Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
eleanor prince Jun 2017
where is the note
I long to hear
the one that echoes
freedom
life

insects, birds
maddening sharp
should be solace
stylus cruel

when armour's slipped
no safety's found
each breath is work
to think impacts

audacious sun
attempts to smile
through winter's hold
reprieve to none
unsettling, bitterly cold day
eleanor prince May 2018
waves orchestrate
bruised kisses
smack

dazed moon’s
beclouded stare
numb

teal canopy’s
torn sinew
strewn

tidal riposte
homeless debris
scars

shattered fins’
bullied silence
screams        

callous world      
spawns grinding
vice

rabid avarice
fuels dueling
drive

winds stir
shifting sands
gasp

light eclipses
night’s capricious
rule

noon darkness
steep ransom’s
paid

earth salvaged
true Son
stands
a lonely shore on a tempestuous night had these thoughts come to mind about the state of the world and the high price paid for mankind's redemption - (Matt 20:28 Christ gave his life as a ransom for many; Matt 27:45 darkness at noon for 3 hours as payment for humanity is made)
eleanor prince Jul 2016
two men sat fishing
by a village stream
one short
one tall...

Short Man:
I think he's wrong
to chat to kids
leave them alone
there is no need

Tall Man:
What have you there
your venal mind
has lost the plot
there is no deed

Short Man:
No man has kids
who like him so
it must be bad
let's cast our vote

Tall Man:
No issue here
we're always there
he's not alone
I'll have you note

Short Man:
They tell him stuff
we never hear
why don't they talk
to us instead

Tall Man:
You're busy mate
you shut them up
and all you do
is keep them fed

Short Man:
It's just not done
the kids all flock
they see a saint
could be a threat

Tall Man:
The Lord himself
had kids mill 'round
for he was good
no need to fret

Short Man:
It's true I s'pose
that's different though
a Son of God
can do it right

Tall Man:
So all of us
imperfect souls
can only lose
the moral fight?

Short Man:
Of course it's not
as clear as that
just can't abide
if kids get hurt

Tall Man:
Well that's okay
but blacken not
a decent man
by throwing dirt

Short Man:
I'll flog him to
an inch of life
if we would hear
he's crossed the line

Tall Man:
You know I loathe
all deviant ways
be careful though
for he's benign

Short Man:
I hear you man
my thoughts run wild
we mustn't see
it black and white

Tall Man:
Imagine if
he's told this sh-t
to slander hear
how would that bite

Short Man:
You have a point
not all are bad
some have more time
than most townsfolk

Tall Man:
I've heard he steers
them to the good
he's simply not
a usual bloke

Short Man:
You're right my friend
you've pulled me up
an honest man
we should defend
you may enjoy seeing the pic I selected from Flickr for this:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/samkennedy1/7795937594/in/faves-51029280@N05/
eleanor prince Feb 2017
girl -
your silence tears upon me
a savage beast mute
for in your intermittent groans on gusts of ire
masked in murmurs curt
seepage coarse, acrid leaks

girl -
tell me straight, hide not my fate
your real intent upon these clouds benign
for when the heat of marinated fury bursts
erupts one day on bowed head sad
intent on living life in peace

girl -
will it ruin times of joy we knew
bursts of copper, gold and red
no separation there but alchemy of spirits free
so what is it that ails you friend
arms folded eyes aflame in chilled blind rage
some nights fold in on themselves
after too many years and decades
spent emptying oneself for others

like old letters re-opened accusing
from where they'd been laid to rest
found in yellowing files and folders

debris stirring from the shadows
unsettles the window ledge dust
irritating the membranes of scent

as memory floods with questions
tagging along like curious children
squabbling about whose fault it was

that we sit writing with brimming eyes
with the kind of solitary regret and shock
that comes when bodies in a silent house

wander around aimlessly trying to fill time
with their pointless pursuits and blinded eyes
imagining just another hit from some website

will stave off stories of their past they shelved
for nights like this when the spectres return
to bring the bill from aged secrets banished
eleanor prince Dec 2016
swirling wistful
whispering ridge

