She never went to school
To be a private investigator,
But in recent days, she might
Have sworn she was destined
For that kind of career.
Two days ago, after a quiet dinner,
She stumbled upon a set of pictures,
Evidence of her friend's indiscretions.
Undeniably, it was her best friend
And he had buried himself.
When she saw her friend,
She confronted him.
"What the hell?" she demanded.
This isn't him, she thought.
He stared blankly, taken aback.
She whispered, "I saw them."
"I saw the pictures."
"Shhh," he said. "Not now,"
"Later..." (Nothing else.)
He continued talking to the others.
It was hard for her to engage
In conversation at the table.
She knew what he had taken great care
To hide--And she knew what she knew
Could change the status of the universe.
Afterward, after maintaining
A calm and cool demeanor,
He met his friend in the parking lot.
"I'm sorry you saw those pictures,"
He said. "There's no excuse for them."
"No," she said with finality.
"There is no excuse."
She looked at her friend,
Realizing she barely knew him.
"I just hope I can forget them."
Whether she did indeed forget,
Whether their friendship
Was forever tainted or healed,
We may never know--and who can say?
Who can say what is best?
------------------------
Another poem based on a headline I saw today.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Because I'm Smiling
It's become evident to me
That you think,
Because I'm smiling,
That all is well and we dance
On Sunshine and Rainbows
Again...
When we don't.
You've made it clear
That you think you can
Erase a slate, White Out wrongs,
Champion the "Forget"
In "Forgive and Forget";
Clearly...
I have not forgotten.
You sleep soundly,
Breathing deeply,
Dreaming dreams;
All is well in your world,
You think there is balance,
Obviously...
I beg to disagree.
Because I'm smiling,
You have come to believe
That we are at peace,
That the battle is over,
The storm has passed--
Conveniently...
I'm here to tell you:
It has not.
No, behind this smile
Is a girl trying to come to terms
With grace and boundaries
And sin and lies;
Not to mention our future,
Dubious...
No, I am not smiling inside.
There is a storm brewing
On the inside of me--
You should know that.
To be fair, you should know
That all hell has yet to break
Loose...
This is not over.
---------------------------------------
This poem is based on one of today's headlines. A high profile couple who clearly didn't know each other, discovered shocking and painful secrets about each other.
That you think,
Because I'm smiling,
That all is well and we dance
On Sunshine and Rainbows
Again...
When we don't.
You've made it clear
That you think you can
Erase a slate, White Out wrongs,
Champion the "Forget"
In "Forgive and Forget";
Clearly...
I have not forgotten.
You sleep soundly,
Breathing deeply,
Dreaming dreams;
All is well in your world,
You think there is balance,
Obviously...
I beg to disagree.
Because I'm smiling,
You have come to believe
That we are at peace,
That the battle is over,
The storm has passed--
Conveniently...
I'm here to tell you:
It has not.
No, behind this smile
Is a girl trying to come to terms
With grace and boundaries
And sin and lies;
Not to mention our future,
Dubious...
No, I am not smiling inside.
There is a storm brewing
On the inside of me--
You should know that.
To be fair, you should know
That all hell has yet to break
Loose...
This is not over.
---------------------------------------
This poem is based on one of today's headlines. A high profile couple who clearly didn't know each other, discovered shocking and painful secrets about each other.
Monday, January 13, 2014
"Got a Cigarette?": At A Stoplight This Morning
At the first of many traffic signals I would encounter en route to work this morning, I found myself sitting at a red light. This, in itself, is never a source of stress for me because this particular intersection is the one that leads to the elementary school--it is usually only a matter of moments before the light changes.
No problemo.
Very rarely, if ever, is this a place where unusual things happen. This morning, however, it was just that.
As I dug around in my bag for my cell phone, a middle-aged woman in high-water pants and a crocheted hat of sorts crossed in front of my car. I saw her look at my car, then me, then me again. She looked at my face, as if she were assessing me. I could tell she was trying to make up her mind about something.
Then it happened. She walked up to my car door.
I cracked the window, praying the light wouldn't be long in changing.
"Hello..." I said.
