"tonya" poems
~
remnants of
afore night’s grieving
before her on the table lie,
echoes of her sobbing
tears from last night's cry;
boxes of his cards,
handwritten letters,
a schoolboy’s pictures,
the wadded tissues
lie in random crumples,
for his silent laughter,
his fading whispers;
the one remaining lock
of hair she used to rumple;
the invisibly present
drying tearful brine
to table salt reduced;
the how remembered,
the when recalled,
the why that's yet
to be deduced.
each a remnant of
her softened weeping,
each a minder of
a mother of a sorrow,
a son-of-a-gun,
don’t-know-if
i’ll-make-it-to tomorrow,
reminders of
a yesternight’s cry;
the remnants of
afore night’s grieving
that on her table lie;
the six-years-ago,
still-can’t-believe-it,
never-ending-long...
goodbye.
~
post script.
*"her smile...
’tis the thinnest veil o'er a razor's edge,
it can ne’er conceal her bleeding heart..."
like the spiraling whirlpool
like leaves bowing to winter
it's palpable, predictable,
a seasonal forecast...
guess it's just
that time of year.*
***for Becky,
for Tonya,
for Andrea,
for all
grieving mothers
everywhere***
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
It's been a year since I dropped out
Been more than busy, there's no doubt
Didn't mean to step before I left somthin'
That lit your soul on fire and got your hearts pumpin'
I'll lay down words that get the rhythm bumpin'
Don't need music when the words are thumpin'
It's been a year since I dropped out
I'm back y'all so scream and shout
I still got the rhymes that make words hop
And the liguistic skills to make the beats drop
I hit bottom but now I'm back on top
I'm back for writin' and to talk shop
It's been a year since I dropped out
It made the women cry and my boys pout
Don't worry y'all, I'm back to lay em on ya
I missed y'all, especially you Rick, Bex, and Tonya
Though y'all didn't make the list, I'm still fond of ya
I left in a Limo and drove back in a Honda
It's been a year since I dropped out
Been more than busy, there's no doubt
I'm back y'all, so scream and shout
I'll make the women smile and show em all what I'm about
It been a year since I dropped out
Been more than busy' there's no doubt
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 7:05 PM 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
Inspired by Tonya Riddle,
Wife, Mother, Sister,
Nurse, Poet, Gardener,
and a
friend
<>
The littlest things you all say, the lightly remarked,
or weighty beloved ones, 100% guarantee a smile
or a tear, no difference, but all press me to grab
the nearest papyrus, to ink that notion, an
untimely timely near midnight revelation,
requiring a scribing to permanent-seal that moment’s
custom potion, via magnification.
It ain’t easy, kinda of reverse curse from
the many wintry months of the ‘tion’s absence:
motivation, inspiration, perspiration go
on a round-the-world cruise and when
they don’t invite you along, in-truth,
semi-secretly, poetry is kinda de-relevationed (less urgent)
For I have seen a picture, a memorial garden bounteous,
Jordan’s Garden,
so late night, kind words exchanged in reciprocation,
as we both stagger gently into sleep and a new
twenty-four, and here, and I hear, the realization
thoughts inescapable, demanding: creation, visitation,
& ****** a instantion ripening and
Fruition.
A lovely word this one, for it’s strawberry season
on the north fork of the isle, accompanied by
imported Carolina peaches,
and when the roadside farm stands offer them for
sale, included is a a couple of paper towel slices,
for the fruition juices runneth over
(stain stick not included)
So just before midnight, the electrons and (t)ions inform
that tonight, a calming of words, revelations of affection,
salve the grieving heart that runneth over
which surely was my intention,
as well as a celebration of commemoration, and in
calming you friend, my eyes wet, not realizing, that
I’ve written a smile upon my lips, a precursoration to a
rarity, a well and good night’s sleepy and hallowed
restoration.
7:47 AM Mon Jun 26
Jun 26, 2023
Jun 26, 2023 at 5:52 PM UTC
My name is addiction I'm the frenzy you feed,
my name is addiction and you begin to read.
You need me, you want me, you won't doubt me.
My name is addiction and you are my victim.
My name is trouble I come when your alone,
I'm the one that brings addiction home.
My name is pain, I know you well,
you think your in purgatory, No,.. your in hell.
I'm sorry for this, this haze, this bliss.
I can't remember the last time I was sober.
Then again I can't remember the last time I was dead..
I'm on fire, burning with blue passion.
My name is love and I caused you pain,
I brought you addiction and trouble again.
I can't continue.. continue falling..
F
A
L
L
I
N
G
.
.
F
A
L
L
I
N
G
.
.
D
O
W
N
.
.
THE RABBIT HOLE.
Where is the smile you smiled ever so easily?