speaks to my blood
ancient refrain

stroking stealthy
passionate reach

leaves no freedom
coveting all

onwards stalking
urgently quiet

strikes when poise
drifts

apart
https://www.flickr.com/photos/92628403@N07/27310942001/in/faves-51029280@N05/
eleanor prince Jun 2018
all monsters and adrenaline now
mad rush to inhale speed
lest life not deliver

yet in bygone days
when dames beguiled
soft curls and porcelain skin

or polished ebony
an ancient fire stirred
in embers aflame

men knew chivalry
their gender sure
dames held a different power

liquid eyes and innocent air
where no words were needed
to touch dreams' *******
Inspired by Christopher Victor Russon's nostalgic poem 'Those Talking Pictures'
eleanor prince Aug 2019
those eyes are scarred
from damaged winds
on pavement singed

rent scenes recite
a diatribe
how do you live

holes dirtied leak
torn shadows sigh
they shelter filth

you cull the heat
until dice turns
to excise rage

with scalpel sharp
reprieve in sight
a poor man's

prize
----
©
At times we see old eyes pass us by, biding their time.  It may be on the street, in a bus or train.
Sometimes we see it in the mirror.  We know we would never do the deed. We seek to rise above injustice, to transform. But the primitive mind wants its moment, if only in mind ©
eleanor prince Aug 2018
windmills turn
slicing days
as prescribed

moving water
as they do
set troughs

can't complain
there is no point
cycles set in place

grids buckle
like we're
trapped

live chequered lives
without ourselves
on deck

though paths
with every step
trod blind

at close of day
did we not take
that road

for steering wheel
this hand
grabbed

let's harness Self
remove the screen
and see

in this precinct
or yonder place
we've opted for

we took a route
with outcome
flawed
so often it seems easier to remain the victim - we aren't really seeing we are ultimately responsible for what we think and do
eleanor prince Aug 2018
fireball burst
searing
probity

clenched coil
bleeds purple
rabid rage

fists itch
sue for
strike

temple warden
glares strained
calls culled

rampant riot
bristles broken
fervid

all exits
blocked tight
stifled screams

fade as winds
of sense
take command
the interplay of internal forces as one grapples with strong emotions like rage
eleanor prince Mar 2018
some days suffuse
with dirtied grey
scream through
stain of shrapnel's
gaudy glint

for though each year
may roll on by
like so much dice
cast rashly down
in reckless haste

and tensions build
in East and West
North and South
from Sea to Earth
on worn-out board

we need not fear
for garments tattered
stained and torn
are merely coats
and we are safe

within the folds
of One who cares
in pinions' lift
we can rejoice
remain unbowed

though we dread
a final strike
if breath is taken
on this flight
take heart

for true One knows
does see it all
has limits sure
for what takes place
at curtain call

as mankind's
freed through
hard-paid Gift
a price so steep
his Son bled true

so all who mourn
their stolen days
regale earth's plight
with aching sigh -
might breathe

stand tall with
upturned faces see
time's running out
for Puppeteers
all sordid stench

and soon eternal
peace will come
not just within
but everywhere
relief

take heart
Penned in deepest respect for the greatest gift ever given mankind some 2,000 yrs ago... May we remember what the Living God has given - an opportunity of life to all who wish to avail themselves of it - Col 1:13,14; Ps 103:2
there's a space that I regret so much
for with blinkers on I didn't see
you falling in love with me

for I thought you saw
my heart is taken and sings
to the strings of an earlier song

not that you aren't the best fun thing
but I'm not like that- in a world of temporary
throwaways... I'm a keeper, and loyal

for when I said "I do" - I vowed
before God and onlookers--
so don't make me fall

with your clever quips
and thought-out slips
for I'm 'true blue'

and my heart still beats
seeing my beloved this day
as I cover his face with kisses
eleanor prince Jan 2018
eye of storm
feels good
inanely safe

