December and Poetry


December – end of the year.  2014 folding soon. A great time to re-evaluate and check the direction we are going in. Me?  I’m writing.  Making.  Creating.  I have some wonderful new friends, some incredible older ones, and I am moving forward which is always an adventure.

First, the Holiday season…..which includes food, gifts, and gratitude.

I am so grateful for every single day reminding me that the only way to create a good life is with the power of our choices.  I choose happiness.

There are reasons why we write….

 

Morte Incenso

(Death Incense)

I am the intruder in this

Vintage crime scene

Time traveler from Back then

Young girl in a room

Surrounded by blue walls of

Rage voiceless until now

A burning scent of cement

Oak and pine clinging to particles of

Morning fog because the Sun died

Nothing flourishes in this darkness

Judgment beat into skin and bones by

Hands of clay Heartless

No amount of scrubbing ever changes that

I recognize the smells of this room

Years quiet only the screeching fear

Never the voices

The beginning of high Mass

The wanting to crawl beneath the earth

The sobbing of fracturing souls

The wordless glances like auras

Telltale signs of storms to come

All of it right here Now

Hot pellets of fire

As I inhale

Involuntarily remembering

It comes in tsunami waves

And leaves like a thief

I hear the snap and crackle of resounding

Lies and the Lack of

Empathy and concern for a young heart

As if anything I’d done could be sinful

As if children are rags to wipe one’s pain with

No one came to save us then from

What had been done to You

No one comes now Just Me

The rest have died young or gone mad

But I have come for the dolls

My invisible inheritance

For the will to flourish to rise up in me

As it does when I think of them

For the black crack in my memory

When they disappeared like the Light

That is said to shine when the fog lifts

I was told it would eventually

That it would roll away like a snake

Tail beneath body beneath radar

Sinuous and winding

Blinding its victims with the Joy

Of seeing the day sky and night

Constellations and so I have

Come for the dolls that vanished

Just like you

For all the souls that were broken on

Empty shelves sticky with shellac

And dead dreams

They deserve a proper burial

Just like you just not

In another place with other people

Not like you and the strangers you loved

I want them fused inside my broken heart

Healers that they are

Roses on their grave

And a marker that says

“Here lie the stolen saviors of  the girl who lived here

Graces of  hidden prayers

Defenders against dead saints

and ceremonial flames”

Their bodies were never necessary only

Their beautiful eyes

That witnessed the crimes of the fog

And the people who hid within it

All that is needed now is

Their unfailing love

I know now that I’ve never lost it

© Jacqualine-marie baxman 2014

fog farm w copyright-001

Namaste

——————–

“I know you’re tired but come, this is the way.”
Rumi

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5 thoughts on “December and Poetry

  1. This breaks my heart, yet also makes it sing for the ways that you’re able to express so clearly the pain of so many of us. Your friendship is such a gift to me, beautiful Jacqualine. xo

    Like

  2. belletamaam

    so you are going to pull all your work together and publish it, right??? I started looking for lines to pick out as white hot core, and of course it would have been the whole poem. So I went back and picked the first lines that left me gasping for air (not the last, there are so many more, but this, *this* more than breathless – an intake of recognition that was a gasp):

    As if anything I’d done could be sinful

    As if children are rags to wipe one’s pain with

    All that is not said in our life said on paper but with such brevity – it is all that is in the spaces between the words that makes me gasp for air.

    Beautiful!

    Thank you!

    Like

    1. Siamo Sympatico……do you find that many people are afraid of what they have been told is sad poetry, or angry poetry? For me, words are my choice of paint colors. I’ve probably told you. I love each word, the simple ones even more, although I do not think any are necessary for conveying information or ideas. A glance will often do it, as we know. I like to write a clear and uncontrived message – an average vocabulary at best. It is rather intoxicating, though, isn’t it? – the whole writing thing.

      I think everyone is a poet. If they dig down into the rawness of who they are, unafraid of anyone’s judgment, particularly their own, they will see that their own words and stories are boiling in this wonderful cauldron of creation just waiting to come up, out, and be born. Poof…..into the world like bubbles of code. There is always someone who needs to watch them as they embark on their journey.

      I am grateful to have your friendship, wisdom and talent in my corner.

      Like

  3. Pingback: Fog Farm | jacqualine-marie baxman

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