Issues in a bone closet

Life is perception, and perception is through each eye different.

the slivers of dark-ling glass poke me
at times
like jaded eyes in my shadows
as i swerve to avoid their deliverance

 

i stand at the shaded window
gazing at a world i don’t live in
spilling useless ink on pages rarely read

 

wishing like a grievous seeker

 

i remember that barefooted child
pigtails and my dolly trailing behind me
i always was a sad little loner

 

stained cheeks and tattered clothes
funny
the things about people no one knows

 

whiskey spelled out terror like claws
ravens cawed and staked their claim
and i hid under the willow
that weeping tree that seemed to find me

 

its ancient whistle ricocheted off my
agile and wounded bones
like gentle fingers
a balm to the burns of enemies

 

i remember broken floors and that scent
of old house and somber raindrops
whiskey and too much beer tainting the air
like the stench of caleveras

 

hungry was a word i knew well

 

a little girl
sat with haunted eyes
any form of paper
and a semi broken
pencil scribbling words to ease the horror

 

my window sill dripping like my tear ducts
leaking
leaking out

 

momma loved us….
she dearly did and held us
as best she could in the madness
but daddy shot fear out like bullets

 

sometimes the screams are not heard
sometimes they get trapped in the confines
of my aching throat

yet i hold on
as life is sometimes a wild ride
and days and hours are what we make them
i refused then and now to let it break me

 

life is butterflies beneath the stones hurled
it is scarlet tulips in the winter
buttercups dancing in the summer wind

 

i live through my skin
through the breath of dreams
again and again and again…..

Reviews

[E.H. Monroe]

When you take something like the past or memories or good or bad and roll it into the confines of a poem you lay out a pretty hefty challenge. The risk, as obvious, is the pain in the a*s of "will they get it?" whats the message? OR I wonder if someone's gonna see some s**t that I didnt lay out and birth something new.
The few pieces I have read do the latter and its the best kind of read.
The glass can be the reflection of the picture frame looking back into that time. At yourself, at someone else, the eyes etc.
Eventually, the pain of a childhood sets in. No matter if you have the beauty brush out the stroke are ugly, and the fear sets in. Reflecting on Mom and how she tried and dad and his own agenda. The reader can easily be the kid, the mom OR the dad. Thats the beuty of this style of poetry.
Its like a stage...and we're on it in whatever capacity we wish.

Do i even need to say great job..?

Sure..Great job..wonderfully introspective..for me anyway

[OT]

the name intrigued me! and then I see EH beat me here and know I need to read - what a powerful write - reminiscing - scenes of the past - delving into memories - "a little girl
sat with haunted eyes
any form of paper
and a semi broken
pencil scribbling words to ease the horror" - but the way so many poets start out - to take the horror and ease it through catharsis - bleeding ink onto a page to take away some of the pain - enjoyed! nice!

[An owl on the moon]

Such stark, rich recollections... Your descriptions evoke the deepest emotion.. share what you once knew.. may still cling to at times.. Dreaming and longing.. Amazing write.

[Kyle]

There are many powerful moments brought out here. The fear and sadness especially. This sounds eerily similar to m own childhood.

[shoaib]

oh i love reading these again, i think this is my 3rd time reading this one and still one of my favorites. "stand at the shaded window
gazing at a world i don’t live in
spilling useless ink on pages rarely read" um yah right there with you on these lines lol. left this poem feeling like... the past can be full of amazing memories that say with us, or full of ones that haunt us. either way they never leave us :)

[tigerclaw]

Terrific writing.

[SPINNING ON that dizzy ..]

this was just a picture of so many lives I have known. what happened in the house stayed in the house... what was done in the house ... well that was something else. Tears and rain, hope and growth.... we move on...

[Steve]

This sounds both tragic and inspiring at the same time....the content in gut wrenching at times...yet the word pictures you use it amazing. :0)

[schanzilla]

this is a blistering, broken hearted roller coaster of emotions. i enjoyed the ride immensely.