"You got a cigarette?" she asked me, with a haggard look on her face.
"No, I don't, sister," I said. "I'm sorry."
And I was sorry.
At that moment, I found myself wishing I had, for no apparent reason, one or two cigarettes in tow. "Why don't I keep a pack stashed in the car for moments like these?" (Maybe because these moments never happen...?!?!?)
But seriously: I'd like to be prepared for moments like these, that's all. Be able to help someone in need. Person to person.
In that short space of time between her question and the light change, I chided myself for not having a cigarette or any money on my person to give her. By the looks of it, I might have been able to really brighten her day.
It doesn't take much, you know. To brighten someone's day. I just hated that my daily offering was not much more than an awkward smile.
She turned and went her way, with an audible sigh, and the light changed.
And I've thought about her all day.
No problemo.
Very rarely, if ever, is this a place where unusual things happen. This morning, however, it was just that.
As I dug around in my bag for my cell phone, a middle-aged woman in high-water pants and a crocheted hat of sorts crossed in front of my car. I saw her look at my car, then me, then me again. She looked at my face, as if she were assessing me. I could tell she was trying to make up her mind about something.
Then it happened. She walked up to my car door.
I cracked the window, praying the light wouldn't be long in changing.
"Hello..." I said.
"You got a cigarette?" she asked me, with a haggard look on her face.
"No, I don't, sister," I said. "I'm sorry."
And I was sorry.
At that moment, I found myself wishing I had, for no apparent reason, one or two cigarettes in tow. "Why don't I keep a pack stashed in the car for moments like these?" (Maybe because these moments never happen...?!?!?)
But seriously: I'd like to be prepared for moments like these, that's all. Be able to help someone in need. Person to person.
In that short space of time between her question and the light change, I chided myself for not having a cigarette or any money on my person to give her. By the looks of it, I might have been able to really brighten her day.
It doesn't take much, you know. To brighten someone's day. I just hated that my daily offering was not much more than an awkward smile.
She turned and went her way, with an audible sigh, and the light changed.
And I've thought about her all day.
Friday, December 27, 2013
A Penny for Your Thoughts
"A penny for your thoughts,"
He said, leaning into that
Intimate space across the table.
"I--" she started, thinking
This one really expected
Her intelligent response.
"What I meant," he corrected,
Looking her in the eye,
"Is I want to purchase your thoughts."
"Whaaat?" She countered,
Confused by his icy stare
(Had she misread him after all?)
"I want to buy your thoughts,"
He said again, nonchalantly,
"All of them."
"All of them?" she repeated,
Attempting to process this
Turn of table event.
"Yes, of course, all of them,"
He said, "For a penny."
As if that were more than enough.
"I don't know who you think you are,
Or what right you have to ask,
But there is no way in hell--"
"Look," he said, put out with her
Objection, "I'm paying more than
The asking price for them all.
"What need have you of them?"
He pushed an envelope forward.
"Here, two pennies then.
"You really can't do better than that,"
He said. "I've heard enough of yours
To know there'd be no market."
She stared at the envelope;
Wondering when the price
Of a person's thought was so--
"I will not sell out." She said.
"You will," He countered,
"To me or someone else
"Only they may not pay
Such a high price
For your meager thoughts."
"You cannot buy my thoughts,"
She said. "You cannot have them."
And she slid the envelope forward.
"Fine," he said, standing up.
"Your loss, my dear."
He threw a bill on the table.
She stared at his retreating form,
Tore into the abandoned envelope
And gripped tightly two dull pennies.
He said, leaning into that
Intimate space across the table.
"I--" she started, thinking
This one really expected
Her intelligent response.
"What I meant," he corrected,
Looking her in the eye,
"Is I want to purchase your thoughts."
"Whaaat?" She countered,
Confused by his icy stare
(Had she misread him after all?)
"I want to buy your thoughts,"
He said again, nonchalantly,
"All of them."
"All of them?" she repeated,
Attempting to process this
Turn of table event.
"Yes, of course, all of them,"
He said, "For a penny."
As if that were more than enough.
