Pork Chop

As a lead in, this poem was written as a prompt response to a painting entitled "Pork Chop Reflected" which contained a naked woman on her knees and several people gawking at her with big happy smiles on.

Sister
You piece of meat

Your supple thighs invite
belie
the loathing in your ghastly eyes

You dance before their greasy smiles
offer your humanity
to their endless appetites

Nudity can't cover your naked despair

The Journey

The road stretches out before me.
The crack centered within its grey paving
runs like a guide wire,
directing my path along its stretching length.
The sounds of wilderness,
calls of forest dwellers,
babbling of brooks,
and mistuned chorus of tree frogs
lull me.
They Caress my inner calm like a lover’s touch.
Tall green trees and dappled sun
light my way
and cool my fervor
for the journey’s end.

Family Footsteps

He walks in the footsteps of the past
Like his brothers, uncles, father
Enlisted now in one man's army
Boots treading over fields of trampled blood

Among the paddies, mud and sweat
Lay memories of days gone by
When Grandpa strode this narrow road
Between duty and that soulful bugle cry

Of that man, but a folded flag remains
And memories of soft-light quality
When we as children played
Unaware of his narrow escape

Or that we someday might follow
In the footsteps of his past

Freedom Man

His likeness stands witness
To the lingering ghost of life lost
He marches through the mirror of time
A reminder of that highest cost
He wades through paddy, marsh, and field
On legs turned to steel and stone
A monument to those laid low
Who once were flesh and bone

Having paid freedoms fare
For his children, for our land
Now his likeness stands before us
That we may understand

The Price of Freedom

Bastard

Existence
Wrapped round and round with layers of lies
Unknown origins
Secret love's delight

Midnight
Stars blazing on high, but nothing immaculate
Quickened cry
And gush of life

Bastard
Spoken in whispers, never to my face
Mother's disgrace
cold hatred at the teat

Childhood
The price paid for being born
Dark times
Stark memories of bottled rage

Acceptance
The gift given to oneself each day
Speaking faith
That even a bastard is worthy

Supermom

False expressions born in Technicolor
Transmitted via satellite.
Cold comfort of a nameless Mom
Who always knows her place.
Spotless house, pressed table linens
Flowered apron, scratch-made stacked pancakes.
Sunny smile on her features
As she hands Dad his briefcase

Reality strikes with a splash of milk
On cold cereal in the morning.
Pull laundry from the heap on the floor
And rush out the door with shoes unlaced
Schedules, meetings, laptop cords
No time for kisses goodbye.
Cell phone ringing, children screaming
And no peace in this place

The Voice Within

I spent today alone but for the silence,
To see if I could still hear the voice within
Or if it had died
Like peace of mind
When the hand of terror touched this land.


I found after a time
The voice still whispered,
In the still places of my darkest self
Where I kept my sense of fear and trepidation
Until they burst the seams that held them in.


The whisperings of my imagination
Unfolded into tales of devastation,
And I put aside the happy endings I had planned,
To write the ever after
That my broken heart could stand.

Thunder

He doesn't sleep well when it thunders.
When the crash and flash of a storm rages
beyond the glass of our windows.
He startles in the night
and the sound of his fear wakes me
My voice comforts him.
My touch comforts him.

But I wonder,
laying there in the dark
after I've held him and whispered platitudes,
if he dreams of the past
or the future.
If it was another life's memories
of the thunder of bombs
that make him forget I am beside him.
Or if maybe in the night he sees another time,
when together we'll huddle
in the rubble of our lives
with my arms around him
as I whisper platitudes
and pray that they ring truth.

When morning comes, he has already forgotten.

Surgical Separation

Fear spurts up my spine,
intensifying with each dark memory.

When it was me,
It wasn't so bad.
I felt calm, a sort of Zen.
But no such luck now
when it is him.

They took him away
and broke my Promises.
They offer us weak platitudes
that resonate with disinterest,
ignoring the spirit of their own laws
and the spirit of our union.

Only bitter,
bitter fear keeps me company
in his absence.

Unsuspecting Sleeper

Exhaustion beating down my door,
Breathing down my collar,
Begging me for more
than I can give.

Sleepless nights, dreamless days,
Awake and lonely in the cold, dim dawn,
I lay with insomnia’s tired, grey haze
as my sole companion.

Medically ambivalent,
I await the final verdict.
Sleeping would be heaven sent
but what a price to pay.

Tiny pill swallowed down,
My head upon the pillow.
Walking dreams await to drown
the unsuspecting sleeper.

Initially published in Beginnings Magazine September 2005.