Solstice - a turning point

along the rotating path

on this first of days

with the gesture of a shift or tilt

we gently nod toward the sun

the turn has slowed over time

friction of the tides

over billions of years

causing time to stretch

as the sun reaches up

to its highest point

taking its place on the stage

the next 17 hrs begin

with fingers of light

the rays spread slowly

making their way

from night into day

cerulean skies peppered with clouds

are the canvas onto which

light is splashed

with a feathered brush

the gleam, the slight manifestation

glistens over the radiance of her expression

cross-legged, with praying hands

she pays homage to the sun

the light softly kisses her face

and from somewhere within she glows

separate from yet still a part

on the path, she leads the way

on this day, this longest day

the shine and the glow bring change

seasons shift one to the next

and the alignment of self begins

there is a calm within her smile

a knowing in her pose

she appears to be led by the light

down the path toward herself

* I am very visual and often inspired to write from a simple glimpse. Whether a photo or live in person, I am very affected by what I see. One of the things that inspires me most profoundly is light and the effect is has visually and how that translates physically and spiritually. 

The rays of light that come through clouds is something that no matter when or how I glimpse it, causes me to feel very deeply. It is so many things to me; faith, belief, spirit, wonder, amazement, and awe to name just a few. It always takes my breath away and always makes me pause. 

Sometimes the simple way light hits someone or something has that same affect. 

This poem was inspired by a photo I saw of a Summer Solstice celebration. The affects of the light in the photo were similar to some of my own photos which I included in this post to try and illustrate my meaning. 

I do not own the photo that inspired me so I cannot include it in this post. * 

One step and then another

feeling worthless and unwanted

feeling lost and forever alone

the theme repeats over and over

time and time again

loss always feel the same

I feel powerless

victim mentality

is the narrative I can’t shut off

when I have fallen in love

it was always so overwhelming

becoming the living, breathing

reason for my existence

I have never felt truly relevant

unless feeling loved by someone

never felt necessary

on my own

I feel like I move through days

without ever experiencing joy

never lost in the moment

only trying to get to the next

lately it’s been harder

and it seems to get more so each day

the radical ups and downs

becoming the only interesting part

of a truly static existence

I pull farther away

from anything outside myself

and crawl deeper in

to the silence of this place

drink is the drug of choice

and as I consume that first gulp

the warmth that spreads through me

is the comfort I have always craved

that feeling of acceptance

floods through me

I become strong and fearless

and no longer worry what anyone thinks

that lonely place becomes full

and the imaginary feeling

that I am enough

makes me whole

In mid 2016, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. I had not spoken to him in 30 yrs. He left when I was about 5 and was not any real part of my life. I had little respect for him and did not want a relationship with him.

When I found out he was sick, I decided to reach out and open a door that had been closed for a very long time. I emailed him and simply told him that I had heard he was ill and wished him well. That email turned into several months of correspondence between us and sharing on a very nice level, things about ourselves. We had quite a lot in common, both writers, both musicians. He sent me a screenplay he was working on and I shared this blog with him.

In early 2017, I had a pretty intense surgery and during my recovery he sent me a note every day. As I was bed ridden, it was so nice to have this ongoing conversation with him. Time passed and we corresponded regularly and neither one of us really dredged up the past but were getting to know the people we were then on a level playing field. I was starting to believe he was a pretty good guy and began to feel a little sad that I had maybe wasted all the years I had not wanted anything to do with him.

 Around April or May of that year, I had worked up the nerve to call him. One morning I was having my car serviced and while waiting for it, I walked outside and called him. I can still picture myself pacing up and down the sidewalk while we talked. I remember that I could hear in his voice his age and illness but he sounded so happy to hear me. We talked for about 30 minutes and I have to say I was pretty happy too. 

Over the months of corresponding, I could feel the little girl who grew up wishing for a father healing a little every day. The circumstances of him leaving always left in me the feeling that we were not wanted and I have had that feeling all of my life.

The next day when I woke up I had 13 missed calls from my mom and no message left. I was really worried and it took me 2 days to get in touch with her. When I finally did she told me that she had received information that my dad way having their marriage annulled. No communication from him about it, just official documents. She was devastated.

A few days passed and I got an email from him asking if I was okay, he hadn’t heard from me in a while. I simply said, I don’t understand why you did what you did. Mind you, he never mentioned any of this to me over the past months. He said that he wanted to be buried in a Catholic cemetery and couldn’t do that if he had been divorced. He said it had no reflection on us kids.

In that moment, everything I had ever felt about him and about myself my whole life came crashing down over me like a wave. This man who had an affair and left his family, who never attended church as an adult, and who was never present in his children’s lives, once again made one of the most selfish moves that affected my mother, myself and my brother’s in a truly horrible way.

I replied to him that I hoped he would find what he was looking for and goodbye. I never heard from him again but got a scathing letter from his wife that my mom asked me not to respond to. Out of sheer respect for her, I didn’t.

