"fussing" poems
Tender oversized hugs made of never ending love.
A broad smile bought belly laughs time and time again.
Aching cheeks from a dose of over indulged happiness.
Always larger than life.
Life and soul.
Our life and soul.
Deep set wrinkles from a lifetime of worry.
Never stopping to rest.
Fussing here pampering there.
Your selflessness and determintion to enjoy life knew no bounds.
You enjoyed the next generation of
the family as much as the last.
No longer disabled and heaven
rejoices at the return of an angel.
The last of your generation.
Reunited with long lost relatives.
We feel your love Nan
We always have.
We always will.
Till we meet again....
Good night
and
God Bless.
X
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 4:52 PM UTC
Now it's a New Year, change the look on your face. Cheer up anyone, no matter the race.
Cheer up that special one, who walks with a hung down head. Especially, the ones in the corner, looking like they're dead.
Cheer up your family, bring joy into your home. No one should feel they can't fit in, therefore, leaving them alone.
Cheer up your children, stop constantly fussing them out. Show them that you can be kind, and you know how to speak right.
Cheer your Mother and Father, after they have been fighting all day. Perhaps, you can bring them together, so they can began to pray.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
Have you heard the story of The Five Elements?
There was Water to replenish the Earth, quenching his thirst.
Fire was jealous, so he had to burn Earth, and this only dried Water up.
Wind had no interest in sides, and he played with Fire's flames, causing them to grow. He made ripples in Water, causing her to come back with waves.
With Water's waves, she put Fire out. Fire and Water are always fussing, like an old married couple.
Wind enjoyed messing with Earth, as well, blowing stuff around and destroying rock - although that took some time.
Earth did not mind any of them. Water gave him life, and also helped him start anew with floods.
Fire also helped Earth, by ridding of the dead and helping the living start over. Wind also helped Earth.
Wind helped spread DNA and helped things begin life.
Spirit had no place where the others were concerned. She was wiser than them all, but she could not destroy, like Fire, Water, and Wind.
She did not hold them all together like Earth. She could not quench thirst like Water, and she could not help start populations like Wind, nor could she rid of the dead like Fire.
Though, Spirit is what helps them keep going. She is the animals, the insects, the plants.
She's the soul and everything of the like.
Without Spirit, Earth would be barren.
Yes, the other Elements would still exist, but there would be no point.
No one is better than another. No, they hold each other together.
Fire may love Water and Water may love Fire.
Earth and Spirit are the eldest and have been around the longest; their love is the strongest.
Wind is not a child, but he has the will of one. Nothing can tie him down.
Their family is not perfect, but there would be nothing without them.
This is the story of the Five Elements.
Alone, they are nothing.
Together, they are stronger.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Pristine sands aglow under a deep blue sky,
Crabbing and kite flying, every day a perpetual cream tea,
Never mind the bites and stings, the sunburn and occasional tears, the hours flew deliciously by,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Endless games and innocent playful frolics,
Hide and seek in the dunes, eyes barely covered and a speedy count to twenty,
Mum and Dad fussing and fretting, always late for the midday picnics,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Rainy days didn’t stop the fun, funfairs and arcades beckoned,
Never managed to hook those ****** cuddly toys, made Dad so angry!
Waste of time and money Mum always reckoned,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea,
Harmless nostalgia or dangerous reverie?
Perhaps things were never as I imagined them to be,
But I ache for those happier days, and ease this endlessly painful adult misery,
Oh how I yearn for Serendipity-by-the-Sea, in sweet memory of a lost childhood
© Robert Porteus
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 8:39 AM UTC
Be thankful at Christmas, and have a good attitude. Refrain from fussing and fighting, as well as being rude.
Be thankful at Christmas, help spread a lot of cheer. Allow the family to be drawn close, allow them to come near.
Be thankful at Christmas, no matter what gift you get. Be grateful with gratitude, and don't easily get upset.
Be thankful at Christmas, help spread some joy and peace. Let it flow out to everyone, refuse to let it cease.
Be thankful at Christmas, maybe you can share the hungry your food. I'm sure they want waste it, but all of it will be used.
