I know a new inspiration has been a long time coming, but I do know a couple of you would like an opportunity to write
Had a good cry lately? Maybe you could: It's good for your spirit - and your body.I have learned that our bodies heal well when our emotional currents are cleared with tears.
There are all kinds of tears, tears of happiness, rage, fear, frustration, shame, relief, I could go on and on, but I think you get it.
write from the heart, the soul, and maybe release some healing tears,
Sass
“When the shell of my heart breaks open, tears shall pour forth and they shall be called the pearls of god.”
- Rumi, 13th Century poet
“The soul would have no rainbow, if the eyes had no tears.”
- Native American
saying
oh thank you, Sharon. I have been on the verge since yesterday....I'm on this. sometime today.
ReplyDeletehugs sweetie.....hope it inspires!
ReplyDeleteNice challenge love! I am gonna post this poem, only for a few days then delete it guys. You know I got issues with Multiply's TOS.
ReplyDeleteSuicide, Photos and Paper
A friend sends a letter apologising for not staying in contact. She diffidently
informs me that she has attempted suicide and shares news
of the resultant hospitalization.
The friend continues on apprising me of this contrempts, this
negligible occurrence and then concludes the
letter by informing me, that "I am in her thoughts". Shocked,
my heart pounds and I feel a stabbing, sharp constriction
in my breast. A second, a lifetime passes. Photos of us, flash
backwards and forwards, in a flicker of rapid black and white flashes.
The color photos, oddly, have disappeared. Celebrations, birthday
parties and holidays are rapidly remembered.
I think that I remember to breathe. Somehow. Somewhere,
in the distance, sounds of everyday life goes on. Emergency alarms
blear discordantly, in the distance,
a staticty, vanilla, sacharine voice overhead
announces the selection
of the Nurse of the Month" and in the hallway
a co-worker is managing a difficult patient. In time,
I recover and look at the letter still clutched in my hands
having unknowingly tore it into shreds. I look at the mutilated words,
thin strips of paper and attempt to tape them back together.
Oddly, I cannot.
yes!....I live with suicide hanging around my house weekly. Robin is challenged by her Borderline personality disorder.There are moments when I truly cannot breath. This piece touches on how this effects me...bravo V
ReplyDeleteI try and remember that I am
ReplyDeleteancient,
that my fore mothers walked out of the sea
and that this is where my heard edge was formed
where I confess to the trees became, someone else
tears are what blind me
I know to well I can
once again
become
three kinds of
memory
a light, a torch, a candle
leave a trail of hand prints on the wall
or just start out, by staying put
I long to be, and am often
a whisper, for a mouth,
a lunar moth, unseen in a bright white society
while I am just
luna; luna; luna
In darkness
sitting beneath the porch light
eating walnuts, and persimmons
drinking a cheap vermouth
tears are what blind me
as I spread my wings,
red-edged wings
I know
calling time begins at midnight
then I know for sure I live on air,
and I am no more sturdy bone
I wonder at the hysteria…
the blatant assumptions
at my own creation…
when my mind cant quite get around
staying in my place,
I try not to assume things, keep
very still….wings tucked
so you cant see me
so as not to,
die in one day,
but stretch the dying on
not an elegy, not in effigy,
not as metaphor
not from the heart,
but from the pain of thorns,
renewed, in the sunrise of another day
born in a flounce of stolen roses
the brambles in my heart
hums through my bones,
like Pans midnight flute…
tears are what blind me
fluttering, ascending,
aiding the liver and its 10 kinds of desire
overflowing my kidneys lust for sugar
so I learn to cringe, beautifully
tears are what blind me
as you braid the tiny billows I create
in words,on plasma plates
a tightly woven spawn
where hunger has always been the law
tears are what blind me
keep me cool while I approach the flame
where I may never be restored
be returned to the earth,
dressed in solo….
with the knowledge that
love has kept me from everything
I’ve ever wanted…
so now I slide against the cool
sides of stone, between branches
clothe myself in rain
too, return to you
on the path that never ends..
where tears, are what blind me
and memory is death
Sassysaidit2009 © All rights reserved
I'm on it...
ReplyDeleteYes, it did. Vee. There are no words to articulate - the power this poem has over my heart. The tears, they were instant....instant.
ReplyDeleteSharon....