About 2 months later, I saw on Facebook that he had died. His wife, who was the woman he had the affair with, did not tell us he died and has not contacted us in any way.

I have recently begun to realize how much the emotion surrounding my relationship, and lack of one with him has affected me my whole life. I am starting to work toward healing and to show that little girl that I have hidden so deep inside, that she is worthy of being loved and is valuable and amazing. It’s hard, every day and takes so much work. I’ve spent a lifetime keeping her quiet and she is just now learning to speak.

Spiral

smudged windows

cause the light to shift

and static scrapes

 inside my ears

there is pressure in my brain tonight

something trying to push its way out

it causes my heart to race slightly

letting the discomfort spread

from the center of me

out through my limbs

there is agitation, irritation

I am wholly unsettled

images and words are pounding

in echoes through my head

shame, regret, give it a name

though it matters not what you call it

the stinging, slow burn

exists like a haunted sprite

I almost feel like a demon today

a goblin, something dark

I can’t shake the sinking feeling

that I have done something wrong

this roller coaster pattern

that has defined my emotion for months

is slowly dragging me up again

the to point where it lets me drop

Skin

do you ever notice some days

your skin just doesn’t fit right

struggling, stretching and twisting

you are caught in your own tangled web

when the pressure against you pushes

and the weight falls heavy and hard

your screams are covered in silence

the façade, the walls closing in

how do you push the boundaries

of a veil that blocks out the light

how do you stretch the limits

of skin that is too tight

can you find the place where the seams

fit together and become one

and rip and tear and pull

until the thread finally lets go

can you grasp with bleeding fingers

and pull with all your strength

or do you simply surrender and sink

beneath the weight of your cloak of skin

can you run as fast as you can

as the breath is ripped from your lungs

can you push even harder still

until your muscles begin to scream

do you find yourself covered in sweat

shivering and shaking and cold

exhausted, with nothing left

yet still, your skin does not fit

Pr(e)ay...

calculating, methodical

painstakingly etched out over time

drop by drop, filling each vial

with vile intent

the end result

to feed ravenously

as the prey

begin to pray

 hunger, reaching into deeper

darker places

the stench of the kill

permeating every crevice

yet only one slow

lick at a time

making the mouth water

the flood of salivating glands

leaving the lips glistening

one tug, one tear

at raw flesh

a pull, gently at first

gradually showing intent

careful not to seem bent

on taking every last piece

every last drop

of the blood

as the fresh kill

slowly becomes rank

and rotted

remember now

that traps were set

laid with bait so enticing

the inveigled prey

so beguiled

 with all manner of temptation

threw caution

to the desperately blowing winds

that wailed their warnings

upon empty ears

the howling

deep into the night

that only echoed

bouncing off stone walls

into nothing

was there ever a moment

perhaps just as the jaws

of the steel trap

pierced naked skin

that remorse, regret

or a rueful repentance

passed through the fleeting thoughts

of either pursuer or prey

it is well documented

that no place is truly safe

no one without motive

none free of the entanglements

that sully the purity

of love

there is no benevolent

need

*I wasn't going to give an explanation of this poem but as I keep thinking about it, where better than here?

This idea has been simmering for weeks. It sparked after watching the Leaving Neverland documentaries. First, let me say, this is not about M Jackson, nor is it a comment on his alleged guilt or a place where I want to debate or discuss that. The way the story was told simply triggered some ideas that tell many stories, as poetry is known to do. 

Many people suffer various forms of abuse at various hands and not all of those abuses are quick and violent attacks. Many of them take time and planning and, as in the documentary, are 'groomed'. This idea has gnawed at me and today spoke for itself.*

Unusual

she sees the world

watches it

listens and observes

she sits slightly askew

one foot left of center

she writes things

 in a small notebook

scrawled words on blank pages

she tries

to make sense

of the things that make no sense

she sings quietly

softly

only for herself

anything louder only brings questions

she has no need to answer

she lives inside her mind

her dreams

carefully crafted worlds

where only she

knows how the story will end

and she

isn’t telling anyone

she is seen in the daylight

existing with the rest of them

 as a means

to return to the quiet place

where the only sound she hears

is the turning of the pages

and the lilt

the cadence

the rhythm

that keeps her steady

she crafts and weaves

brilliant threads

stands spanning

the length and distance

of time

and its irrelevance

she is singular

peculiar perhaps

certainly unusual

and in that

she smiles

Perspective

perspective is the crux

of the decision

distance stretched out

further than the eye can see

shapes blur in the distance

edges slip at the seams

one look is not enough

a glance offers no more

are you looking forward to something

or gazing back at the end

the horizon line

the vanishing point

where the earth ends

and the sky begins

or is this where the sky begins

and the earth ceases to exist

where plan and foresight

become fantasy and dream

there is no beginning anymore

just as sure as there is no end

and there is no steady place for decision

just the ground beneath my feet

I can no longer discern the difference

between moving forward or back

the fact is the road remains

just as long either way

*original photo by Kelly Riley*