Be thankful at Christmas, don't get caught up into self. Learn to give out to others, so they can share your wealth.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
the ghosts around your moist lips
clipping the sweet drench of our limp wish....
the spectral harlots of our far lit lamps
and the damp parlors of our damaged camps
pitched.
the pit of our peaches, fussing the cuff
of our sap. the honey bonds -
of our wayward damp
runes...
that
we caste to undo
any telling
of our demise, to save our precious
myth.
to keep our ruse
amused...
my darling... goodnight... though nothing is good
and we have only the night.... goodnight.
i will
trouble you no more
but labor to keep your sweet grief
mine.
to contend
with your unending medallions
of perfect regret, to pass your palm
with silver drek, the likes of which
your liking, may learn to kiss
with two lips
at dead
stop.
if this is the end
tremble and be
trembling.
our disassembling
locks
our open door
and nothing more than vanishing
remains, where our appearance
mocks the
same.
goodnight... though nothing is good, and the light is a darkness,
a trump of knives and a far thing,
up too close
to save a prayer for the plight of fools
and just too far
to pry our hands from live
grenades...
to live for.
but to die
yes.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
His wife is as
assiduous as
a mother bird.
She keeps
the windows
clean with rags
and buckets
of vinegar and
steaming water.
What happens here.
He sweeps
the ceiling
and ponders
the meaning
of the word
perspicacity.
There are
mornings
spent fussing
over underused
demitasse sets.
What happens here.
There are
afternoons
side-by-side
on the front
porch glider,
watching clouds
attenuate across
a porcelain sky.
What happens here.
The smallest
sounds never
fail to surprise
them.
How sparrows fold
like feathered paper
below rectangles
of polished air.
*What happens here,
happens over there.*
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 2:28 PM UTC
/Uhh, Lil Mama.. (Stop playing around wit Dat2)/2
Lil mama stop playing around wit Dat pussy,..girl(give it to me2) girl..just give it..(to me2)..Yeah you got a man, but he won't **** you like I will, Noo, he can't treat you like I can,yo, Yeah, so stop playing around Lil Mama,..(stop playing wit that pussy3).., Aye, Lil Mama stop playing around with (that pussy3)..
/Uhh, stop playing wit that ***** stop playing around wit Dat pussy,..(stop playing wit Dat3)..pussy/2..
Uhh, Yeah you gotta man, but he won't fuck you..like I will,..Uhh
Yeah you gotta man, but he can't **** you (like I can2).. Aye,..Uhh,..he don't treat you right so Babygirl why you with his lame ass..(girl,..let me get that pussy,Yeah3), Aye, Yeah you gotta man,..forget his *** leave him at the curb like garbage.., he won't treat you like I can, Noo he won't **** you like I will, (Noo, he can't..2)..beat it up like me..(Noo, he can't..2)..like I can baby
Uhh,..so (stop playing wit that pussy*3)...(give it to me, *3)..to me..Aye
/(stop playing wit that pussy3)..lil mama/2
Girl let me have it, Yeah
Baby let me get it
Yeah you gotta man, but he can't **** you (like I can2).. Aye,..Uhh,..he don't treat you right so Babygirl why you with his lame ass..(girl,..let me get that pussy,Yeah3), Aye, Yeah you gotta man,..forget his *** leave him at the curb like garbage.., he won't treat you like I can, Noo he won't **** you like I will, (Noo, he can't..2)..beat it up like me..(Noo, he can't..2)..but I can baby
Uhh, Lil mama stop being so depressed, stop being so sad, why you so mad, you wouldn't be like that if your chilling wit me..real shit,for real baby, Yeah,..you need to stop..(stop playing wit that pussy2)..(let me kiss it2)..,Yeah , Baby you can lay across my chest, while I smoke on a doobie, Shawty you don't even gotta inhale it, second hand smoke yeah, Shawty, let me enter in ya..Yeah
Uhh,..just being around me is an natural high baby,..(I'm not gone play around*2)..wit yo feelings, Imma play wit that ***** Babygirl, let me play wit (Dat pussy2)..ain't no fussing daily, wit me, Noo baby, we just making love (all day2) (so2)..(stop playing wit that pussy2)..give it to me..,(stop playing wit dat pussy*3)..give it up baby,to me..stop playing around baby,..
