Category: Pain/Sadness

Darkness

Darkness

The shadow falls across your face
and I lose you once more to the darkness 
Your time in the sunlight limited
by your own demons
robbing you of happiness
Once more allowing the chaos
to rule our world, destroying harmony
I watch with sadness as you are
consumed with anger and demand
retribution for wrongs only you perceive
I step back in horror as I witness
the madness consuming you
and I pray silently for the light


Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Lisa from Tao Talk is hosting Open Link Night at D’Verse Poets

Photo by  Artyom Kulikov on Unsplash

Out To Sea

Out To Sea

Breathless, sinking into dampened sand
A collapsing heap of bones and skin
lays immobile, grateful for silence but for
the ebb and flow of waves washing the shore

In silence memories flood into a mind 
trying to close the gates of hell
Tears pour from eyes witness to the unspeakable 
A throat chokes on words refusing to swallow

Between heaving breasts lies a heart
piecing together the puzzle
of broken rocks that weigh it down
A wave washes over a body of disbelief
Wishing to be taken out to sea


Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Word Prompts

Between - FOWC
Swallow - RDP
Puzzle - Stream of Consciousness

Where were you on 9/11?


Where were you on 9/11? It’s a common question we ask every year on this day. A tragedy ingrained in our memories and wherever you are in the world you will likely have that recollection of place and time.

Looking Back – Coincidences

There are some coincidences in my recollection of that fateful Tuesday 20 years ago. President George W. Bush was here in Sarasota, Florida, where I live. I remembered this as I was driving to work and passed some protestors on the corner of a main intersection. On that morning he was talking with a class of elementary students at a local school when the first attack happened at 8:46 AM. I was a few miles away working at a job fair. I was on the opening team of a luxury brand hotel that was due to open two months later and we were just getting ready for our second day of interviewing potential staff. Some of us were sitting together in the break area prior to opening the doors. One of the other team members put their head around the door and said “Come and see what’s on the TV. A pilot has just crashed a plane into one of The World Trade Center buildings.” We all looked at each other thinking it must be a small 2 or 4 seater private plane. There is no way a commercial pilot would do that.

That was just the beginning of the awful events that would unfold throughout that day and the following days, weeks and months and years. You know the rest. Sadly, it did not end on that day. Thousands dead and then we went to war with Afghanistan for the past 20 years and even more dead to mourn. To this day there are still people dying from the fallout of 9/11.

We also discovered in the days following 9/11 of another local coincidence. Several of the terrorists who hijacked the planes had been receiving pilot training at a flight school just 20 miles south of Sarasota in Venice, Florida. Why this part of Florida was front and center of that horrific day, I don’t know.

Fast Forward – 20 Years On

This week our local bookstore sent out an email to its subscribers to share a beautiful poem by Billy Collins, a New Yorker, who was the U.S. poet laureate at the time of the 9/11 attacks. A year later, he wrote a poem,The Names, in honor of the victims. He read the poem before a special joint session of Congress held in New York City in 2002, and here he reads it again. I had not heard it before and it is really quite moving. It is so beautifully written and you will likely want to listen to it or read it more than once. The poem is also listed below. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Rest in peace all those whose lives were so tragically taken on 9 /11/2001.

Where were you on 9/11?

The Names by Billy Collins

 Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
 A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
 And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
 I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
 Then Baxter and Calabro,
 Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
 As droplets fell through the dark.
 Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
 Names slipping around a watery bend.
 Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
 In the morning, I walked out barefoot
 Among thousands of flowers
 Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
 And each had a name --
 Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
 Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
 Names written in the air
 And stitched into the cloth of the day.
 A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
 Monogram on a torn shirt,
 I see you spelled out on storefront windows
 And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
 I say the syllables as I turn a corner --
 Kelly and Lee,
 Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.
 When I peer into the woods,
 I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
 As in a puzzle concocted for children.
 Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
 Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
 Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
 Names written in the pale sky.
 Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
 Names silent in stone
 Or cried out behind a door.
 Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
 In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.
 A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
 A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
 And the names are outlined on the rose clouds -
 Vanacore and Wallace,
 (let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
 Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
 Names etched on the head of a pin.
 One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
 A blue name needled into the skin.
 Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
 The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
 Alphabet of names in a green field.
 Names in the small tracks of birds.
 Names lifted from a hat
 Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
 Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
 So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

—Billy Collins (c) 2002
*This poem is dedicated to the victims of September 11 and to their survivors.