cloak of unreality
supplanting sense
as trap shuts

butterfly hovers
gently
in silken web

rests stupidly
charmed
while harm beckons

illusions numb
cerebral
space

battle weary
instincts spent
on long haul

gusts of
warning winds
ignored

as incongruent
aberrations
unworthy of note

but sword will drop
mayhem eclipse
former state

past suspension
truncated
exposed

as raw reality
severs dreams
barnacled

to beguiling
specious
notion
beware the weariness that eclipses knowing... and reason... it will exact a price
eleanor prince Aug 2017
where does it lie
that fabled key
to grease all
savaged links
so music flows

when will it come
epiphany
to challenge
structures old
still strewn about

who can I be
and still find me
as words fail
to still gales
of verbal blows          

why do feuds sear
aesthesia
shrouding sane
perception
in concussed doubt
even a long friendship can at times sustain moments of intensity where strongly held positions clash, and in that suspended space much can be challenged and found confronting, yet yield valuable lessons
eleanor prince Feb 2021
you plan to trap
to take a cut-
a ripening peach
with sugar bait?

you soil yourself
remove all sense
when all you have
you desecrate

her body sees, her body sees

'I'll take it now
she's just the size
to make me big
bend over chick

for she won't see
to mists she'll flee
I'll do a trick
with my joystick'

her inside sees, her inside sees

it's not all past
in spurting spray
a laughing squirt
bull at a gate

to steal a bud
the harshest crime
to rob a child
her life dictate

her body tells, her body tells

for it is seen
and registered
it's catalogued
in Judge's file

the breakage raw
her broken selves
you callous brute
are facing trial

and all can see
as you do now
the lies you told
you *******
Abusers tell one another:
''It's such good luck
she's only 6
for after 8
it's much too late?!"

Of course, it may be a boy, and the abuser may be female. 

Whatever the case, it helps to know their thinking so
we can better protect our kids

©https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/848436017300514805/
eleanor prince Jul 2017
fog thickens
blurs

casting doubt
on liquid thought

spread thin
on winds of haste

circling sleeping
curse

- while sun shines
beyond -

nil attainment
stalled on whim

whirls in maelstrom's
captive cold

spawning ill will
fed by guilt

shame's icy tongue
curls

- while sun shines
beyond -

spreading gifts
unfelt

waiting to be
held

lest frigid
clouds

shroud
golden
smile
frustration when day after day lovely winter sun is missed due to inside work, procrastination or general stalling on life's golden opportunities
eleanor prince Sep 2018
(contains references to sensitive issues)

She’s just a babe
he’s only two
of youth refill
they’re broken in

but leave no mark  
so they're unspoiled
for clients booked
it's all arranged

no tracks you'll leave
their brain's not through
not 'til they’re three
so chill out dame

the program works
divert impel
‘'you crazy sh-t
here take this pill’

nobody hears
if told some tales
but they won't talk
their lips are sealed

from dot they’re trained
they’re here for us
don't have to guess
‘you talk, you die!’

so pay the fee
their price is high
and bring this dog
they’ll do it all

and shouldn’t you
take all you're due
you work real hard-
on nectar sup
-
Stop! Not so quick
for veils can lift
and imprints made
don’t ever die

archival facts
reveal themselves
when day arrives
you’ll face the Judge

and when you breach
a petal new
it injures both
and gear stick shifts

you've soiled life's bed
with squalid stains
now own the Sh-t
says mirror man







  


             
From time to time an instance comes to light involving well-organized abuse at an almost unimaginable level.  Children from a very young age are trained to provide all manner of ****** services to meet the demands of deviant and sadistic clients.  Contrary to what people may think, this happens not just in so-called 'third-world countries,' but in more prosperous lands too.  

Even where there is significant corroboration for the veracity of such accounts, survivors can suffer the further indignity of not being believed.  There is some movement and improvement in knowledge but more needs to be acknowledged and understood, not only by colleagues and other professionals providing care, but society at large.  

It all makes one ponder what leads a perpetrator to act this way.  Whilst it helps to understand some act out trauma they themselves received, it is unacceptable behaviour, is still a criminal offence - and it hurts others.   We all have choice to decide ahead what we would do if offered an easy way to cross that line.  Decency requires we resolve to remember who we want to be in essence and retain this reality check:  how would I feel if this was my wife, my child?   Refuse to abuse another.  

Some boundaries simply should never be breached, even if one is promised immunity from repercussions, e.g. told 'the child won't remember – it won’t hurt them.'   Many victims do remember and either way, such incursions rob them of a normal life, something many take for granted.  The truth is they are massively, negatively affected on one level or another, often in multiple ways, at whatever age such incursions take place.  

The reality is that transgressing on another's boundaries on any level not only harms the recipient but also those violating others.  It alters and destroys something in the offender, immediately recognizable or not, and by extension the wider community is affected.  

On looking in the mirror an offender may see at best a deluded half-life.  As my poem concludes, who would want to be meeting that inner witness to their corrupt and heartless behaviour, their real character looking back at them through the 'man* in the mirror...'

*(either gender can offend - some women sexually abuse too.  When a perpetrator takes a good look in the mirror of reality, they may well find themselves  confronted with the enormity of what they have done, and who they have become)
when did a camp fire
become a wild fire
raging through
two hapless
souls blinded

in love with love--

how did it all grow
to a spreading inferno
with bait that satiated
opportunities denied
threatening what is

to be lost forever--

carefully built
solidity over years
of hard work and much
sacrifice, seeing the long-term
goals, knowing that a flash in the pan

often ends in a bitter rainstorm--

when did a camp fire
become a wild fire
raging through
two hapless
souls wounded

so stop now--
sometimes emotional intimacy occurs without realizing the possible cost to existing relationships
eleanor prince Mar 2023
People -
so many bodies…

Some seem to engage
for but a moment, of course,
before bustling past on hot sidewalks,
with varied smidgens of mind and heart;
collections of vibrating chemistry,
moving to specific oscillations.

How to make sense of it all?
We can be drawn to warm embers,
avoid icy slaps on our cheeks reddening.
Grey shapes pass us by, hardly registering a blip -
are they nothing more than the flotsam of flailing limbs
echoing our own caustic needs and wants pending?

Yet we all want much the same things in life:
to be noticed with kindness by the benign,
safe from the razor-blade elements,
find our slot in life that counts,
and leave something good
for posterity, if it comes…

For dots of humanity
of which we are a part,
in some fashion or another,
keep floating giddily past us…
Are they up for what will come
with stoic resistance, or neglect?

Do they expect some dystopia
and the terrors of a dark night?
Ask the fretting little children,
who can’t sleep for their fright!
They too need a river of peace ~
the Promise to be fulfilled

made by One wiser
than all else…

~~
ponderings in moments of existential fatigue...
Isaiah 48:18 is the promised peace referred to, echoed by John 16:33. We need never feel too alone for arguably the greatest man who ever lived, knew how to ascend above all and 'conquer' and freely wishes to give us this peace.
eleanor prince May 2022
Have you stood
enveloped by
circles of
heavy fog

wondering if
a special skill
could clear this
suffocating smog  

and no attempt
to decipher
the map
shines...?

You find
a crossroad
replete with
multiple signs

if you dare step
towards the light
a dead-end presents
obscuring the road

treetops sway
join the ruse
each route
adds a load

Then fresh winds
sing dawn's song
like a lover's kiss
unlocking tracks

the cloak of the
hazy horizon
lifts and you
can relax

you see
you're there
and you're like
an anti-******
eleanor prince Feb 2018
this thing
called ‘life’
patchwork of
frailty

from robust seed
seared limp
through vagaries of
heat

seeking salience
as globe revolves
even without
us

days silken smooth
dangle sweet
stolen by capricious
winds

mattering's refused
recycling worn tapes
peanut gallery
within

judge self as abandoned
in Father’s absence
his character
slurred

deaf to lessons
as winter’s early
dusk and darkness
descends

solitary friend’s
presence
suspends in night
sky

song of bloom
pierces snow
Maker's voice is
heard
his days were few
when shadows came
to bring the tempest rains
to infiltrate a lad not even two

he learned to have a song inside
that danced and skipped along
no matter what that day
or night would hold

so when the sticks
arrived from monsters
with the thing that stood
and poked up right inside

