Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
It blew in off the sea

It went out on a limb

And broke the olive branch

Do you hear the wind through the hair of revolution

--black raven hair--

Bone straight and frayed

The split ends of society forging separate paths

Progression at their tips, regression in their roots

It makes a sound akin to the back of an old haunted house settling

It wandered here in due season

It's about to be cut short

It's about to be swept away
Thinking of you
While I was breathing
Inhaling deeply
But
Exhaling paused
Not wanting to let you out...
I had to
Interrupt my thoughts
And
Tell myself...
Let you go
Inspired by the real difficulties of breathing correctly
~
I felt a funeral
between the timid breaths
of ruination, we plucked
to death the melancholic florals
called time flowers,
translucent growths
with crystal hearts,
gifted them to someone else's children,
placed them around the waist
of everyone else's wives.

When plucked,
that crystal core dissolves,
emitting the light trapped within.
perpetual splendor or
the endless cycles of death?
do the normal rules
of chronology apply?

Look now! here comes
the great unwashed riot,
we live in an age of visual saturation,
where tragedy and beautiful
distractions crowd in on all sides,
clamoring for our attention.

Perhaps the dystopian premise
is part of a fiendish plan,
becoming the backdrop
to a fluttering cornucopia
of florals, each outfit paraded
in the beginning of May,
a blooming display of finery
hiding a complex
network of roots –
sponsorship deals,
brand calculations,
dedicated craftsmanship,
exposure opportunities
– beneath its pretty skirts.

~
Sixty-three...
Sixty three days
you went missing.

Nine...
Nine weeks
a candle burned in your window.

The same window
you were taken from.

Petaluma, outraged and determined,
became a colony of ants.

Ground searches to mass mailings,
they never gave up hope
and soldiered on.

In a high-tech dragnet
you became the first internet child.

Your anxious mother
fretted over every detail
concerning you:

"I have a daughter out there--without shoes."

You would always be your parents
beloved little girl.

You were laid to rest
the day after the butterflies flew away,
migrating to a warmer climate
where they could play in safety

--the life we wish for all children.

Twenty-five...
Twenty-five years ago
you went away.

A remembrance
that is felt everyday.
For Polly Klaas (1981 - 1993)
With a hint of death
mingling in the air,
the nocturnal snapdragon is
digging wells,
not just for water,
but also as final resting
places for friends back home,
in the garden,
deep within the soil.

Callous hands and feet
speak of insufficiency
and misery under the sun,
the one lone solace comes
with night,
and the partaking of
her body's delicacies,
bringing her innumerably
to the helve,
as she sings heavenly things
about the architecture
we creatures fall
so easily from.
We fragile creatures are here for such a short duration. Make it meaningful.
~
December 2024
HP Poet: CJ Sutherland
Age: 63
Country: USA


Question 1: A warm welcome to the HP Spotlight, CJ. Please tell us about your background?

CJ Sutherland: "My parents both college graduates from St. Paul’s Minnesota. 4 days after they were married in a Catholic Church, they ran away to California. Mother, age 22, started having babies one after the other, a total of 5 children. As a young child, I thought my mother was dead, anytime I mentioned her, I would get a shove, a kick, a shaking of the head from my siblings.

Dad remarried; a make up artist with Warner Bros. Studios. She was unable to love another person‘s children. She was a mean wicked stepmother. She had one child, together they had two children. His, Hers and Theirs. The move from Burbank to the San Fernando Valley Tarzana was considered country. We had a ranch style house, a guest house, swimming pool with the slide and diving board and a pool house barn chicken coup for 200 chickens.

Age 10, a lady screamed at the house: "You can’t keep my children from me." My stepmother threatened to call the police. Looking out the window, holding my elder sister‘s hand, I said who is that? In a small, trembling voice, my sister said mom. We had a very tumultuous childhood to say the least, but it shaped who we were, and who we would become. I had a lot of questions. For a short period of time we were able to see mom and it was evident she was not well. One day she was gone, no explanation. She was dying of terminal cancer, but we didn’t know that yet. She stopped all treatment and became a homeless person in downtown LA Skid Row.