Stream of Consciousness Saturday - Where

Venting

Venting

My thoughts erratic
scattered like dead leaves
In a barren field
Flying every which way
Undisciplined
and confusing

My head spins 
As it tries to remember
Everything that needs to be done 
Not only for you but for me too
Intimidating
and daunting

My identity lost
Drowned in your pool
of needs and wants
Your incapacities
Demanding
and exhausting

My sanity teeters
On the edge of unreason
Your only responses
indifferent and perfunctory
Dismaying
and disheartening

My energy level low
When did I become invisible?
A means only to your end
Being your caregiver
Debilitating
and demoralizing


Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved


Word Prompts

My - Stream of Consciousness
Discipline - Word of the Day
Scattered- RDP
Field - FOWC

Taken

I am thrilled that MasticadoresUSA has featured my poem Taken. You can read it on their site or here at Poetry For Healing.

Please check out the MasticadoresUSA site and view other poems and prose from our featured fellow writers.

Taken

Standing in silver light
of consumed moon
Staring out to sea
Hair, raven black
Lifted by the wind
 
Palmed rose, thorny
Color of blood
Clutched tightly
to a heaving breast
as tears flowed
 
Skulls of saints
calling to lost souls
in watery graves
Where pearls from tissue
calcify in salty sea
 
Lured by songs
of sailors lost
Blood trickles
from royal flesh
taken by waves

 
Copyright © 2020 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Slipstream – A Quadrille

Slipstream

Traveling together
World explorers
of ancient cities
and natural habitats
Experiencing life and
seeing mankind in his habitat
Wandering like clouds
Touching earth every so often
Hungry for more
Then came the day
when you became self-absorbed
and I was lost in your slipstream


Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

De Jackson (AKA Whimsy Gizmo) is hosting Monday Quadrille
at D'Verse Poets.  Tonight she has prompted us with any form
of 'Stream'

A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words excluding the title

Weary

Weary

Weary of this game called love
Exhausted by rules always broken
to serve the other’s purpose
Watching you justify your own
unacceptable behavior
as I become a target for calumny
You have so few redeeming qualities
that there is little left to respect
Let alone love
Where is the man once so principled?
So courteous and kind
All I see is someone selfish and cruel
And I am too tired to do this anymore




Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Word Prompts

Calumny - RDP
Exhausted - Word of the Day
Redeem - FOWC

Down But Not Out – Poem of the Month – July 2021

Down But Not Out

Demeaned, dismissed, destroyed
Yes!
These are things that you have done to me
I fall down under the pressure of your assault
and I feel you stomping
on my goodness, my kindness
Hurting, bruising, humiliating
Yes!
I am defeated at these times
You kill me with your anger
and crush me with your words
I represent someone
you need to punish and assail
In your mind you have been triumphant
and I have been destroyed
but my spirit can never be broken
It will always be mine
 
 
Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved


Lisa from Tao Talk is hosting tonight at D'Verse Poets.  She has
prompted us with lines from Ernest Hemingway to inspire our poem.


I chose:

‘But man is not made for defeat,’ he said. ‘A man can be destroyed but not defeated.’
From The Old Man and the Sea

Image by KLEITON Santos from Pixabay 

Love Lies Bleeding

Love Lies Bleeding

The sun bleeds it’s last drop
of red into the ocean
Bidding farewell
to a day filled with raw emotion
Words weaponized
Driven in like daggers
Leaving scathing, open wounds
becoming forever scars
Tattooed reminders
on broken hearts
Uneven and crooked
Nerves stretched taught
like catgut strings on a guitar
Where one more pluck
will result in a snap
Rendering a melody
forever played out of tune


Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing
All Rights Reserved

Prompts

Drive - Steam of Consciousness
Snap - FOWC
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