Tag Archives: poetry

Circle of Sisters


Photo courtesy of Morguefile

I look beyond the horizon of my soul, searching
for connection in the vast wasteland of my being.
Restlessness, agitation rule my waking time.
Dreams, insomnia tick away the hours until dawn.
The tears come suddenly, frequently.
They anger me, these unbidden rivulets
of misery and weakness.
I have no right to wallow and complain.
I did not lose my hair.
I did not lose my breast.
I have a scar – not enough to bear the title
of “Survivor.”

I bottle up inside the negativity,
watching helplessly as it seeps across the barriers
I carefully construct. These promises of safety failing
miserably, leaving me exposed.
A year has passed.
Get over it you drama queen!
Are you simply vying for attention
with your sudden outbursts of rage and anguish?
You don’t need anyone. You have the tools to rise
above this. You studied this, this disease.
You know it well,
all its intricate, poisonous traps and evil intentions.
I spin my wheels helplessly, hopelessly unsure of myself.

The Noble Circle
The what?
A cancer support group. Just try them.
I think you’ll be a fit.
I agree with hesitation, convinced that it won’t work.
I don’t need anyone. I have the tools to rise above this.
I have studied this, this disease.
I know it well, all its finest details.

The time has come to meet them, this group of survivors.
A weekend retreat- but I decline…knowing I’ll be fine.
A season passes.
Desperation and despair permeate my being.
My spirit leaves and watches from the distance.
I fear it’s lost for good and spend the days disheartened.

Another call. We have a spot, a September retreat.
I cry and grasp the opportunity but worry I won’t fit. They’ll have more in common
with each other than with me.
They’ll have lost their hair, their breasts, I think, but
feel relief to see they don’t look any different than me.

I feel guarded this first day and hide behind a collage of images, creating who I am, or who I think I have been.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! I lose control and cry.
Angry at my weakness, internal punishment and promises of control rein emotion in.
Benevolent gazes cause discomfort,
unfit for the attention.

A day of meditation, of food and interaction.
My essence hums with energy and excitement,
embraced with positive acceptance, fortified with
vows to dominate emotion.
A sharing circle brings epiphany.
I chew my tongue to focus on the physical,
refusing to break and bow to humiliation.
A woman speaks my heart,
and restraint buckles beneath a wave of hot tears
filling my soul with shame.
Soft touches and kind words of consolation
caress the pain away.
Sisters, they say. I squirm, unfit for the attention.

Drums pounding catch me in their beat, beat beat.
l play and dance in rhythm, two steps away from freedom,
not quite leaving memory and pain.

A final meditation,
the sharing of a story in poetry and art.
I look at those who came before me
and wonder who has passed and who I’ll meet.
A final day begins my transition to a sisterhood
and long-deserved attention.
Sister.
I practice the word, testing its boundaries
and fine lines, embracing long-awaited peace.

 

©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com.


Perfect Poet Award Week 46


Thank you Jingle and Company and all those who nominated me for this award!

As part of my acceptance, I nominate Liveonimpulse for next week’s award and offer a lighthearted haiku:

Feisty kitten leaps

attacking dog who turns and

growls her discontentment.

©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com.

Happy Rally everyone!


Restless


Photo courtesy of morguefiles.

Slumber breaks
Fleeting thoughts dance around the periphery of consciousness.
A befuddled mind grasps tangled memories of stories left untold
propelling thoughts of panic, of what and where and why.

Slumber breaks
Fragmented former selves clamor for attention.
Ephemeral moments between sleep and wake become the platform
For lives once lived and loves long lost
for unfulfilled dreams drowned by stark realities and brutal circumstances.

Slumber breaks
Consciousness bears the demon of unrest on shoulders heavy with despair,
Despondent thoughts hallucinate alternative realities and bearable fictions,
Twisting tales riddled with reprieve.
Frustration dissipates and dreams dominate.

©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com


Outstanding Poet of National Poetry Month Award


Thank you Jingle and all who voted for me. This is great!


White trash


Photo courtesy of Morguefile


White trash sitting on the patio, flicking cigarettes into tall grass.
Junk strewn about the yard
A camper rests on cinder blocks, sending roots into the ground
slowly rotting into the littered landscape.

White trash collecting cans, every penny helps.
Old man throws back a beer as kids scour the roadside for aluminum.
Old man looking like a fool, trying to be cool
with a cowboy hat wrapped in snakeskin, skin dirty, clothes dirty.

White trash dumpster diving looking for a score.
Amazing what folks will throw away. Just wipe it off and eat it.
Dinners made from government cheese and church hand outs.
Those rich folks don’t know what they’re missing.

White trash I was born to but never was.
Reaching for the stars, brushing off the dirt, the grime.
Staying one step ahead of myself.
Spent a lifetime trashing that.

©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com


The Celebrate Poet of Spring in 2011 Awards


Woo hoo! Another Poetry Rally award! Thanks Jingle and all who nominated me. See you all at the next rally!


A Day


At 12 a.m. the silence screams,
deafening my senses, calming my agitation.
My meditation culminates in slumber.

At 6 a.m. the roar of traffic breaks through
my sleepy reverie, calling me to rise from the
warm depths of my bed. I greet the world with blurry vision.

At 10 am the buzz of computers and coworkers
vibrates through my being. My internal engine revs,
my body hums with activity.

At 1:00 p.m. my stomach growls its frustration,
demanding nourishment and attention.
Food and a hot drink convert the growls to a purr.

At 3:00 p.m. my muscles sing with anticipation.
I reward the symphony with bikes, and hikes, and weights.
I challenge the smallest muscle to hit the highest notes of activity.

At 5:00 p.m. thoughts and ideas clatter across my brain,
the sound of neurons firing compete with the voices of friends and strangers
as I sit in a pub and sip a brew.

At 8:00 p.m. my mind and body chirp in harmony,
excited about the day and planning the next.
Adrenaline sloshes through my system.

At 10:00 p.m. the chorus of activity has yet to leave me.
My thoughts shout across my fingers as they clip clop across the keyboard.
I type to still the agitation that jangles my nerves.

At 12 a.m. the silence screams,
deafening my senses, calming my agitation.
My meditation culminates in slumber.


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