lingering fingers
fulfilling... culminating
this coil of mortality...
muted mystery
sought

bewitching
he runs his hands
ravishing desires...
beautiful thought

harbinger to eternity
he holds your heart
within ethereal
grasp

longing for
languid lethargy
breath becomes
your last...

blackest kiss
transcends bliss
faded flowers known

towards the light
in your flight
to heaven
to God's

throne

glory glitters
all around
you're jaw
is opened
slack!

Jesus says,
"... it's not your time...
my child, you're going

BACK!

I'm the Lover of your soul.
do not covet Death...
he will come when
I allow...
for now, in me rest..."

so, now, you are
caught by Him
back to earth
returned

you have to wait
for divine fate...

*another lesson learned.

sea change always happens
at the point of no return

SøułSurvivør
(C) 3/25/2014

etched on ecru
tooth or tusk
born of boredom
and bloodlust
sailors scrape
the ships at sea
fabulous frigates
fast and free
ever sailing
n'er to sink
pipe ash used
they had no ink
whales weren't wasted
their tooths a part
of this great
seafaring

art.

craven
crouched
crows with
human limbs
faces with beaks
preening
or searching
for
anything
that

shines


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/12/2017

no small talk
wit nor regret wrought

just simply

be

comedy
clandestine couples
clamerous cosmetics
coughing guffaws
garrulous giggles
gratefully grinning

grotesque charlatans...

tragedy**
torrid transgressions
tornado turnabout
tempestuous tradition
transcendent puberty
punishing parable
poignantly

pointless.


Shakespeare.
wove both into
his weft of

words.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/12/2017

what is death?
the maw of the
maelstrom

moribund
malcontent


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/12/2017

from a
ceaseless
series of synaptic
snaps synthesized
subconsciously
the subterranean
cycle collapsed.

all that's left...
withered and wanting
black walnut

barren.

begging she
hobbles
wobbly on
bent legs her
garments
unraveled
scarlet
letter
meticulously
embroidered on
sagging
bossom
golden heart worn
upon the wrist
which
wields
the
collapsible
white
cane.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/12/2017

Where's a soft, safe place to land
In a desperate hour
When you find you cannot stand
And you're a mighty tower?

Where's a shoulder you can cry on
When you're the one who's tough?
Where's the place where
you can go
When you have had enough?

Where is God at times
When you are like an owl?
When you're in the 18th round
And want to toss the towel?

Sometimes I just feel this way!
Sometimes it's just hard!
It seems folks want to lean on me
When I'm a house of cards!

I know that God is closest
When He seems far away
I know that in my intellect
But it doesn't feel that way!

So I'll put on praises
To music I bequeath
Sing to my Lord and Savior
Though through gritted teeth!

I will read the Psalms
About David's many trials
HE didn't always dance a jig.
HE didn't always smile!

I'm not going to sell you stuff
You don't want to buy
I'm not gonna tell a tale
I'm not going to die, but
Sometimes *I NEED A SHOULDER

Upon which to lie!

Chickens live
within a coop
Scratch and peck
in their own ****
Their nests are
low down to the earth
They scream and squack
for all they're worth!
Afraid of storms
they have no dreams
Afraid of everything
it seems!
Their young are squabs
Their eggs are beaten

In the end
they are eaten!

Eagles build their
lofty nests
So their chicks
will withstand tests
They are made with
rugged sticks
So in the end
they pinch and *****
They line their nests
like softest cloud
When baby's grown
they pull it OUT!
The center nest
no longer soft
Babe sits on edge...

AND IS KNOCKED OFF!

Should, in flight,
the fledgling lack
Mom will catch it
on her back!
The little eaglet
has to try
So in the end
they learn to fly!

Eagles dream!
They are reborn!
They will fly into a storm!

Eagles wings
are built to soar!
They will fly

FOREVERMORE!

SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/3/2017

Memories of bruises
Velvet fit for kings
In the petals of a pansey
Oily sheen of raven's wings
The inside of a geode
Tanzanite in rarest form
The color of a baby's face
Right after it is born
It is the color indgo
To red violet of wine
Tracing stormy sunsets or
Boganvilla vines
Plums and grapes
remind one
Of purple's strange appeal
The color of great bravery
A wound which finally heals
Whatever your mentality
This collage of purple hues
Is simply a mixture of

The colors red & blue


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/2/2017