If I’d been the thief on the cross
Dying next to Jesus last Friday
Today I’d be in His paradise
Instead of hanging here still
Dying a little each day
Decided to share this melancholy poem as a postcard to the other side for De’s dVerse Poets Pub prompt today. Instead of a “wish you were here” it’s kind of a “wish I was there” postcard.
Once I saw her without her shirt or bra
revealing the scar where her surgeon
first took her diseased breast then
sloppily gathered excess skin in a
quick running stitch of sutures
leaving her hideously deformed
It’s no wonder I seldom saw her smile
De is running the show at dVerse Poets Pub today for Quadrille Monday where the word of the day is scar. The pub opens at noon PST so head on over and check out some of the great 44-word poems offered by patrons today.
My poem today is a rewrite of part of a description of my mom that I wrote this past week in my writing group.
Filed under Family, Life, Poetry
Another poem written during my coaching class with Sarah Thebarge.
My Story – A Quadrille
They stole my innocence, my peace
Left me powerless, without any choice
Pain buried in alcohol, drugs,
Unhealed pain, despair, darkness
never leave, never will
God calls me from exile by His Word
His people who love me
His dream of forgiveness
Yesterday, Toni at Kanzen Sakura commented thanking me for writing two haibuns. I replied that I’d only written one. Apparently that’s because the second one was still in the works. So I’m posting this second haibun now for Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub.
Working on my memoir, giving in to the compulsion to communicate my story to whoever might need to read it, I decided I would have more success in actually getting the words on the page if I hand wrote. There is something about typing that makes me feel like it has to be perfect the first time, but handwriting builds in an automatic rewrite when I later type it up. So I rummage through my cloth basket of blank journals for just the right one. [This takes some time because there are probably 20 or more journals in that basket, evidence of another compulsion]. I find a 150-page spiral bound notebook with only 10 pages used up and decide that’s perfect. I peruse what’s been written and come across these words, written 18 ½ years ago:
It takes courage to write. Courage is not the same as fearlessness. Rather, courage is writing in spite of fear.
Just been reading “The Courage to Write” by Ralph Keyes. It got me thinking about writing a book about the effect being raped at the age of 14, while still a virgin, had on my life—the teen years, college, marriage, sex, life, thoughts, depression [although genetics had something to do with this as well].
I must be crazy. I can’t write such a book. Or rather I can, in that I’m sure I have enough material and could actually write it, but would I ever be willing to let anyone read it?
Crazy indeed. Yet here I am, almost two decades later, still compelled to write that book. Only now the story is complete. There is more than just the pain and suffering of trauma to tell; there is also the story of healing and redemption. Now there is courage.
Hidden on journal pages
Die and are reborn
For Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub we’re writing about communication. I decided to write about the frustration of communicating in a particular circumstance.
People who have never experienced chronic pain don’t seem to understand why sometimes I just can’t do certain things. I know I look fine from the outside. I know I hide it pretty well most of the time. But it’s exhausting to try to live as if I had no pain. It’s difficult to know how to communicate the struggle. If I told you I was in pain every time I was in pain, you’d think I was a whiner or a broken record. So I don’t tell you, unless it’s really bad.
“What’s your pain number today?” I hate this question. I never know how to answer it. Ever. And how does what’s a 6 to me (based on 10 being the worst pain I’ve ever experienced) really communicate to a doctor how much pain I’m in? I want to answer, “Whatever number will cause you to do something to make it go away!” Because although today’s pain may not be the worst I’ve ever experienced, it’s bad enough that it brought me into this terrible, sterile, time-wasting environment in the hopes that you could help me.
“Describe your pain. Is it burning, stabbing, aching, sharp, or dull?” “Umm, yes. Can you make it go away now?”
Jesus knows my pain
Will wipe away ev’ry tear
When the Son shines bright
My façade hides
pain in my body,
in my heart, in my soul
I smile broadly,
laugh out loud,
resort to sarcastic wit
. . . but sometimes I cry
The Meeting the Bar prompt at dVerse Poets Pub yesterday was to write a Sevenling. Since I wanted to write a Tritina yesterday I decided to save this Sevenling for today’s daily NaPoWriMo post.
January is the cruelest month
despite it’s shimmer of hope
It’s when cancer took you
I was twenty-three
Hadn’t yet made amends
for the pain I caused you
Still drowning in my own
Your death only added
to the shame
of not measuring up
This quadrille is doing double duty today. It includes the dVerse Poets Pub word prompt from Victoria and offers my thoughts on the cruelest month for the NaPoWriMo prompt.
Just below the surface
Not buried all that deep
Are memories once forgotten
Now remembered so I weep
Though I know they’re past
Each painful memory
Leaves my poor soul downcast
Engulfed in reverie
My only source of hope
Is knowing God’s compassion
With His love I can cope
Remembering His passion
He knows the pain I’ve endured
That surfaces out of the blue
Grace and comfort He’s assured
And abundant life anew
I have faith enough to believe that God can heal
But do I have enough to trust if He does not
I believe enough to know that faith is real
But do I know enough to test what I am taught
I trust enough to feel the Spirit’s seal
But do I perceive enough His deepest thought
I have faith enough
to believe that God can heal
But do I have enough
to trust if He does not
What if this sickness
forever does endure
Will I succumb to hopelessness
or claim a promise sure
I trust that God can take away
every single ounce of pain
But do I trust His answer
as His provident domain
Without this lingering wound
where would my compassion be
I must have faith enough to trust
what only God can see
Sharing for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night. Two poems with the same first stanza but different line breaks and a slightly different focus. Also sharing at A Dash of Sunny‘s Prompt Night, which I just discovered yesterday.
The drunkard grins
from ear to ear
Oblivious to the pain
he inflicts on those
who love him
Numb to the pain
buried six feet under
his cold cold heart
Bartender, bring me a double
That and a grin will
drown all his troubles
I decided to write a second Quadrille with the word “grin” for dVerse Poets Pub.
Filed under Faith, Life, Poetry