Where is the meaning you inject inside of me?
Where is the comfort that you fill with my lungs?
All gone, all that remains is sober thoughts.
My name is Tonya.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
I wish that I could be there
to start you on your way
to tell you how I'll miss you
and wish that you could stay
to remind you of the good times
of which I have only heard
But that I see in Tonya's eyes
as she tells me every word
Alisha, you have good friends
as do your boyfriend and your son
In Tonya you have many
of which I am only one
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 2:06 PM UTC
~
we're far better suit-ed
as human beings
than human doings
~
*post script.
prompted by the beautiful “to be list” written by Tonya. please read her simple yet thought-provoking write here: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1125817/to-be-list/*
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:42 AM UTC
This poem which was created by several poets, while abstract , a bit meandering, as any collaboration might become, has behind it a meaning.
My effort, my intent, was not to create a poem that bested Shakespeare, no. I with all my heart wanted to show that HP is for all of us. HP is for us to make a difference, if possible. It is possible.
Put away the transgressions the petty bickering, all.
We may have lost this battle, but we shall win the war.
Now, the poem:
Once Upon I, the warrior skeletal
the eternal darkness
descended
with cracked laughter echoing
serendipity exploding
and unfolding erase(s)
the expanse of nightfall,
those connected before
redemption,
rustic austerity
peace
for she
dreaming forlorn
liberated
by the sword
sine qua non
In order of contribution I would like to thank :
m i å, SPT,wehttam,Vicki,Harriet Tecumsah Watt,memineI,
Fallen Angel,Reshnia crimson,ryn,Jaxton Tyler Redmond
Sassy J,Eric W,SE Reimer,aivustianumus,lluvia de abril,
Steven Langhorst,Tonya Maria,Sjr1000,Emma Livry,
Aztec Warrior,Renae,brandon cory nagley,Dave Kavanagh,
Adhi Das,Alyssa Underwood,A Lopez,Heather Beth,
and Sapiotextual all for their contribution to the making of this poem
and to the betterment of our community.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 2:18 PM UTC
Daddy never clutched a bible to his chest
But I'm guessing he wished for one that afternoon when he's blood ran hot and a heart attack creeped on him
I bet he clutched his shirt in agony and anguish
God I prayed
My two knees gave up on me and I kneeled right beside the hospital bed
With the old testament in my lap , gripping his hand tightly
I held on to the last scraps of my being
And God I prayed
Every single night since then I have this reoccurring dream
Its the 17th of may
And I'm in my black dress , hair wrapped in a dainty black turban
There is no life in me
I'm clutching my chest cause it pains
And the tears are streaming down my face as I watch them lower daddy's coffin into the ground ,
The pounding wind of the early winter is cruel and mocking
And I want to scream and tell them to stop,
Its a mistake
No
My daddy's still alive
But he's body is so cold
Pappa tsoga , why o tonya so?
Pappa ....
I'm standing there and my legs buckle under my weight
And it hurts to breathe and it hurts to blink
And I'm buried in tears, not silent and controlled tears but loud and unrestrained
Flooding out in harsh breathes.
And it dawns on me that
O tsamaile papa
And I must now
Stumble and crash through this life thing without him
With this prominent pain where he ought to be
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 7:17 PM UTC
”yet the fervent flame that fuels her will flatten her to bodilessness” — bodiless by Christina Weiler
her blades like
shiny silver roots
dug into
cold white soil
shaped thighs and calves
ankles forged from steel
firm and strong
s t r o n g
know their frictionless home
better than the restrictive
ground for mortals
she learned to
skate
before she could
crawl
the chill that
penetrates
her
does not freeze–
it
charges her body
fizzles in her blood
fills her lungs with
red hot molten
fury
each powerful
gut-wrenching
scratch
scrape
sharp edge
carves
echoing prayers into
the heart of her
unforgiving god
ordered
by a world that doesn't
understand where she came from
(whether heaven or hell no one really knows or cares)
to shatter
the ice dreams that saved (or cursed) her
to obey
the ground
to pretend that she will find that thrill—
find herself— in
something else
but through the aches she knows
she will never
forget
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 1:03 AM UTC
I opened my closet door and fingered through my masks
"Which one should I wear today" I wondered by myself
"Today is Susan's birthday, perhaps a happy face"
"Though John just lost his game, perhaps a sad one as well"
"And Tonya's mom is nervous, perhaps some empathy"
As I looked upon my masks to wear, all seemed quite fitting
I removed the mask I wore below, the mask of apathy
as I slowly peeled back this fleshy molded face
a salty barren field revealed its proper place
as true features themselves emerged
amuck with tears unnoticed
by myself
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 12:10 AM UTC