Imma (beat it up2) like eggs in the morning, Imma (eat it up,2).. like a cookie,Shawty you don't gotta have a nasty attitude all the time, **** stop playing wit that pussy,stop holding back from me, I just wanna make you smile, Uhh, I wanna make you moan baby, so stop messing around, come on baby, what's wrong (baby*2)..it's that **** ***** you be wit, you act like you love him, but you don't need him, you need (a real g*3)..a ***** like me2)..for real baby,..So (why you playing2)..(stop ******* around now baby*2)..girl, stop ******* around wit me..Ohh, ahh, Ohhwoah..Uhh..
Imma give you my all Fo sho, we gone ball Babygirl, Imma give you everything that you want & that you need, for real..(baybe*2)..what yo heart truly desires is a real ***** like Young Ston, baby, (come on*2)..bring that ***** to my home..Ohh, ahh, Ohhwoah..Uhh..
Babygirl, (stop playing wit Dat pussy3)..Uhh,..you need to (stop it2)..stop playing, wit Dat ***** come on & (give it too a real g*2)..Uhh..
/(stop playing2)..wit that pussy/2
Ohhwoah, BabyGirl.. (Give it to me*3)..forget that ***** you been wit, **** him,, leave his ass..(give it too me*2)..to me
OFTR ENT
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
One forgets that they are not an ocean.
That they cannot break against the rocks
and crash violently into the shore.
We forget we are but cells,
fused together by the straining of our voices,
and the laughter in the sunshine.
We are not divided as oceans are,
separated by a mass of land, disconnected
as the Pacific
and the Dead Sea.
We are joined by the lyrics of a classic ballad
and the motions in healing dance.
Our bodies are not liquid,
synchronous with the moon,
the ebb and flow of our rising and falling chests.
We forget that the stitching in our skin has healed over,
clinging to the soft waters of the night-time tides.
Sable skies threaten the collapse
of our feeble house of sticks
climbing to the roof
shaking our fists to whatever slumbers
in the heavens,
begging to be as a stone
when the tropical storms
blow us down
and the ocean drags us by the hair
back to the fussing horizon.
One cannot drift through the human condition,
desire and impulse,
the life-long battle
to feel not as an expanse of water
but as a sturdy reminder
of atoms to cells to organelles,
as a mark on the spotted skies,
a part in the sea where we cross over into
the realm of existing
and feeling,
to become what we are
both in physical form
and in spirit.
We are flesh and we are soulful.
We are real and deserve to stand
feet planted
in the mud
and let the hurricanes wash us over.
We deserve to feel whole
and wanted.
Craved and forgiven.
We deserve to feel real.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
Extra Initiative! what is this Extra Initiative?
Is it a hype, or is it something positive? ?
How it is written, I am bit tentative?
Is it X-tra initiative or Extra initiative?
Explain me clearly what does it mean.?
So that, taking some steps in that direction I can be seen.
Wherever I go this word is buzzing
that much worth should be given? , or they are fussing?
Despite all my efforts my career is in frost
can it give my career the required ****** ?
What if more importance is given to xtra initiatives than the real thing.
what if they ignore the process and xtra initiatives is piled to make a bing.
what will be its impact on Process negative or positive.
Not sure, but this poem can be taken as my extra initiative.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
I was on the way to pick her up,
was just about to cross a slippery slope
on the front yard of my in-laws’ home.
Forget how long it took me to cross,
Huh, I had to solve a riddle.
A Moon pops up halfway through,
right in my way, it just won’t move.
I said I don’t need any horoscope,
already married, I am not a groom!
She goes, I too don’t fancy fussing about.
The riddle I got is only an easy-peasy one.
Just tell me your W duo—Where and When
did you take your first breath?
I laugh, isn't it the mum who can tell best,
who saw it first when I was born
but I can't go back and ask her,
she won’t show up
unless I return home, picking her up.
I said to the moon, o dear,
never did I say you got a scar,
that a spot on your face is cute, fair,
is only a cool shadow of one’s
deep-rooted fine lock of hair!
I then ran to the expert scientist.
He said it’s all vibrating but knows not
where the heck, if ever the spin might stop.
Again I ran to knock on the Sufi’s door.
He seemed to know why I went there,
And said in a deep voice, “as far as I know,
you don’t have a sister-in-law!”
Again the moon asks, in a heavy tone
“Tell me the truth,” before it's too long,
I said you’re in my way,
“I am not asking for an acre of moon.
Spare me a digit gap if you could.”
Unlike how the lands on earth, she tells,
keep changing the hands,
owning the ultimate plot is still one’s dream.