ReplyDeletekeep me cool while I approach the flame
where I may never be restored
be returned to the earth,
dressed in solo….
with the knowledge that
love has kept me from everything
I’ve ever wanted…
so now I slide against the cool
sides of stone, between branches
clothe myself in rain
too, return to you
on the path that never ends..
where tears, are what blind me
and memory is death
This pooem speaks - screams to my resonant core...in so many ways. On so many levels. There is a lyrical quality to this piece though that gives it its own peculiar beauty.
Torreon....
ReplyDelete"Baby Brianna was five months old when she died...she had multiple broken bones. Over thirty bite marks. She was beat to death..." "Susannah Martinez (campaign ad)
Doe eyed ghosts
Y los ninos mi corazon
Mall haired mamacita with the lined lips
505 madonna meant nothing to you
Bust that cap while she sleeps
Represent
And leave the little ones behind
Curled up against her cooling breast
Black blood and coffee grounds under their nails
It took them weeks to starve to death
Abuelitas they lament
Light the candles in Torreon
Would you buckle under the weight of tiny bones
Small hands that clutch the sky
Sightless eyes
Fragments of a smile stopped by a single shot
Gangstas gunning the wrong house
Little girl lost in poppi's arms
would her whispered breath against your neck
bring one tear
Baby Bartholemew in his car seat
choking to death in his own blood
Head lolling back crying for mommy
One last time
The sound...the stench forever resonant
Cuz teddy bears cant stop a bullet can they
Wrong place
Wrong time
Hand the grieving parents a tissue
And straighten her hair
For the cameras
This indignation will rise
Bile in your throat
for the next 40 minutes
Until you return to the blur
Of your regularly scheduled lives
We're so casual with our offspring
But Brianna, Bartholomew
and the ghosts in Torreon
they haunt these tears I cry
"It took us three years, but we fought to make it a death sentence. Baby Brianna's picture still hangs in my office." Susannah Martinez (campaign ad)
I will not forget....
TL Boehm
I find it apalling that a politician would run an ad "ad nauseum" about a baby murdered by those who should have loved it - and call it "good politics" because the perps were convicted. Monsters who kill babies deserve no air time. They only deserve to be smothered in the blood and the bodies of those they've killed.
This is a rewrite of a poem I lost - written about a culture that used to strap the murdered to a murderer until the murdered corpse dropped off. That was the punishment.
The Torreon murders are true. Gangsters decided to kill a mother and her boyfriend in a cabin in Torreon and left her toddlers to starve to death. They ate coffee grounds before they died.
Bartholomew is also true. A drive by shooting....wrong car. The little girl shot in the face, also true. Wrong house. Susannah Martinez and Baby Brianna. Yup. True.
It makes me physically sick. Takes me beyond tears.
Sharon and Tammy...damn daMN DAMN...You two have inspired total envy, sadness and anger...sometimes, I wish I wasn't a pacifist 'cause some people need killing...really...
ReplyDeleteVee, sometimes I wish I was able to dole out some of that killin. I'm not a pacifist, just a wimp.
ReplyDeleteDefeated Tears
ReplyDelete"The soul would have no rainbow, if the eyes had no tears.”
- Native American saying
Thought I was going to be
spending the rest of my life...with you
Instead....
I'm so fallen, to pieces
with emotion...
so capitulated, so broken
My hurt...now out in the open...
this denegrating ache...
these defeating tears
unreal
& uncalled for
........
and the only directorate I seek
is that of my own heart
...
the unused token
configuring poetic compresses
of castigated stalemates
as if they are my last effecting
but really, girl......who am I protecting...
Valuation doesn't fall from the sky;
it comes from practice...not acting
I needed you yesterday
like I need you right now,
today, and tomorrow
with little abuse
I wish you were..the secret recipe
the potion I used
to make the heartache go away
but you aren't..
you're what makes it stay
I know you hear my growling
....and you see me with my head
and my hands lifted to the sky
I'm doing things I said I wouldn't do
Feeling pretty cocky right now...you think
But...you should know
hunger is a mental thing
and I told you I will do all I can do
to get you back
but if you find yourself feeling unaccountably lighter
it's because I've dried my tears
and I've erased your tracks
jakuper (8/19/10)
Oh my.....yes Joyce Ann this part especially spoke to me, because I have lived and breathed it
ReplyDeletewow joyce. Wow.
ReplyDelete