Thursday, March 14, 2013

To you with Love


I gazed out and saw you starring, peculiar
You had never been there before
Each day had been the same, nothing ever changed
The train shook the cafe each day at noon,  
At Two Old man Tate came in for his pie,
We cleared for dinner at five
In the summer the frogs and crickets chipped outside
It was a summer night that you walked in
Looking up as our eyes met I felt my legs shake
I will forever be grateful for the summer heat that night

Still it was peculiar; you had never been there before
Though everything was the same, it was all about to change
In the small café
The train still rocked every day at noon
Old man Tate never missed a slice of pie
In my lucid dreams, in which I could fly
My summer nights were filling with you

The summer heat could no longer hide my blush
Every night I ran out into your arms,
So what if they looked at me like I was crazy!
Who were they to say, who were to know
What being so deeply in love was all about
Each night was more passionate than the last 
Awe, the next day ~ daydreaming of the night before
It is all so real, all so true, all my love to you 

I knew it was peculiar; you had never been there before
My father broke the news to me on that first brisk morning that you had to move on
He passes me a piece of paper; it seems a familiar note to me though I cannot recall why

The note reads  
 ~ Aimee
                To you with Love

Each day had been the same, nothing ever changed
I count down the days to summer, where I can work in the cafe
Watch Old Man Tate eat his pie at two and wait for the train!
The nurse is calling again

~ Aimee “Time to take your meds, you know how you get if you don’t take your meds!”

Looking at the notes my father has given me, I dream of the café ~ It must be peculiar.

Thirty-two notes that say,
~ Aimee
                To you with Love

How peculiar that each day is the same, that nothing would ever change




Tuesday, February 5, 2013

~ The English Haiku's ~



~ Cold raindrops fall
Dark clouds loom the sky
Alone crying mournfully ~



~ In the darkest night
With the winds sorrow cry
Tears of black ice f
                               a
                                     l
                                           l~ 




Some interesting information on the Haiku ~ 
A Haiku in English is a short poem which uses imagistic language to express the essence of an experience of nature or the season intuitively linked to the human condition. It is a development of the Japanese haiku poetic form in the English language. English haiku do not observe to the strict syllable count found in Japanese haiku, and the typical length of haiku appearing in the main English-language journals is 10–14 syllables. It is best to avoid titles and rhymes  Haiku's virtually have neither Some haiku poets are concerned with their haiku being expressed in one breath and the extent to which their haiku focuses on “showing” as opposed to “telling”. Haiku uses an economy of words to paint a multi-tiered painting  without “telling all”. As Matsuo Bashō put it, “The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of.”


Much Love  xoxo
Kates 


~ The Monostich, The Stand Alone Poem ~

~ Introducing the Monostich~ 
~ a self-contained, stand-alone poem entailing a single line, it can also be inserted into a poem as a device. Many see Monostich poetry and think that writing one line is easy, or that no real effort goes into it. Those who think this are wrong or have never written a Monostich before ~



I was first given the task of writing a Monostich for an online writing group I belong to, this proved to be a great challenge for me. In the two part exercise we each submitted our individual Monostich, we were then given the title from another group members Monostich, which we had to write a Monostich based on their title. At the end of the exercise the completed Monostich's were posted and it was amazing to see how some of the Monostich's came together to form a couplet, and you would never know they were written separately. In some cases it was interesting to see the meaning that two people came up based on a title. It was an interesting and challenging exercise.   .


This first Monostich The Devil’s Dance is my piece, the 1st line is written by myself and the 2nd line is written by a member in our group named Catherine (last names is omitted)  


The Devil’s Dance
The devil danced the darkness into your soul (K@tes)
These hot orange tendrils caress the coal (Catherine A.)

This second Monostich A Burnt Candle is by a Group member by the name of Serena C, with the title and first line being hers, and the second line written by me 

A Burnt Candle:
Death is the wisp of smoke that rises from the blackened wick. (Serena C)
Strike a match and feel me burn down to my fire.  (K@tes)


One thing leads to another, the Monostich is a one line stand alone piece. And if you are familiar with poetry can lead into the more well known form of poetry the Haiku, which will be my next post! I hope you enjoyed these Monostich's as much as I have enjoyed writing them! 
Much love, 
Kates






Monday, December 17, 2012

My Penance



You spoke your voice
Yet you think I do not hear
So you scream
Flooding my eyes with tears

I am selfish, thinking only of me
All I ever did was love you
It would be selfish to want that in return?
So I never ask
You scream again

You Ungrateful Bitch!