the songs would play to quiet
the tearing pain that broke the door
where they would come to shove
themselves on toddler flesh

how long will he
with gentle life
be robbed
once more
It doesn't just happen in less 'civilized' lands, low-socio-economic areas, or with alcohol misuse, but even within the well-to-do civilian populations, organized child abuse rings operate targeting a boy or girl's earliest days, for the sake of power and profit. There are more slaves now than in past eras. Some kind souls want to help but most victims remain unseen, and few incidents are reported. Every prophecy in Scripture has come true, so may this one also eventuate soon for in a restored earth where respect reigns for all: "They will do no harm nor cause any ruin" -Isaiah 65:25
eleanor prince Feb 2019
ever standing
body lithe, strong
trained to strike

too dashing for peeling paint
old verandas
slow-paced hamlet

waiting in country town
place to whizz past
road to tourist hub

how does his tale read
did he pay
for assault

struck the frame
holder of *****
spawning breath

cold fury
for scenes of his mother
thrown down

stain his every stance
grabbing mail swiftly
ahead of arrival

panther muscles
no more the crouching lad
shuddering

her screams
bounce off walls
as mother's body slumps

broken bottle scars
left to clean up the mess
as he leaves for school
forage into
fictional possibility -
penned
with deep respect
for David
of village
post office
eleanor prince Mar 2017
currents unseen
compress space
distil life's
drive

laser beam sharp
hidden lest robbed
chained yet
free

ego crushed
constrained
causing
breaks

confetti dreams
take wings
orb's disparate
parts

inhabit one frame
fragmented scope
splintered tones
link

eternal sentience shines
born of toxic fumes
from other beings'
waste
eleanor prince Dec 2022
I'm sorting pictures in the archive box.
Shelved for that day that I kept putting off.
The job's to cull and have less stuff to store,
but spiders lurk and snakes are sliding out.

The photo shouts in raw dismemberment.
A howling wind, the prowl of packs of wolves.

I stare at trembling splinters held so close.
Her daytime Self looks like a sweet old dame.

I hear again the creak as floorboards pause;
my breath is held lest I miss steps that halt,
outside my door in seconds held at bay.

I see the handle
   slowly...
      lower..
         down.

Her strides are swift and next, her perfume's here.
With broken breath, she yields to clawing drives
and throws my bedclothes off like spider webs.

My youth she steals as night groans on and on.
For merchants took her bloom on stormy sea.

I clutch my knife and picture stabbing her;
But I've no strength to do the deed - I'm five.

Her mouth is pushed on lips zipped up and cold.
The bed is torn in tangled bits of knots.
My legs are jammed together- ripped apart.
My pillow's wet as aunty takes her cut.
eleanor prince Feb 2019
pain with no script
subterranean roar
pressing call
pushing through
unkempt wasteland

places we don't see
lest they confront
status quo
hidden from all
but the sharp

as echoes we meet
find the persona
sear like another
stinging coal
on splintered frame

bent from carrying
shadows
cast on the
lake of fire's
unceasing scourge
a moment of depression breaking through, before a lighter time arrives... perhaps some may identify with its powerful pull
eleanor prince Dec 2018
look not beneath
scars
lest night scowl

for history
screamed
breaches unbidden

rivulets red streamed
as child song
failed

tendrils grasped
by savage gusts
discarded

to rise as scented spring
warmth
loosens coverlets

stirred
untied
waiting
would a tender, respectful approach let love bloom anew
eleanor prince Apr 2018
raw
rage
earth’s cougar call
in dead of night

screams
scorch
each silenced child’s
forgotten plight

wake up!

globe
spins
recurring beat
as rifle shot

sears
space
collective pain
in pointless plot

wake up!

