Poetry Train

Fear


Insidious, it beats against me,
Drawing me into its darkness.
Against all rational thought-
The realities cannot survive the imagination.
It crawls through my consciousness
Pulsing through my bloodstream
A tingling in my hands and feet
Centering in my chest, a weight against my heart
Even as I know it is nothing but fear;
The worst I can imagine,
Not really happening,
Just swirling like the thickest fog
Sucking me in
Making me doubt myself and that I know to be truth.

Poetry Train

i'm sort of wussing out, and instead of making my brain work on a new poem, i'm posting a portion of a WIP.

Nightingales (working title)

Patrick had spent the afternoon wandering the small town of Wayne’s Trace. He’d found a decent motel and a quaint little diner to eat his dinner. To kill some more time, he’d nursed a last cup of coffee until the sun was near to setting. Perhaps he should’ve passed on the caffeine, as his nerves were pulled taught. He was pretty sure that if he looked, he’d find a fine tremor in his hands. Instead, he concentrated on the winding road that led him back to Nightingale Farms.

As he pulled into the lane, he admired the farm. The fences were obviously well mended, and the buildings he saw were also well-maintained. There were several horses in various paddocks as he made his way toward the house. Patrick once again was struck by the oddity of this innocent looking white clapboard house being the home of a vampire. The well-maintained grounds and well-kept landscaping seemed to belie the nature of its occupant. Of course, having never met a vampire before, who was he to judge?

He pulled the truck into the spot he’d occupied earlier. The place seemed deserted. Even the barn, which had been bustling with activity earlier, was quiet now. Patrick got out of the truck, unsure of where he should go. Then he saw the woman he’s spoken with standing on the wide porch surrounding the house. He moved toward her.

As he came up the steps, she smiled. “I wasn’t sure if you’d return. I didn’t even introduce myself when you were here. I’m Mia Moore.” She held out one small, seemingly delicate hand. As he grasped it, he realized how much strength she had hidden in her small, trim body.

“I’m Patrick Finnerty. It’s a pleasure.”

“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. Finnerty.”

“Please, call me Patrick.” How ordinary this all was.

Mia gestured toward the furniture grouped in front of the large picture window. “So, Patrick, would you care to tell me why you’re here?”

Patrick settled in a rocking chair. He took a deep breath, listening for a moment to the sounds of the farm settling for the coming night.

“I met a woman in Florida, Jeannette. She’s a voodoo priestess. I was consulting her on a cure for my wife.” Mia’s eyes seemed to draw the truth from him. It sounded so silly, searching a cure from a voodoo priestess. Surely no rational being would do that?

Mia watched him quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“Barbara, my wife, has Alzheimer’s. I’ve taken her to the best doctors I could find. And…there’s really nothing that can be done. Well, we’ve done everything that’s available, but none of it really works. It doesn’t stop the damn disease.” He looked down at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. He stared at them for a moment, wondering when they’d become the hands of an old man. He was….how old? Oh, God…was his memory going too? Sixty-two…you’re sixty two you old fool. God only knew, he felt much older. This endless quest had taken its toll on him.

Poetry Train/Manic Monday

I've been so caught up in gradschool that i havent been posting on here, or participating in the poetry train. i decided to give myself a few minutes to play, and post.

today is my mother's 82nd birthday. WOOOOOOOOT MAMA!!! :) in honor, i wrote this for her. a little background; my brother, sister and i are adopted. while getting a physical to prepare for her honeymoon abroad, the doctor discovered my mother had a uteran tumor. so, instead of leaving on her honeymoon the day after her wedding, she was admitted to the hospital and the day after, had a hysterectomy. can you imagine that sort of trauma during what is supposed to be the happiest time of your life? but she and my father had an amazing kind of love, and my father was the most accepting of people. when told they'd never have children, he said, "Well, of course we will. We'll just adopt." And that was the end of that.


So, here is my poem to celebrate my amazing mother, her courage, love, and life.

Life's veins

Love is thicker than water
For that runs quickly and clearly through streams
And blood means nothing as it runs through veins.
Water and blood sustain life.
But love nourishes the soul
For it is love that connects people
Man to woman, parent to child.
No need to look to blood for reason.
Love knows not the bounds of gene and cell.
It binds the heart and connects the soul
One to the other,
A stream carrying us all through life's veins.

Manic Monday

Manic Monday/Poetry Train

Ode to My Computer Friends

I sit for hours on this computer chair,
Typing here, typing there,
Sending words across the wire,
To city, hill, dale, and shire,
Keeping in touch with all I know,
Talking bout my favorite show
Or whats happened here at home,
Or abroad when I get to roam.
I tell my silly stories in poetry and prose,
Bout how my day started or how it will close.
I write the things that are in my head,
Wondering if they'll be read,
Making aquaintances, contacts and friends
Just by typing and hitting "Send"

Poetry Train

Mirror, Mirror

As I look in the mirror,
I wonder who that is staring back
That woman with the grey at her temples,
And the fine lines around her eyes and mouth.
Her eyes are green like mine,
But I wonder what is in her soul
That indefinable place that makes her, Her.
Who is that staring back at me?
That near stranger
Whose thoughts I try to escape,
Whose dreams keep me awake at night,
Whose hopes drive me,
Whose fears turn me inside out.
Who is that staring back at me,
From the eyeless soul in the mirror?

Poetry Train/ Manic Monday

Graduate

You walked out, in line with your classmates,
Your red graduate's gown flowing as you moved.
And you were so handsome, a young man,
Not really my baby anymore.
Your shoulders were back with pride,
Your stride mature and dignified.
Then you saw me, and stretched out that big, gentle hand.
I placed my smaller hand in yours, and we walked together
Side by side, in view of all there,
But you weren't ashamed of walking with your mother.
You stopped in front of my aisle, and leaned over,
Kissing my forehead, and murmuring,
"I love you mommy." And I cried.
My tears streamed down my face
As I tried to find my place with the family.
And I realized, they were all crying too,
Out of love, and pride, of the man you have become.

Poetry Train

I just discovered the Poetry Train by following the trail from TA Chase's blog onto Rhian's and so forth and so on. So, I'm hopping on. I'm also cheating, and moving a post from yesterday to today. :) So, I'm lazy LOL. here it is:

Candy Bar

i lie abandoned
like the candy bar forgotten
at the bottom of the bag
broken and crumbling
leaving pieces of myself behind
for you to brush away
carelessly as you go


i wrote that a few weeks ago after a crappy day, and when i reached into my purse, i found a broken, half-melted Butterfinger i'd bought as a treat to myself, then shoved in my purse and forgotten. it just seemed to sum up how i felt that day. and the poem wrote itself as a result.