"I don't know who you think you are,
Or what right you have to ask,
But there is no way in hell--"
"Look," he said, put out with her
Objection, "I'm paying more than
The asking price for them all.
"What need have you of them?"
He pushed an envelope forward.
"Here, two pennies then.
"You really can't do better than that,"
He said. "I've heard enough of yours
To know there'd be no market."
She stared at the envelope;
Wondering when the price
Of a person's thought was so--
"I will not sell out." She said.
"You will," He countered,
"To me or someone else
"Only they may not pay
Such a high price
For your meager thoughts."
"You cannot buy my thoughts,"
She said. "You cannot have them."
And she slid the envelope forward.
"Fine," he said, standing up.
"Your loss, my dear."
He threw a bill on the table.
She stared at his retreating form,
Tore into the abandoned envelope
And gripped tightly two dull pennies.
Caution: Falling Boulder!
By definition, detached--
Feeling no longer a part
Of what had held it before,
Nothing binding it anymore,
Only momentary incidents
Of impact these days.
A falling boulder.
Some would call this Free Fall
A cosmic inspiration of Hope;
Misguidedly waving as the weighty
Mass succumbs to Gravity.
There is only a hard surface
Awaiting to Break the Fall.
Someone needs to warn them.
Far below, they idealistically
Celebrate what they deem to be
An intellectual phenomenon.
A band plays, someone blows a
Trump and another cries in glee.
Fair maidens dance in Time.
But this rock is worn.
They cannot see the deep crevices
Or the scars of impacts made long ago;
They cannot imagine the density
Of this rock which has fallen,
Finally, after long years of foggy
Contemplations on a mountain top.
This rock is large.
She's no pebble, this one;
Rather a planet of swirling,
Unnamed disappointments;
There is no combination of words
To describe what lies within
Her damaged surface.
Alas, the hard earth at last.
Boulder: A detached and rounded or worn rock, especially a large one (dictionary.com)
Feeling no longer a part
Of what had held it before,
Nothing binding it anymore,
Only momentary incidents
Of impact these days.
A falling boulder.
Some would call this Free Fall
A cosmic inspiration of Hope;
Misguidedly waving as the weighty
Mass succumbs to Gravity.
There is only a hard surface
Awaiting to Break the Fall.
Someone needs to warn them.
Far below, they idealistically
Celebrate what they deem to be
An intellectual phenomenon.
A band plays, someone blows a
Trump and another cries in glee.
Fair maidens dance in Time.
But this rock is worn.
They cannot see the deep crevices
Or the scars of impacts made long ago;
They cannot imagine the density
Of this rock which has fallen,
Finally, after long years of foggy
Contemplations on a mountain top.
This rock is large.
She's no pebble, this one;
Rather a planet of swirling,
Unnamed disappointments;
There is no combination of words
To describe what lies within
Her damaged surface.
Alas, the hard earth at last.
Boulder: A detached and rounded or worn rock, especially a large one (dictionary.com)
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Pondering The Walls
What happens when the walls that were originally designed, constructed, erected to keep out pain or memory or loss become permanent fixtures, a constant, part of the design?
What if walls have been there so long that no one remembers what it was like before they existed--therefore, in the minds of all, those walls have always existed?
Self-protection was the motive for these walls--to keep out anything and anyone who attempts to get in, get through to that place--where we are most vulnerable?
Self-preservation is the reason we allow the walls to settle in, downward, ensuring the strength of the foundation of fear which created them in the first place.
No one is getting in these walls. Not now, not ever.
These walls are strong, they will hold.
I can allow whomever I wish to enter and be safely contained with me.
These walls are sturdy, they will last forever.
I will allow them to put down roots; no one will question their existence, presence.
These walls are infallible, because I will it to be so.
I can ensure their existence by believing they will never be infiltrated or destroyed.
These walls are my walls, and I own them.
I will maintain ownership until I breathe my last--they are wholly mine.
No one is getting in these walls. Not now, not ever.
Within these walls, I make the rules.
Within these walls, I am in control of the emotional atmosphere.
Within these walls, I am safer than I would be without them.
Within these walls, it's only me. And sometimes you.