But no space is left unmeasured in space.
You miss by a hairbreadth, no matter how tiny,
and you might as well miss it by the eternity.
So zero space can I spare says the moon
This is it, the dead end, no more room to move.
Still, even a closed circle can’t be close,
the smallest atom is not the smallest to be closed.
The constant spin inside it constantly finds
ever more space to move on, because the root
pi is cracked open, spills out a new decimal,
though none can pinpoint, in this finest loophole
the sky can sway and earth finds a mouth to jingle!
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
I know what you are doing
After all you told me so..
accidentally
you told me without realizing
You advised my cousin to stay in her mess until she found her strength
You feel like this, us, is a mess, and well I guess I feel the same.
I thought that I needed you because ..
I just felt like I do.. did
but I don't need you
I mean
I did ..I do
I love you,
But why does your love come with all this BS
Cheating, lying, fussing, fighting, crying..
You have no empathy for me
You hurt me and expect me to not complain
I know what you're doing
You are waiting on the right time
devising your plan to Leave
But the door is available for you now
You do not have to plot and scheme on a better way to hurt me,
You can leave in the morning
you can just leave in the morning. ..
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
Five hundred nights we shared this room
You still crack the blinds to watch the moon
No dogs allowed has been long overruled
You always felt that was just a bit cruel
Despite the hair, dirt, and drool
You welcome the new fur family rule
No more fussing with my sloppy side
Now you tidy the sheets in half the time
The center of the mattress is just as fine
Though you still refuse to cross that line
You still sleep on your side of the bed
Yet, Five hundred nights since I've been dead
Aug 23, 2022
Aug 23, 2022 at 12:40 AM UTC
Such a snake you are,
poisonous words dripping like venom from fangs under bitten lips,
striking at the ever-so slightest nudge of your tail,
retreating and hissing for help from those you belittle;
Do I really seem like such a foolish little mouse,
slave and prey to your every whim, every change of mind?
I'd like to think not;
For your cussing and fussing, screaming and shouting,
while throwing a little hissy fit, is not proper etiquette,
even for a reptile such as yourself.
Such a tiny wriggling thing must be put in its natural place,
relocated to where it cannot bite the children
to where it can go find others like itself,
away from the big scary predators that might hurt it;
Humans, cars, bikes, cats, dogs, oh the possibilities are endless,
but you wound up in my path, unlucky you,
a demonic and unforgiving rage personified;
If you are a snake, I am a dragon,
if you are a fish, I'm a bloodthirsty shark,
darling don't you see how this works?
I've dealt with you long enough, you pest, you ungrateful little thing,
my mercy is off, our truce is through, now God only knows what'll happen to you,
did you think me to be a kind human being?
Well, I guess you're mistaken, so take a number, sweetie,
I'll call for you when I'm done sending others to the graveyard,
for if you think I'd even hold you at the top of my list,
you're sadly mistaken, yet again;
You should probably stop trying to predict me,
stop blaming me for each little thing,
for a predator can't be blamed for taking out pests,
nor animal control for relocating vicious creatures;
You silly little snake, do you think yourself to be a viper,
when really you're just a common garter?
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
I like a bowl of collards
You like brussel sprouts
You have a taste for cognac
Jim Beam just knocks me out
You went to that big college
I flunked the seventh grade
We ain't got much in common
Till we pull down the shades
CHORUS:
THE ATTRACTION OVERCOMES THE WALLS BETWEEN US
TO UNDERSTAND OUR BOND WON'T TAKE A GENIUS
OUR LIVES ARE CONTRADICTIONS
BUT THE FUN OUTWEIGHS THE FRICTION
THE ATTRACTION OVERCOMES THE WALLS BETWEEN US
In our healthy love-hate thang
Sometimes hell breaks loose
But when the big moon rises
We wave a flag of truce
Our fussing's just a pastime
Between the mountain peaks
But by evening time we tangle
And the making up is sweet
CHORUS
BRIDGE: It's natural to differ
But the difference ain't too big
We meet right in the middle
When it's time to build a bridge
CHORUS
Sep 7, 2011
Sep 7, 2011 at 10:59 PM UTC
There’s nothing like a frosty winter morning,
when the sky has had enough
of trying to look nice and welcoming
for you today,
but instead decided to take the day off
and retreat under the soft grey fluff of a blanket, and you too,
have done the same, in a show of comraderie,
cracking the window open just enough
to feel each other’s breath
across the zipping air
that won’t stop fussing
or biting off the skin on your right thumb.
