Shared the Fright #horror #poetry

 

I glance at a wax-like stare and wonder

I don’t know you but we are the same

you are bearing the same path of sorrow

the one you traverse is etched in pain

I cry knowing that we could have been spared

our world would depend on the magician’s hand

but then there would be no real horror

only what was written by one holding a pen

I’m sorry there is not more I can say

but scribe words of the world we live / lived

I wipe away old tears hoping

that you will outlive the terror as I did

Abuse #children #atozchallenge

Scars lie deep beneath the heart

eyes have seen

ears have burned

little hands grasping for hope

beauty in rosebud lips

character comes from the ash heap

rise despite  the pain

Hope lies deep within the heart

 

 

Hello to all of you A to Zers.  I made the last minute decision to do the 2018 A to Z Challenge. Can I be an A to Z addict??? I’ll blame our dedicated founder Arlee Bird at Tossing it Out.

I have been an active blogger, but recently I have been living between two continents so Internet is not always available. Since I presently have internet,  I decided to share a favorite topic – children.

Children are a joy to teach. They teach me so much more than I teach them. In an Acholi classroom of 5-7 year olds, I was astounded at how quickly the children were learning English words. My Acholi was hit and miss. They love teaching me words and songs in their language.

Today’s topic  is a shameful and sobering way to start the challenge, but (no joke) it is a real aspect of many children’s lives. No matter how advanced our societies have become, children are the quiet sufferers of any generation.

To all of you joining A to Z challenge for the first year please enjoy the delightful people in the blogsphere!!!

art © Moondust designs 2014

 

Unidentified #poetry #abuse #photography

 

 

You, Incapable of feeling

or so it seems

I, possessed by terror

resides in dreams

cast a spell

in this heart of mine

red dripping ink

 from a living hell

you callous fiend

no friend of mine

you sacrificed

a love so fine

I turn away

write painful verse

loose the bonds

release the curse

a child once

no longer am

a whipping post

scarred face and hands

*

cold stone welcome

each day a path away from pain

freedom’s warmth

moon photo

Many children, women know abuse at the hand of another. It seems that one thrives on causing pain while the other is starved for love. The one never feels and the other becomes numb to feeling. Unfortunately (for the abused) being whipped is better than being cast into the pit of “forgotten.”

It can take a lifetime to walk away; even may mean waking to the reality of cold stone.

 

The prompt this week at Poet’s United is Identity

I am Woman #survival #poetry

 

so many walked

Looking up at the crack in the sidewalk

Unable to scream, I shudder

I feel the concrete about me move

“no please, not again” I mutter

I see the hand ready to strike

I brace myself like steal

I hear a board contact

There’s nothing that I feel

I look out at the falling snow

powdered sugar lightly shaken

oh to be nature pure

what hasn’t man from me taken?

I gather up my will

There are sounds beyond the mist

gentle breezes blow ahead

so many things I’ve missed

I look out at the falling snow

powdered sugar lightly shaken

wishing I could be pure

what hasn’t man from me taken?

You may not know my name

my boots trudge the well known way

“Survivor” I lay claim

with love this path is paved

 

The prompt this week at Poets United is Survival. The prompt is in recognition of Women around the world who have survived abuse, war, life…  International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women

Do you know that 70% of women have been raped? (That number is low.) I was part of a group of women writing about the atrocity of rape and how accepted it is in many cultures.  A  male friend of mine commented that it wasn’t a big deal (unless you were a virgin) when you were raped. No comment!

