poem: the owner of these words

mornings like this I sit with a tear

welling in the corner of my eye

and I could not explain it to anyone

just that there is some fear gnawing away

a surety that the owner of these words

over all, does not matter, here

it is a morning for remembering walking alone

and contemplation of icy rivers

a morning for seeing truth in accusations

of every person who ever hated me

some days I feel so keenly

how I was robbed, how I let it happen,

days when I need others so much

and my words reach out to silence,

to nothing reflected back, not a single

glimpse of recognition. Trying new spaces,

blocked at every turn. I think, am I ever

even really HERE?

 

Sundays are hard. Family day.

a day to take stock all I did not accomplish

in the 6 days hence the last lonefull day.

doing what am I here? with me, with you

with the sound of children's laughter

and the smell of volcanic doings

on the wind at my window; and it is hard

to see the world around me;

harder the one behind. Do we spend our

lives reading books to be enlightened,

or do we wish simply to be entertained?

Maybe I will fold up into an origami project

so I can be better fit into small spaces;

digested by the average consumer. I have

always been admonished for taking

up too much space, for wanting.

and all the things I ever wanted point

to one heartbreaking truth- a desire by

the owner of these words to simply find

acceptance, as one who walks in two worlds,

an open door that says, your kind welcome here.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Sundays are tough and lonely sometimes

Reviews

[R J Askew]

the title of this one put its arm around my shoulder and coaxed me into the house a poem is to have a look around .. I was reading in a routine sort of way thinking, 'hmm, sundays in the UK are just like any other day now .. we don't even have the luxury of a boring day to reflect or FEEL sad in our mania to do' .. but then the poem became intensely personal towards the end of the first verse esp:

Trying new spaces,
blocked at every turn. I think, am I ever
even really HERE?

Such is the life of an indie author. But then I realise it is a common feeling. So few win and those few who do win make many losers in their way. But that raises other questions as to who or what exactly is a winner or a loser! I thought the other day that 'when we no longer need to win, we have won'. This does not mean we cease to win, just that we don't 'need' to.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you for extremely interesting take on this piece, Orlando. I wonder when and why and how we came to the conclusion that life has to be about winners and losers? How recognition for some means that there is less for everyone else? We know life is not like that, yet we act as though it is. Why is that???

[R J Askew]

Men love to beat other men, often literally. A man feels great when he beats another man. Men often stop at nothing to win. Winners never care about the losers they make. To be a losing man in life makes a man bitter and sometimes dangerous, if not to others then to himself. Winning has to be kept as exclusive as possible as if too many men win it dilutes the potency of the win. Not all men are obsessed about winning, but the ones who are exert a disproportionate influence on the lives of all around them.

[rhythm&blues]

You take up as much space as you need to, the one thing I've learned that turned my life around is it does not matter what other people say or do, it's your/my life and that's what is really important to get on with our own destiny.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank yuo for the review, rhythm. We all need the time and space to grow.

[iliOZ]

hi marie, i am here with an idea, a different approach/solution.
i call it the anti-groundhog-day!
according to george miller, the limit of short term memory is six if letters and seven if numbers. so in this regard sunday is the worst combination; the name contains six letters and it is the number seven day.
break the rules, turn your life upside down, reorganize your life and pick another day for sunday. like ...thursday. it is day number four and it consists of eight letters.

remember ... if you want something you never had before, you have to do something you never done before!

as for the poem, i absolutely loved it! i felt sitting in the dark corner, knees pulled up while looking into the flames of that dark-yellow candle.stunning.

[Marie Anzalone]

testing, testing?

[Marie Anzalone]

Just had my comment get eaten twice by a weird error. Will try one more time.

[Marie Anzalone]

What I tried to say was, I really love this idea, iliOZ. You've given me much to think on. This is what I love about the ability to connect with other writers on here- every single one of you who commented, gave me some new insight or perspective. I think I will take your suggestion. Domingo and I need to re-evaluate the terms of our relationship. I will do my best to have him be my Latin dance partner before all is said and done.

Those of us who write convincingly about depression are usually never using photos or references to create our work. We are drawing from real Life, shadows and movements and all. He sneaks in like an unbidden guest, Churchill's black dog by the fireplace. We just kind of come to terms with him being there after a while.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

I have had mornings like these, and they do not only occur on Sundays for me. You have show us the depths of quiet despair in this piece, where the feeling of isolation eats away at the soul like some animal scavenging for food. I enjoy the imagery and the wording/phrasing, but what I liked most (aside from the concept) was the flow of this one--it seemed gently disconnected, which worked so well with what you have written. I felt this one emotionally...

[Marie Anzalone]

I think you nailed exactly how it is for me on days like this- I feel like I am disconnected from my own truth. I genuinely empathize with anyone who says they can relate to what this is like. Please accept quiet acknowledgment from a different part of the map.

I smell the volcano again today. Funny how the day I wrote this, it smelled like doomsday. Today, it reminds me of the wood smoke from home.