There’s nothing like such a morning
when a bottomless pit of steaming hot coffee isn’t enough, though your heart-rate
is through the roof, but you pretend that’s good
for you, as if it’s pumping blood and heating up
your insides.
A morning when the requirement to stay inside
is no longer a discomfort but an opportunity –
for some calm piano tunes,
just like the wind
converging then diverging,
to serenade you in the background, while your rough
cold hands, stretch out in their familiar spider web
but this time in a slower
motion stretch
and take you to the keyboard once again,
because there’s nothing like it on a frosty, freezing, gloomy winter
Morning like this.
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 1:23 PM UTC
I remember that summer of 2012 we came down south. you were just as sweet as can be and so happy to see us. after two weeks of fun we had to leave. I can remember the exact words you said before we left."I sholl wish yall could stay longer.I'm really gon miss y'all..love you". I will never forget those words. like I will never forget the horrid shriek that interrupted my sleep at 10pm November 11th. it came from my mothers room. "she gone.I don't have a mother or a father.she gone" replayed over and over and over again. tears started to pour from my eyes and unto my pillow as I heard the pain guilt and hurt that filled my mothers voice. though we weren't close, I felt like we were that summer ,welcomed and loved by all the southern hospitality. even though we weren't as close, it hurts to have someone you love pass away. so Booker girls and boys it'll be alright, dry your sullen eyes for your mother and father will now be together again and can rest peacefully in paradise. remember to stay strong and to keep the family together. no fussing, no fighting just peace love and happiness. stay lifted in prayer and know that god is here to help you through this hard time.
Rest in PEACE Shelly Jean Booker
you ARE missed.
O.Rob.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
On the paint chipped pavement we went over the rules:
NO cherry bombs, NO bobbling,
NO lower-ballers, spin-tops,
chalk walkers, twenty fingers,
and especially NO skyscrapers.
So for a few minutes we played as raw as apple skin knees,
it was the roughest, toughest, hard-nosed game
of four square any fourth grader has ever seen.
But it was all over when someone crossed the line.
There was fussing, cussing, and an accusation of the mustnt’s.
Eyebrows adjacent, we argued and clawed like kilkenny cats,
we were breaking rules, we crossed the chalk.
We took sides and worst of all,
the one crucial act that we regret,
we slammed the ball down.
It towered overhead like window washers
and landed on the school’s roof.
We stopped arguing. Nobody won that day.
© Matthew Harlovic
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
Joseph's sons are still in Egypt
All is not fulfilled as yet
The elder child, Manasseh
calls himself a Christian these days
and still seems mightier than Ephraim
as foreseen by Israel
but has this small problem
keeping Father's commandments
having been suckled on
papal leaven
with that false gospel
girlfriend he likes to call
prosperity ...
I'd rather remain a gentile, thanks
Invite me to the wedding
I'll come visit every Sukkot
He really needs his younger brother
to come of age and stop fussing ...
to stop copy-catting Judah
and feed Yeshua's lost sheep
from that double redeemer's portion
Jacob blessed him with ...
that which speaks of BenDavid
and the keeping of true Torah
which is the tittles and jots
'Jesus' said would remain
a blessing till all is fulfilled
till His Torah shines forth from Zion
once again
Jealous Judah awaits him too
Prays each day the prodigal will come home
and tell him who Meshiach is
There really are no Gentiles or Greeks
except in diaspora
No, not even Jesus freaks
Just a faithful, obedient remnant
in Jacob's trouble
going to the promised land
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 8:38 PM UTC
It starts
in the quiet
itching in the fingers
like new skin knitting under blistered burns.
I have always written.
Before I had my letters
(before the lessons
with stubby pencils
curving sense out of the air)
I would scrawl nonsense waves
folding and boiling
in a crash of senseless surf
onto pages meant for pictures
I scribbled a whole Atlantic
before sense and sound
delivered the waves to reason.
I still find it hard,
when writing,
not to let the rolling sea
scatter into fragment waves
that whisper into the breeze of my fingers.
I have tried many addictions,
I have spent people like money.
I have tied my hands
to stop from fussing at the leaves.