My title Echos a Song by Helen Reddy: I am Woman

 

 

 

 

 

Surviving It #poetry #rape

chains and people

Hold it together

across change’s corridor

is its my pulse

or laughter grating between your teeth?

you’ve undressed me

what I retain of this horror

with your eyes

your mind

I’m incomplete

A barrage of feelings

assault my senses

heart barricades

streaming tears fall

my mind must now

tear down offences

looking  back

I see past it all

My senses strive

to shut out the feeling

on my knees

I realize too much

I grab my stomach

it’s already reeling

my nerves

repelling all touch

I take a deep breath

and I wont break

I look straight

past clouded eyes

no longer take blame

for your failings

take what you want

and you fail

as you fall

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sustainability

Beneath the Tree #2 #Christmas #children #abuse #poetry

winter alley lights

No matter the age

some children anticipate

waiting and hoping

for the Christmas binge

possibilities

a luring hinge

No matter the age

some children know

the contrast between dark and light

snow angels sugary crunch

while snow demons

take what they want

No matter the age

some children experience

cold fingers grasp

tender necks flop

the prayers rise

“make this nightmare stop”

No matter the age

some children awake

Christmas day a shamble

bottles of booze clash

gifts that they stood in line for hours

hocked last night for cash

5306536827_9e2a86497f

 

These days this child looks forward to Peace at Home,Good Will toward for next generation.

I decided to write a series of poems in (sad) contrast to the traditional Christmas. This is written from the insider’s vantage point.

Oksana – a story of survival #dailypost #children #world #Atozchallenge

painted rose

Oksana -It seems but days ago that you sat on my lap rattling off words in English proud of your ability to master  languages.

I present you with a new challenge to start at, a skill – teaching. “Oksana, take these pictures of words and hold them as you point to them. First say the word in your language, then say the word slowly in English.  Very slowly form the letters  “R_AB_BIT. ” Atleechna you are a natural.”

My eyes sparkle as I look at the proud face of a woman who never knew she would be a mama and certainly not at 65.  “Nina be happy. Oksana will make you proud. At six she is fluent in Russian and English and is attacking Polish.”

Oksana holds the cards with hands that barely shake. Just tiny reminders of the drug addiction she had as a baby. “Yes, you will grow beautiful like the rose and your knowledge of the world like its thorns will keep you strong.”

I silently remove the picture of a bottle from the stack of cards. It too closely resembles the scores of bottles that Oksana’s mama found herself wrapped around. They found Oksana’s mama at the bottom of her bottle one day; a screaming 5-year-old clutching to her ankles. “What was it you poured for yourself? Sleeping pills and Vodka? The Vodka never hid the scars that you got from your husband’s beatings did it? Oksana’s little body only survived because your body shielded her. Your older son Sasha was not so fortunate. What pile of broken glass does he lie under?  Prison is too good a place for a man who uses broken Vodka bottles to tattoo his son using blood as ink.”

‘”Da,” Oksana very good. You pronounced WA_TER well,  just a tiny hint of a V, but not much. Nina your love has cleansed this girl like water. Yes, she will always be old for her years and bear a certain sorrow, but look at her radiant smile.”

“Dance Oksana dance with the children as they play in the waves of the Azov Sea. Fly high with the gull;  he too has much knowledge of the world he sees below him. Crimea is etched with scars well hidden  in the sunlight, but you understand them.”

“Persevere Nina, this is a job for a young woman. The energy and vitality of this young mind will test you. Be strong for her. For one day Oksana will be a strong woman. She will hold the hands of other young girls who suffer at the point of the needle, are cast offs, or are used by men for momentary pleasure. Shield her from her mother and father’s world. She will always wear the scars like Crimea, but she will hopefully wear bravery like a crown.”

****

I have fictionalized the story of a young girl I met while working in the Crimea enough so she can’t be identified. “Oksana’s” story is one of victory because she was rescued by a compassionate woman who lived in the neighborhood. “Oksana” would have otherwise joined her mama soon as most of the discarded children of that country do.

ctapaen-bottle-graphic-design

A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9 (1)

I’m also using this story for the Daily Post at WordPress. The challenge is to write three paragraphs (Person Place and Thing), though you can choose to write more or less if you wish — the goal is to get you watching closely, observing, and collecting people, places, and things to use in your creative writing projects. It’ s story that I believe is poignant and needs to be told.