slaves
sob
for who will hear
take up their plight

dread
seeps
through tortured land
for few do right

wake up!
reached a moment of saturation with seeing few good people stand up and be counted on the side of sheer decency - (no one does good - Rom 3:10-17; those ruining will be brought to ruin - Rev 11:18)
eleanor prince Apr 2018
what is a poet
but a stymied wind
stamping the same soil
seen through polished lens

firing the bugle sound
to reach across some
distant mountain pass
not echo the same

ignite fire
stand strong
find north
refresh

for old paths yield
grey packages
more stale
subterfuge

but honed
solidity is found
in structures
built sound

a new song of old notes
rearranged to yield
perspective
deep
at times we all need to see what is to be kept and what will be discarded, to reinvent ourselves, our lives, whilst retaining solid ground
eleanor prince Apr 2019
shaken I take stock
parrots shrieking loud

sunny days drift by
mock assail my space

flowers bloom but brief
blink and they're replaced

trees take fifty years
decimated swift

people killed, displaced
earth protests in pain

stop, opt out, you're lost
left with platitudes

can I drift removed
isolation seek

then again I see
I sound like them now

if I sulk and pout
fail to see my path

rise above and live
carve a vibrant self

ripples echoing
circle all this globe

passage clipped and purged
take a mountain pass  

rein in darkening clouds
grasp some grit this day
eleanor prince May 2018
same sketch
cloned day
sundown station
schema

office workers
signed off
shuffle
numb

curbed chaos
train clatter
shifting gears
clashing sound

noise assaults
savaged senses
lulls into
stupor's rhythm

cardboard sentinels
stare blind
frames fixed on
blanched orbits

disjointed huddle
inciting life's
vapid
echo
scenes from an urban station at rush-hour...
eleanor prince Jul 2016
I'm sad
my friend
sad

you tried
we tried
we cried

you fought
we fought
for naught

craven creature
writhed
and won

I'm sorry
friend
so sorry

how can sun
be gone
yet birds sing

don't they see
can't they tell

it is but stars
an afterglow
all is naught

life has passed
your ailing breath
expired

from darkness sown
by drug cartels
intent

on breaking will
of *** plant babes
sourced for fame

stealthy greed
seduces most
millions sought

want you
and me
they're undeterred

their filly reach
a blinding hate
of freedom's rights

leave humans be
as infants wail
and white coats play

mere blinded dupes
pay dues required
in hallowed halls

and now you're
dead
yes, dead

not anywhere
you've left us
gone

from dirt to dirt
and ash to ash
and so it ends

somehow we must
decide to breathe
when you cannot

I hold you still
in memory's dream
my brother sweet

though in my arms
the grief burns
pure

writhe impotent
in essence true
we're nil

no flow of tears
will soothe you now
they've ceased

the dreaded C
has had its day
too bad

too bad
our useless words
rebound

a spinning wheel
pathetic croaks
on fade porch

perhaps if we...
I should have said...
why didn't I...

and so it goes

tortured mind
unwilling thrusts
accept the truth

grim reaper came
and now he's
gone

another love
will soon be
marked

why you dear friend
Lord, please
not you

the rivers dam
there are no streams
that be enough

remorse it screams
why not the swines
the great unwashed

why was it you
the good
- why
https://www.flickr.com/photos/mynamesdonny/8159513636/in/photolisIn case you would like to click on here you will see the image that accompanies this poem - thank you

t-dr2D8A-97EVBF-6qQRzg-iUPWKd-iYMFFX-7EXSe9-9f19rL-4i6YFZ-
5Gxo1v-qsJiaM-NCREr-sMMrY-nfpVFt-cqs19y-7uqxS8-cKy4WA-7xpxVa-9NBggb-pMnk2x-526rW4-dq2bag-pXvA1e-jnKSP3-bozWgp-fLPCSQ-7eV3wJ-sqwNbs-6
eleanor prince Jul 2016
child moans mute
plight pools
brewed
strife

grey days dank
split robes
seared
****

time plots sighs
mourns lost
trust
life

dreams weep joy
stroke scenes
once
viewed
https://www.flickr.com/photos/widcat/5353920378/in/faves-51029280@N05/
eleanor prince Jun 2017
who will run
gauntlet fierce
scythe held high
through thicket thorns
emerge alive
      stay sane      

hours fuse to
decades spent
begging bird song
soothe dispel
savage sordid
scenes

crows confer
callous cold
steal each fractured day
as suffocation
stymies step
yet he walks free

