I don’t know if doing this is common with bloggers….but some days, when I want some serious time devoted to writing new things, I spend
picking scratching obsessing editing posts that were already shared and commented on. I tried to reblog and leave them alone. I am ashamed to say, I went back and edited some more after that. Last night I decided I had to find a way to let them go and be who they are…not live in fear of my constant tweaking. The next effort of mine, to stop my creations from being edited to death, is to send them out to see if they are worthy of being published. I plan on sending them near and far so I can either get permission to edit a bit more if nobody deems them worthy, or hopefully, they get the accepted and I feel they are perfect just they way they are. Here are the first 5 poems that will be leaving my blog nest. All you have seen posted before but I went back and edited one last time before they went out to see if the world would treat them kind or send them back home with their tails between their legs. Either way…I will always love them. 🙂
“He Let Her Dance”
denied her youth,
steals a moment.
Believed her new umbrella
would be her only witness
as she danced without worry
just for an instant.
She finally felt the joy
of not trying to be perfect.
Her treasured moment
was shattered in an instant.
A man, she spied,
who was not her Father
yet claimed he loved her Mother.
All efforts to be seen
She was caught
being perfectly imperfect.
Her dismay turned to delight.
Eyes did not belittle
Voice did not raise
Mouth did not frown
Her heavy heart lifted.
She felt tiny seed of worth planted
and vowed to love him forever
in an instant.
You! Evil man who plays the victim…
Don’t run and hide you coward.I have a message for you.
Your days are numbered. This I can assure you.
For the longest time, I have camped outside your Tower of Lies…
Denied entrance by your victims installed as guards.
I wonder what you will say when asked to account for your torture
of those you were tasked to nurture?
Will you claim to be innocent because you were once a victim?
That excuse will not fly guy.
The pain you endured will not give you asylum from accounting for the pain you inflicted.
By circumstance, I was saved from your worse.The guilt of this,
fuels my desire to see you and your fortress consumed by fire.
Years have passed.
You are old.
We are still broken.
But I can finally see your power is starting to weaken.
I pray your fall allows those you now hold prisoner freedom from lies
you used hot irons to brand in their brains.
And the blindfolds they wear, those you gifted and swore were silk
but any fool can see is common burlap, are discarded at long last.
My body may constantly fight, but my soul is always on its knees
praying for those I love to finally see what I see.
No single person should be robbed of seeing
the strength, power, and beauty they posses.
Don’t worry, you evil man, your time has not come just yet.
For now, you can be happy because till they are released
I will remain your tormented victim.
A life is judged by a person’s actions
and guided by notions.
However, don’t forget, ugly emotions.
Even herculean efforts can’t assure life’s grace
Ugly emotions, feeling ignored, can and will efface.
The mission, of every person, is to find a special place.
An environment where all emotions can feel at ease roosting
and no need is felt to prove their existence by squawking.
This place, where they can fluff their feathers, can be found in writing.
“Forever A Clown”
I was a joke, when I was young.
Laughter, so loud, at my expense stung.
The sound bending me over in agony.
Hunkered down, took a journey.
Mind went afar hoping laughter done when awoke
Older now, sadly naught changed since I was a joke.
Think I would learn, to deal with pain.
Joy, with role as clown, I could feign.
This one ability, could save me my face.
Instead, tears engage in a race.
No matter what I do, I follow the same pattern.
I am a clown to all around…think I would learn.
“Be back in a minute” is what he said.
These words bounce all over in my head.
The bitch clock taunts, “Tic toc, tic toc.”
I stay strong; tears unshed.
Rage festers instead.
“Tic toc, tic toc”
In the past,