As if those words have never been spoken before
It doesn’t make them hurt any less
You say you’re proud
Yet all you do is scream and yell
I try to walk away

I went away to get better for you and me
Or was it for me . . . yes me
I walked on the edge, one foot over
I was feeling so much better
Now I am one and ½ over

Now that would be selfish
But a relief, don’t you think?
I try to write, to pray
And not to think
About your hatred you feel for me
You finally revealed
My mental illness is too much for you to take

You suffer yourself
But you choose not to get help
Mine is much worse – she says
Your brain, your emotions, your physical pain
I can’t help you anymore

I walk away a gaping hole in my chest
Again she screams


 You Ungrateful Bitch!

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Heaven


The smell of lilies wisps across the valley as she looks upon the crimson sun that sets on the horizon. What a beautiful, peaceful day she silently thinks to herself. She gathers her skirt around her, so as not to trip on the uneven ground, one last look at the beautiful sky above her and the immensity of the valley around her and she is on her way home. She is careful not spill the basket of freshly picked berries and flowers that she has selected for him, the man she married and loves.

For him, she tries; she tries so hard, wanting to please him, to make him happy.
Everything he wants, she does, she doesn't ask questions, when she does it makes him irate. The anger, oh God the anger, and the craziness that comes from the anger, she does not want this, tries with everything in her to avoid it, but it is impossible. If only she could be the wife he wants, the wife he desires, and needs, the wife he once loved.

She cannot think about this right now, although this plagues her fragmented mind. 

Walking briskly, she feels the sharp pain and bruising from the beating last night. She is getting better at hiding it, though she is running out of excuses for her distended body. Silently she prays a blessing that he will not allow her out often; hiding her away from friends, family, and the outside world. She finds her peace and solitude from the field where she thoughtfully picks her flowers and succulent berries. They are so lovely and delicious. She sits quietly watching bunnies hop past her, laughing, wishing she could journey with them, away, so far away from here. She listens to the birds chirp their song, do they know her pain? No, but she dreams they sing for her. The virtue of her mind is that of a child, he has forced her to block reality, at least for a few hours of the day.

The late afternoon sun embraces her face, her neck, and her back, bringing warmth to her heart; she tries to justify this sentiment with just a few more minutes of freedom, before returning to her home. One last time, she looks back to the stunning scene she is leaving behind and strains to hear the beautiful melodies of the birds.

It wasn’t always bad, once he was a loving, caring tender person; kissing and caressing her, instead of beating and raping her. That was a long time ago, when they first met. Happiness, laughter and love occupied their lives. Talk of children entertained their conversations, holiday’s, birthdays and parties where added to their calendars. What was then seemed like a lifetime ago, for whom he has become, he is no longer. Today all she knew was agony, anger and fear. Yet she still daydreams of the day he will once again be the man she fell in love with. Knowing in her deepest of hearts, each day she wakes and she prays for the day he realizes he loves and needs her, but hoping that she will see the beauty of her field, and hear her birds sing one more day.

As she walks through the rose arch and up the stone path that leads to their home; you would never know the pain that invades the walls by the sheer beauty of the outside. A mix of annuals, perennials, verbena, foxglove, begonia, yarrow, and lavender line the walkway, bee’s fly from one flower to the next, a fountain to the side flows pleasantly, crafting serenity where birds rest to take a drink. Fresh green vegetables fill the garden, freshly cut grass, and a white fence to complete the picture.

As she walks through the front door a sigh of relief washes over her as she realizes he is not home yet, believing she still has time to prepare his dinner. She glances at the clock, how foolish she is for spending so much time playing in the meadow. Fear rises in her immediately she can feel the anxiety tighten in the chest; she cannot remember what it is he wanted, what did they have for supper last night? Chicken or steak? How stupid she is! Potatoes or vegetables. And desert, ice cream, or brownies? Oh God she can feel the beating before it starts, her breathing is becoming fast and deep. Pot-roast, yes, steamed vegetables. Why can she never remember these things, the simple things to make her husband happy? To stop the beatings?

She has to plan carefully, perfectly, when she does not plan, he tells her she is no good; she is stupid, he beats her for her obliviousness. Her head is fuzzy; she must go back to the feeling of the meadow, the freedom, and the tranquility. She hears the soft chirps of the birds singing, the striking aroma of the lilies, the warm sun, she remembers it so vividly. She must clear her head before he walks in.

The car, his car she hears it coming up the driveway, looking at the clock, she knows it is too late. Her daydreaming, her foolishness once again, she has failed.
His anger, she knows before he walks in the door what awaits her.