If I ever loved I left it still spinning,
but I have never lost the itch
a pen to scratch its bleed of ink
into a sweet clean ****** page.
To scrawl my feint history
in every broken harbour
of her yielding skin.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
maelstrom meltdown on Third Avenue
<•>
the crushing came from nowhere external,
walking calm, southbound on Third Avenue, 7:00am,
found myself lost, slumped up against an unopened bank
copious weeping an acceptable addition to the malignant,
maelstrom meltdown turmoil, turbulence,
such tumult that weighed so-heavy that my disordered confusion recognized no boundaries of shame,
all chaos fission fussing into fusion
new friends, passerby's all, asking, even pleading,
offering water, coffee, solace with milk, counseling kindness,
the inexplicity, thereof, a suited man, so normally workbound;
the timidity, to inquire what's wrong, fearful of an answer's danger,
the enormity, thereof, worse, the hollowness of any responsive words
there lay I, till the police asked me to move along
or be arrested; I moved on for was I not already arrested?
my vortex, center of a swirling eddy,
a wind whipped maelstrom whirlpool,
shortly to consumed, bedlam no more, and the blood in me revererbrates that mournful prayer music of my child that cohabits,
never departs or wavers,
n'ere ceases or changes,
Les Miserables
"Bring Him Home"
supplanting the desperation of a living sin,
mine own breathing sounds
as I said,
the crushing came from nowhere external
<•>
for Steve and Tonya
Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC
and he does not think it strange,
watching two hours of the hottest hip hop,
in freezing cold surround sound air,
returns home to a medium warm bath,
where the drink served, icy cold vitamin water,
liquefying the mournful, dismal~gloomy,
lugubrious poems of lost love he finds
under his hello poetry pillow,
that gives no one relief,
neither to the writer or the victimizer
and he does not think it strange
reads strange takes n' poem tales from Avenida Paulista,
but his body dances to an Argentine milongia melancholia,
a contrast and a contest,
his heart asks where is Patagonia,
as the Arctic Vortex melts into the bath water
and he does not think it strange
for he know, he knows that this makes little sense,
but perfect sense to the poet-man,
try to see it his way,
there is a fussing and fighting inside,
that cannot be worked out
and he does not think it strange
but this be the funk groove of his extra
ordinary life wherein his body and heart,
and hundreds more,
can be held aloft
on a single wrist with fluid ease,
if allowed
and he does not think it strange
when he says,
aside aside fellow dancer,
and he does not think it strange,
he wants you to understand
for that, you must be
be beside beside, fellow dancer
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
I never feared the monster hiding
Sliding out from under my bed
To grab me by the head and drag me
Into some dark, dIngy vicinity.
I had the real thing to fear. We all did
And it only hid when other adults saw.
The fear would gnaw at me forever
And I felt it would never let up.
A couple of times I felt I would die
Because I tried to stop it; to cry
To beg, to wheedle, to quake.
But I could not shake her hold.
I wasn’t all that old, but I began
To plan. I did her household chores
But she wanted more; laundry,
Preparing the meals she completed.
Defeated, I knew it was no good.
I had done everything I could.
I remember it. Oh, yes. Clearly.
Nearly every scene resonates
Grates and whips me relentlessly
Just as hard, and painfully as she
Whipped us; me and my brothers
Not acting like a mother, but mad.
Not so much angry as insane.
She was the bane of our existence
With no diluting of that phrase.
And it was not a phase, it was there
When we were home, alone
With her when she indulged her rage.
To that stage when she could not stop;
Not turn back and be the caregiver.
I still shiver. I feel the belts or sticks
Stripe across my back or my legs
When, begging, I tried to stop her;
Threaten to call the cops or something
But nothing worked since Dad was a cop.
The cops or the county would come by
When a nearby neighbor called on her
But when they heard our name, they stopped
And since Dad was a cop, they dropped it
And would sit and ask us in front of her
Whether she was beating us or whatever.
Never would we rat her out because
The claws would come out when they left
And she’d heft whatever she used on us.
And fussing and crying only made it worse.
Once a nurse turned her in to the school
And some fool from the county dropped by
To write down Mom’s lies and ask us again
In front of the woman from the welfare
And we were too scared to tell the truth.
We were in the beginnings of our youth.
How could we defeat a monster that knew
Where and when we slept. What could we do?
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC