The Unthinkable
Becomes the Norm
with each tap of the
hammer the plaster cracks just a little dust fills the air
chokes the
throat rolls into the darken corner a lifeless dustball
in the garden a
tender vine starts out so small
and yet can grow to
be a monster just like the little shop of horrors
creeps over the
wall hard to get rid of can take over
seems to have a mind
of its' own chokes out other plants flowers hang
like crimson tassels
early morning or
early mourning it is summer
but on this
morning there is a chill in the air one child shot
falls to the
sidewalk where he played shot
because he is
poor because he is black because he was there
because he lives in
the hood one child saved because he is white
because there is a
gate where he lives the trap was set someone stepped in
unaware of the
danger will the trap hold or will he gnaw off his leg
and free
himself the stories are diverse the mother weeps
the mist
clears the sun shines there is no happy ending here
May 29, 2016
_________________________________________________________________________
Yesterday
i am no longer
moored i have drifted away from my childhood home
washed up on a
foreign shore all day long i searched the beach
collected
shells smooth round seeds driftwood
i grew up near the
water now i call the desert home in sight of the mountain
sacred mother each morning i bless the mountain and she blesses me
the ties are
broken so many have gone there is nothing left of home
when it is
said you can't go home again it is true
perhaps there is the
street where we lived but someone else lives there now
i enter a place of
memory i remember moma's pies cooling on the back porch
crust tender and
flaky sweet tart red cherries spilling on the plate
like blood on the
sidewalk a boy shot by police in the back
a hundred
times charges dropped
mama's hug as we
left for school in memory it is always summer barefoot
sundresses bees
buzz baseball in the vacant lot
butterflies dancing
across the lawn the smell of fresh cut grass evening comes
fireflies sparkle in the low light of evening as i grow older
so much i cast
off yet there is a pact with childhood the bags i packed so long
ago
filled with
yesterdays folded neatly memories of picnics on the beach
a boy i
loved marshmallows and hotdogs roasted over an open fire
laughter the
safety of family memories come flooding back
May 28, 2016
13 comments:
Each is poignant, in a very different way from the other.
Perhaps we can go back in our mind? Perhaps that is the best way as the physical can often not be as we remember? As Rosemary says two tender pieces..each different but connected..as ever like your painting it feels..like marking a route map of each and every day and the sacred things we can find in it - if we look
Those memories are strongest when nature tells you so, to me it's scent of lilacs, that pulls me back, or the songs of blackbirds. When I lived in the desert I felt a similarity to the sea in the big open sky.... maybe there is part of you that still feels the same.
A very wonderful piece, each line as delightful as the last.
"There is no happy ending here." You have captured that injustice so well, Annell, one child shot because he was where he was, the other safe, privileged. In your second poem, "there is nothing left of home" is so poignant. When I travel back to my childhood town, I make the circuit, some of the houses are still standing, some are gone, other buildings standing in their place. I love the childhood memories, "the bags I packed so long ago filled with memories." Just beautiful, my friend. I love that you and the mountain bless each other every morning.
You always leave me breathless and overflowing with emotion....the first is such punch in the face....how lucky some of us are, and blind to the plight of others. The the second one brought memories flooding back....deep emotions pouring out here too!
'as i grow older
so much i cast off
yet there is a pact with childhood
the bags i packed so long ago
filled with yesterdays
folded neatly
memories of picnics on the beach
a boy i loved
marshmallows and hotdogs
roasted over an open fire
laughter
the safety of family
memories come flooding back'
Love both the poems Annell, beautiful both in words and image :)
Lots of love,
Sanaa
Both deep and telling poems of the days we live and the things that are so easily passed off as just another day in our lives.
Yes, it is sad when the unthinkable becomes the norm. I feel this is a comment on American politics right now. We are becoming anesthetized to civility...anything goes, it seems. So sad.
Your poems get deeper with each writing. When we accept something as the 'norm', we legitimize it. And no, we can't go home, because we are changed by the living between then and now. Both of these poems have a sadness to them, one that is hard to escape,
Elizabeth
The memories, the hardship, the folded yesterdays and the unthinkable that has become the norm... you bring reality to your poems in your unique style.
the boy shot by the police and the poignant note amazingly unites the two pieces into one whole...
Poignant---there is no happy ending--I know too many of these boys shot and killed--so your piece really touched me today--
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