[Cool Handless Luke]

every day can be sunday and loneliness can be having no family or being a thousand miles away, or having a family less than a mile down the road and still be unable to share it with them. we have words that spill out upon pages in ink as surely as sentiments flowing like blood from our hearts and the painful thing is - that it is usually a stranger in a different state or even continent who truly does grasp the darkness that haunts you and the beauty that burns in a fire to consume the night sky. to those who are closest in proximity and to those who share our own blood, our words are more often enigmatic or just plain confusion. it is a gift and a curse they say. most days i pray for the simple joys of being the boy sitting in the sun content only in the knowledge that it is keeping me warm. the owner of these words must find the understanding and the acceptance of the very hand that gave them life upon the page before there can ever be hope of reaching out and embracing other flesh. poetry? bah - i write it - but i would rather just sit in the sun....

[Marie Anzalone]

I've saved the toughest review for last, and that is a compliment. What you write of, that inner voice that cannot be silenced- you can have no idea how often I too have prayed just for that simplicity, that normalcy. Except you do know, you have always known, seen right through the author of these words. The ability to just sit and take in the sun, and not think past or future, only now, the moment. I have a friend here in Guatemala who can do that; I am in awe of his ability. Truly. And you are so right about loneliness. I have personally never felt a loneliness more keen that lying next to someone whose inner distance with you makes you feel more alone than if you were 1000 miles away. I agree with what you say about inner acceptance, too. Ironically, much of that is interior work, work with your own version of the Creator... but we are also, I think hard-wired to rely on connection with other humans to make us work out... connections with other humans. Those soul bonds.. if you had any idea how often I have stayed up late, listening to rain, trying to create a version of the world where one who could connect to me in the way you speak of, could somehow be part of my world. I wrote about that once- the desire to just once have someone hold you who could understand the depths of the fire that consumes from within. The you sit back and realize that not all connection can be that- that the recognition itself, not the outcome, is the greatest gift another has to give you. The holding of the space. The simple, knowing.

Thank you.

[Marie Anzalone]

as for sitting in the sun... it occurs to me. Maybe all one has to do is just ask for it? Ask for it, and pay the price later.

[Cool Handless Luke]

no price to pay for peace. poetry isn't flesh and blood. no disrespect to any who their work means the world to them but i would rather be able to share a good conversation with my kids about their day than to write any epic, brilliant or well-praised poem.

[Georgia Gypsy]

You are always welcome in my world, any day, including Sundays!
You are accepted, and my ear is available whenever needed!!

GG

[Marie Anzalone]

thank you so very much, Gypsy. These are words we all need to hear sometimes.

[h d e rushin]

I always imagine what Sunday can be like in Gratemala or is it even fair to suggest that it can be
any different than any place else? I felt in the second stanza the pacific ocean speaking in the
background like a Paul Gauguin painting with the Tahitians sprinkled around as little flowers;
A lonliness, a wanting for someone (something) familiar.....

one of you're more passionate writes.
dana

[Marie Anzalone]

I am in the mountains, dana, an hour and a half from the Pacific coast. Most other days of the week, people randomly call and/or stop by, but Sundays are a day for joyful noise- as long as you have a family here to celebrate the day with. If I had money I would go on a trip by myself but I am still waiting for an income. Those hours stretch out long and lonely sometimes, I fear.

I'll write something passionate and wild and I'll be sure to blame you for the inspiration :-)

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

sundays can be a lonely day for me..it's been a while since i even thought about this particular day as a sad thing..I usually just chalk these moods to hangovers and loneliness anymore
I want to give you an objective constructive review, but my urge to wallow is inspiring me to move along
it's a solid and focused piece of writing that i shall return to on a non-sunday

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you for passing by and through, Shmoke. I always learn something when you do.

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlander]

learning, the quintessential double edged sword :) I need to msg you about something while i remember

[Dr. Wood ?]

Sundays are personal and mean so many different things to so many different people...It is the ODD day...the one tacked on at the end of the week; maybe as a joke.
I actually write more on Sundays, but these are MY Sundays...As I said, they are personal....I loved the poem by the way, full of such realism and teeming with life

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks, Doctor. I think you are right on in your assessment of Sunday meaning so many different things to different people. For many of us, it is still a day of reflection. Those often make for good writing days. I appreciate you stopping by today to share your insight.

[quinfinn]

simply knowing that there are those who care, who love you...is sometimes not enough when you feel the weight of unfounded hatred and scorn, is not enough sometimes. but we must revel in those gentler liaisons and embrace them with the light left in our souls. and , knowing that those who would do us harm will not go forth with impunity...there is solace in that...need i remind you of karma? i think not. excellent write.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you for the thoughtful words, Quin. Under duress, I tend to go into a survival mode of a kind. I do not process often for several weeks. It's like a lag time for my soul. Good things, bad things... it takes me a while to catch up. This morning, I hope, was just clearing a path, creating space for something new. It feels less devastating today than it had before. Each time I go back, it hurts a little less. Seems to be progress, and necessary for growth. Still hard some days, though.

[quinfinn]

onward through the fog....things are better and will get more so.....