I’m catching up to NaNo in short, wordy spurts. Here are four more poems for you.
The wind is crying outside, beating the trees in her anguish.
She feels like a woman today, sobbing in the sky.
I would reach out, but I don’t know how,
Lost in her wordless language, unable to communicate.
What does it take to believe I am cared for?
I hate the introspection of
Wondering how I work,
Which button to press to
To make me function.
I would be human if every day I saw
A star in the darkness.
I fear triteness and
Attaching too much worth to
I am happy that
The things you say never mean
Less than who you are.
Mother to Son: her
Hands on his shoulders, strengthening
Until a jaw becomes determination.
Why are her hands the ones that help?
Perhaps one day I’ll learn,
With my hands on small shoulders.
Can you tell I had too much in my brain today? I’m sorry they’re mostly self-focused. Writing on a schedule does that to me.
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I don’t know where you could be,
Haven’t caught wind of your scent in years,
From where I’m sitting I can’t see the things you see;
Therefore I can’t see this man you learned to fear—the one responsible for a deluge of tears.
Did it hurt when my fist struck your back?
I've hit you so many times I've lost fuckin' track.
Acts you had zero interest in trying,
I bought tickets to movies centered on my pleasure,
I was selfish to have forced anal on you despite your incessant crying,
I suppose I saw you as nothing but trash, but baby, you were truly an invaluable treasure.
I burned all of our pictures to purge you from my soul,
All that’s left is up here now (points towards head), All of those fights we had took such a profound emotional and spiritual toll.
I guess I’ll carry those photographic memories of us to my deathbed.
Those kisses under a torrent of rain;
Ominous premonitions of what we'd come to find,
We made love atop a bed that had been a part of an impermanent ecstasy but also an endless source of pain,
I ain’t lying to you now, baby, but those were hard times where I felt as if I was losing my mind.
Did I cheat on you?
I FUCKED her, but I make love to YOU!
What? Oh, so you don't fuckin' belive me now?
She doesn't mean ANYTHING to me!
Are you really breaking up with me over ONE little fuckin' mistake?
OK, so maybe this was the second time.
Fuck it, I ain't keeping count!
Where will you go?
You ain't leaving here with MY kids, so sit your ass down and go to sleep,
Or I'll do you something worse than a black eye, strangle your fuckin' ass and toss the body in the creek!
I hear your ghost from years back,
Asking me to stop; pleading with me to leave you alone,
But I only pulled my punches after you’d taken a few heavy cracks,
But now I’ve come to realize I was hurting myself every time I struck you; this became a boxing ring when it was once our little home.
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A Letter to My Mother in Heaven © Janine Y. Cranley, 2018.
I was just about to call you up,
and fill you in,
to lean on you,
and to find out
how you are,
when I remembered,
in tearful pain,
that I can't call you,
I can't just call you
on the phone,
and tell you all about it,
I can't listen to your validations,
and get all steamed up,
when you tell me
I'm the one who's
in the wrong,
and hear you tell me
what you'd do,
if it were you...
what to do.
I can't just call you up,
and tell you all about it,
and I can't listen
to your experienced words
or hear you tell me
that I'm worrying
and it just breaks my heart,
and rips me up,
that I can't call you up,
and listen to your voice,
and argue with you,
I keep hearing all about it,
that time will ease
that I will learn to carry on,
and live without out you,
and accept it,
that you're really gone;
but the pain of living
feels like more than
I can breathe,
each time I think
that I can't just call you up,
to hear your voice,
to talk to you,
to make plans to get together,
to see you,
Even though you're in my heart,
and all around me,
in the wind,
and in the flowers,
and when the birds sing,
and your gentle kisses
are in the Sun,
and you're standing next to God,
standing next to me,
it just breaks my heart,
that I can't call you
on the phone,
to talk with you,
anymore. © Janine Y. Cranley, 2018.
For my Mother, Brenda Joyce Brook.
I never knew my own strength. 😘💕💕
Bounties fell from the sky,
And I could say nothing but thank you,
Angels hovering jealous of me,
Calling me a brat - hard to please,
I smelled the waves of judgement in the air,
Leaves falling in protest,
Rattled, I made them open my deliveries,
Out came the scent of love coming to me,
In heaps and bounds,
Sealed in concretes of faith.
Surprised, they asked is that what happiness is to you,
Where’re the riches?
Where’s the prestige?
Aren’t you scared of falling behind?
Swimming through the atrocities of this callous world?
The sky turned red,
Cause it was suddenly time to dance,
As we swayed in ecstasy,
You’re an angel, benevolent,
Why you worry about these man made tensities?
Let them love in, let it set you free.
Love is what got us here,
Love is what will take us through.
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