-------------------------------------
This oddly constructed prosaic poetry was written after contemplation about "wall building"--a psychological questioning about how we create walls and reconstruct reality via the building of walls.
Yes, it was inspired by a true story.
What if walls have been there so long that no one remembers what it was like before they existed--therefore, in the minds of all, those walls have always existed?
Self-protection was the motive for these walls--to keep out anything and anyone who attempts to get in, get through to that place--where we are most vulnerable?
Self-preservation is the reason we allow the walls to settle in, downward, ensuring the strength of the foundation of fear which created them in the first place.
No one is getting in these walls. Not now, not ever.
These walls are strong, they will hold.
I can allow whomever I wish to enter and be safely contained with me.
These walls are sturdy, they will last forever.
I will allow them to put down roots; no one will question their existence, presence.
These walls are infallible, because I will it to be so.
I can ensure their existence by believing they will never be infiltrated or destroyed.
These walls are my walls, and I own them.
I will maintain ownership until I breathe my last--they are wholly mine.
No one is getting in these walls. Not now, not ever.
Within these walls, I make the rules.
Within these walls, I am in control of the emotional atmosphere.
Within these walls, I am safer than I would be without them.
Within these walls, it's only me. And sometimes you.
-------------------------------------
This oddly constructed prosaic poetry was written after contemplation about "wall building"--a psychological questioning about how we create walls and reconstruct reality via the building of walls.
Yes, it was inspired by a true story.
Friday, November 15, 2013
How to Help a Sad Girl
She used to sing and dance
And wave her hands and heart
Freely.
Now she hums and hops
And starts to wave but
Stops.
Something has happened
To this girl who used to
Live and Laugh and Love.
She is sad now.
These days, she doesn't eat;
Flashes dark eyes in response
To questions or correction.
She has distanced herself
At just eleven now--
Something has changed her.
Her eyes are sad.
This once-bubbly girl
Sparkled in sequined light,
A walking ray of sunshine.
This, too, has changed.
Oh, how to help a sad girl--
Is there a way to unlock
The fear or pain within her?
From whence cometh this sadness?
Who can peel back the layers
Of self-defense to reveal
The little girl we once knew?
Sad girl, please take my hand.
Here, in my heart, is joy.
You can share it with me.
Here, in my hands, is peace--
I give it freely.
Here, take this song--
I wrote it for you.
Listen to my prayer for you,
Free spirit to spirit,
Feel my love for you;
It is full and there is plenty;
You don't have to perform
To receive it...
I bless you with my love.
I pray for your peace.
I speak renewal and joy restored:
You are beautiful, creative,
You are special, unique,
Perfect in every way.
There is no one like you
And He deemed it to be so.
Can't you see it?
I pray that you can see it,
For if you can catch a glimpse
Of YOU, you will be aware.
No more sad girl.
And wave her hands and heart
Freely.
Now she hums and hops
And starts to wave but
Stops.
Something has happened
To this girl who used to
Live and Laugh and Love.
She is sad now.
These days, she doesn't eat;
Flashes dark eyes in response
To questions or correction.
She has distanced herself
At just eleven now--
Something has changed her.
Her eyes are sad.
This once-bubbly girl
Sparkled in sequined light,
A walking ray of sunshine.
This, too, has changed.
Oh, how to help a sad girl--
Is there a way to unlock
The fear or pain within her?
From whence cometh this sadness?
Who can peel back the layers
Of self-defense to reveal
The little girl we once knew?
Sad girl, please take my hand.
Here, in my heart, is joy.
You can share it with me.
Here, in my hands, is peace--
I give it freely.
Here, take this song--
I wrote it for you.
Listen to my prayer for you,
Free spirit to spirit,
Feel my love for you;
It is full and there is plenty;
You don't have to perform
To receive it...
I bless you with my love.
I pray for your peace.
I speak renewal and joy restored:
You are beautiful, creative,
You are special, unique,
Perfect in every way.
There is no one like you
And He deemed it to be so.
Can't you see it?
I pray that you can see it,
For if you can catch a glimpse
Of YOU, you will be aware.
No more sad girl.
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