Age 19, her mother (grandmother) was dying and tasked me to find her daughter, my mom. I searched every alley, soup kitchen with an old photograph grandma gave me looking for mom. For months nothing. The last place a Thrift Store/ woman’s shelter where females could get feminine products, I found her. She came home with me for 2 days then told me she had to go back. She was in a hospice care with some Catholic nuns who told me she was dying; throat cancer; 46 years old. We had her back in our lives 3 months before she passed away. I struggled with all that happened, but life goes on.

All of us siblings excelled in school. We all maintained a 4.0 grade average. We all had aspirations to achieve careers. I was on a fast track to Medical School. I graduated high school age 15, started Jr. college and completed occupational courses for certification medical billing and coding specialist. So I can pay for college, I married at age 16, had a child at 19 and divorce at 21. My first husband was 5 years older, yet he was still a child. I swore off men.

Love at first sight. I am at husband number two. He told me he loved me after a week. He asked me to marry him. I told him he was flipping nuts. “I don’t even know you!” Looking in his eyes I knew he was serious. He had not met my child yet. If he could not love her as his own child as much as I loved him, I would not continue the cycle of the wicked step parent. Over the year they bonded. Two weeks before the year was up, he was down on bended knee. We have been married 39 years and together for 42.

I finally was accepted to USC. My dreams of becoming a doctor, we’re so close, 2 weeks before starting school. My husband‘s work moved him 5 hours away. Decision: divorce husband, become a doctor or stay married and change my dreams. We’ve had many adventures along the way, moving further up northern California, getting away from the rat race."



Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

CJ Sutherland: "I started keeping journals at the age of 12. I’m currently on my 98th journal. Effectively I’ve captured my entire life and those around me in the moment. Life inspires me. My father invented the 5 cent word game. Pick a new Dictionary word, it must be 3 or more syllables and use it correctly all day long.
When you achieve that, you get 5 cents. We all had a 5 cent jar. Looking at all of those nickels was a testament to education. It was more than the money, it was improving our lexicon."



Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

CJ Sutherland: "I hear a word or phrase on talk radio or music lyrics, I quickly have to write it down because it triggered a thought, a poem, a rough draft. I have pen and paper around the house when these moments strike to capture before they’re gone. While I’m on my daily walks at the park, I speak into the phone to capture inspiration. Then I put them in draft format. Currently, I have 51 poems in draft format, in different stages of completion. BLT's Webster’s word of the day challenge can be easily inserted at this point with the perfect word."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

CJ Sutherland: "Poetry is not something I do, it’s who I am. My ultimate goal is to compile a book of poetry. I would like to have at least one poem of every type of genre to broaden my horizon. I am published in 3 anthologies. I am a Poet Laureate with the International Poet Society. I was up for poet of the year three consecutive years. Florida hosts a week symposium with open mic to read your poetry, as well as classes on every aspect of poetry imaginable. I’ve received many accolades trophies, ribbons, coins, all in the quest for perfection. I too realize a certain amount of this was a scam when Poetry Books such as “up-and-coming poets”, “who’s who in poetry“ would feature me on the front page. Look beyond vanity and begin to see the light. While they are published books for purchase, they are meant to sucker the poet into buying several copies for their family and friends.

The poetry site crashed several years ago and I lost about 300 poems. I have been on other poetry sites whose purpose is for winning contests and publication in periodical and magazines. It’s a lot of work. Even with all of these accolades, this recognition is more precious to my heart. While somebody could read a poem and decide they think they know what it means and find it worthy, but to be able to know the back history from the poet and why they wrote that particular poem I find much more enriching. I wish everybody would fill out their bio or at least write foot notes why they wrote that particular piece of work."



Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

CJ Sutherland: "My favorite American poets:
1) Walt Whitman; Song of Myself.
2) Emily Dickinson; Because I Could Not Stop for Death.
3) Robert Frost; The Road Not Taken.
4) EE Cummings; I Carry Your Heart and To Be Nobody, But You.

British poets:
1) Alfred Tennyson.
2) William Wordsworth.
3) Elizabeth Bennett Browning.
These are just off the top of my head.

While at the University I took classes in American and British literature, thinking it would be easy. It was harder than my medical studies. I loved the backstory of how the poet became who they are today."



Question 6: What other interests do you have?

CJ Sutherland: "With so many kids we made Christmas gifts. I started crocheting at the age of 12; the yarn given to me by the little old ladies at the church. My first blanket was 276 granny squares. I wish Sean one stitch to granny stitch. I’ve been crocheting for 51 years. I can see anything and make it without a pattern. I have two grandsons who moved into their own homes with their wives, they are both getting blankets for their new homes. So far, I’ve made four lap throws for watching TV. Each of these blankets take 3 to 4 days. I’m pretty fast.

I’ve done a lot of other things quilting, embroidery, canning. I make candle and soaps, and I’m on my way to be coming an herbalist. I cook every day from scratch. It’s a lot harder to make food for two people than it is for me to make dinner for 20 people. Bread making is my new passion. The art of artisan bread it’s definitely challenging. Jams and jellies are great gifts. I even make my own laundry soap for 2 cents a load. My creativity blends itself in many genres, whatever suits my fancy."



Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much CJ, we truly appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! We are thrilled to include you in this ongoing series!”

CJ Sutherland: "Thank you to Carlo for featuring me as the 22nd recipient of HP Spotlight. I hope everybody gets a chance to share their story. There are so many kind poets on this site I am lucky to call friends, I hope everybody checks out the different challenges such as BLT's Webster word of the day challenge."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know CJ a little bit better. I most certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #23 in January!
~
3 months old little Paddle began to change
His fluffy yellow feathers rearranged
His new feathers silvery brown exchanged

A little taller in stature, neck now long
Mrs. Fiddle and Mr. Faddle waddle doddle
Little paddle, full of **** and vinegar
full throttle singing a song

One fine day his family got larger, they say
Mrs. Toodles, and Mr. Doodles and their
3 triplets aunt, uncle cousins, arrived today
Doodle , Caboodle, and Scoodle  Triplets
The girls walking  and talking  liplets

The triplets Doodle, Caboodle,Scoodle and little Paddle scurry flurry off to play
Mrs Fittle, Mr Faddle, Mrs Tootle, Mr. Doodle  between them not much to say
Frazzled and dazzled, caring for their offspring each day

The geese parents getting older
The Young gaggle of geese growing bolder
As the weather grew colder?

The familys stay away from the flock
Each day time takes away the ever changing clock
Both parents know one thing fear the dock

The first snippet and tip it good weather
No longer needing those thick feathers like a sweater
The sweet smell of flowers, hang in the air, lilac, and Heather

It’s time to learn how to Fly
The gaggle of geese begin to nervously cry
Trying to lift off the ground their parents
Not a sound, cautiously, look around
Keep trying, encourage, parent geese flying
Take a run for the sky lift off high battle cry

The exquisite excitement is in the air
Feathers to and fro flailing everywhere
The triplets hover lovers without a care
Little paddles Svelte feathers show a tare
Slowly draft drifted Earth bound
A shaky *** slump, defeated down

Mrs. Fittle, and Mr. Faddle right behind
Little paddle’s battle to stay in the air
Incidence grew in intensity with Care

The truth his feathers were just not ready
Sadly madly he wanted to soar not steady
His wings too small it was not his time
The hardest lesson is being left behind

Little paddle’s glorious day will come
He will gleefully glide, in the big blue sky
With Mrs. fiddle and Mr. Faddle closely by
BLT Webster’s Word of the Day
Svelte 6-1-24
described slender and a tractive, graceful way something sleek, such as an article of clothing
Incidence 6-2-24
To grow in intensity
Next page