not one escaped
each tender bud
torn in turns
as all around
walked on by
blind to ****

are all afraid
mesmerized
by podium power
pious privilege
feigned
masking sleight of hand

will someone stand
despite the odds
counter hallowed hall
covert thugs' threats
of slow death
if we tell

who can dare
scarred mirror asks
shatter code hushed
defy hypnotic trance
risk life and limb
to speak

or has their curse
rendered lame
those not killed
left to bleed
alone in shadows'
listless lanes

eyes stare
probe, confront
in mirror fogged
I wipe them dry
distraught no flame remains
I can sustain

to fuel the fight
and stagger on
through forest blaze
of justice failed
as cries of children
sear the night

while
he
still
breathes
I would appreciate frank feedback, please.  How do you feel when you read this - is the meaning clear? Thank you
eleanor prince Aug 2019
babe stirs
safety a wild call
lost to night

blood ties shunned
explosions blurring
lines

diesel spillage
corrosive
chill

breaking walls
of sleeping
child

carnivorous plants
insects torn to
shreds

by those lost
removed from
breath

passing pause
brisk breeze
grants space

as dawn
stirs
sentience
organized abuse
of every kind
impacts generations
of innocent
children
until dawn
of awareness
arises
and one
manages
to break
free
eleanor prince Dec 2020
'Will you be my daddy?'
the girl in the woman whispered
to yet another lover, acquaintance,
man in the street who looked remotely
like he might just step in the phantom's shoes

...and the ache burned on
the searing, tearing
rags aflame
screamed
hot

and cold
as dry ice,
as unsuitable
whiskered men
became barnacled

to a little child's longing
to have a better papa than
the one that arrived to bash
all decency out of the fibre of

a life torn
This poem has welled up in response to one I have just reposted, penned by a deeply impacting, candid write by poet Joe Thompson.   Not all have the privilege of having known a decent human father, one we can be proud to call our own.   Of course, it would be unwise to seek to make any adult have to try to fill those shoes. The responsibility for wellness in adulthood rests with the one now no longer a child in calendar years. The 'adult' self needs to protect the 'child' inside and gently and firmly help them heal so that only safe partners are sought, with a view to experiencing and enjoying healthy relationships.   I would be honoured if you could leave a comment on what thoughts and feelings arise in you as you read my poem.  Thank you so much. (P.S. I appreciate knowing of any typos, however in Australia it is correct to write 'fibre' not 'fiber' and 'honoured' not 'honored')
eleanor prince Sep 2017
do you think
cloaks of normalcy

societal smiles
wash away reality -

that screens pulled close
pious veils drawn

means all is well -

that children next door
from 'respectable' homes

aren't used like so much spoil
displayed with polish

to the highest bidder -

what tales do you keep
to sleep at night

in perfumed air -

'it's far away
some hapless child

not where I drive
with tinted glass

they're lower class
don't know the Lord

mere runts down town
where father drinks

can't pay their rent
make decent wage

so sell the kid
for sordid nights -

- n - o -
it happens

to tender buds
in wealthy
suites

and poorer shacks
in any
place

and every age
from dot to
grown

they stay unseen
stare at their
sums

are ***** this night
sob off to
sleep

as mother too
walks right on
by

deaf to the screams
he wants his
due

so he will take
her brother
too

'now be a man'
says worm to
prince

he lies to all
most to his
face

and no one sees
and no one
hears

the silent screams
with veil drawn
close

they look askance
and walk on
by
I welcome responses to this poem which is aimed at revealing the culture of silence in 'polite society' - this outpouring of outrage at abuse has been boiling for some time but this poem was sparked off in response to PaganPaul's important and raw poems on this topic  
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1923972/the-judderwitch/
eleanor prince Dec 2018
I see the boy's eyes
puckered
destroyed
he can't grasp
how is this
so?

on balance
tales and
lies do
for the spark of
a yarn's
pull?

or are the child's
ties torn
the parent's
solidity broken
his rock
in a world

shaken?
an uncomfortable reality...

— The End —