He has been drinking; she smells the bourbon on his breath “Where is my dinner bitch”? When he realizes there is nothing on the stove, a backhand smacks her hard, she has no time to react, her head hits the corner of the table, lying on floor, and she feels the blood. A kick to her stomach, she cannot breathe.

Between breathless sobs, she cries “I tried, I tried for you, and I was out picking flowers and berries for you.” Through his drunken stupor he does not hear her. He clutches the basket of carefully arranged berries and flowers and beats her with them, over and over, the petals flying everywhere. The flowers she so caringly picked destroyed. As he is beating her with the basket, he smashes the red and blue berries in her face smearing them with the blood already covering her.

Choking on the berries he is screaming “eat them bitch”, forcing them down her throat. “You selfish Cunt, thinking only of yourself, eat the fucking berries”, he continues to smoother her with the fruit she picked for him.

 She screams that she loves him, tears streaming down her face; blood is pouring over her eyes blurring her vision. Still she tries to reason with him, continually she tells him she loves him, she would do anything for him. He zones out her cries, the rage has consumed his fists and legs.

As he beats her, screaming “crybaby”, worthless piece of shit”, he beats her until she is unconscious.

Her eyes open slightly as she lies on the ground watching him smoke his cigarette, drink his bourbon, drifting in and out of consciousness. She knows this is the end, he has succeeded. Never again will she see her meadow, smell lilies, and hear the song of the birds.
He stands, stumbling slightly, still in her unconsciousness she smells the stench of his cigarette smoke and bourbon. Standing above he is telling her to get up; she has no strength. She is falling, drifting. He jerks her by the hair trying to make her stand. She can hear his hateful words ringing in her head.  She understands now that she is none of these things, as she believed in the twelve years since he began to beat her. Finally he drops her; she once again feels the continuous blows to her stomach, her head. He yells at her “Get up you selfish Bitch.” “Get up!” “You think you’re gonna get out of cooking me dinner?” As the pool of blood forms around her, the pain slowly leaves her body. The final blow breaks her neck.

Gazing down at her, his wife, the wife that cleaned every day, picked fresh flowers to put in the house, washed and folded his clothes, planted a garden, tried to make up for the fact that she was unable to give him a child. The wife he loved that pleaded for her life just one hour ago.

In his den he polishes off the bottle of bourbon, liquid courage, unlocks his gun case and retrieves his shot gun. He shoots her one last time in the head, she jerks, and she is gone. He does not recognize her, the years of beating her have taken her beauty, broken her soul. The blood, the shot to the head, this is not his wife anymore.

Once again he sits at the table looking at her body, smoking his last cigarette, drinking his glass of bourbon he left there.

He thinks to himself it was not always this bad, I did love her once. He watches her lifeless body as he ponders this; he cannot take his eyes off of her, he believes he had no other choice; the choice he made tonight is too much to bear, he wonders if his pain is as profound as the pain he inflicted on her.

He carries her body to the backyard, where he has dug her grave. He goes back to the kitchen and picks up the flowers that she has picked for him, he cleans her gently and tosses the petals in around her, he screams. He screams for the pain he has caused her, for the beatings he forced her to endure, He takes one last look at her, and puts the gun to his mouth falling in beside her.

Once a dream, in the mist of reality she runs through the fields of flowers she had once picked for the man who murdered her. She stops to smell the most wonderful flower of all the lilies; she feels the breeze running through her hair, the bunny’s journey with her and the birds sing for her. The sun is warm on her neck and she smiles as she gathers her bouquet in a beautifully woven basket. Falling back on the soft white clouds she looks down from heaven. A single tear escapes her eye, this time a tear of joy.

© 2012 The Random Writings Of Me..Kates 

Elixir of Death


An elixir of crimson, mixed with pills of destitution



Wasting away, teardrops falling from my eye

Shallow breaths 


Eyes fluttering, 


Slowly 


Sinking 


Into


Sleep

An elixir - so resilient 


Successively running through my body

The sweetened aroma of lavender surrounds and incapacitates the room

Patience



Patience my friend


Soon

Close your eyes, sleep my darling


The pain will soon disappear and you will wake no more

My tears stop, my breath breaks, my eyes close


Infinitely

The red elixir of death asphyxiates my body



Forever

© 2012 The Random Writings Of Me..Kates

The Darkness of the Soul


Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever
You go, and will bring you back to this land: for I will not leave
You until I have done what I have promised you.
               Genesis 28.15

Falling from the heavens
Unto my hell below
Pain and sorrow obsessed my heart
Assaulting
My
Soul

The voices captivating my mind
Shattering in my ears
Tears streaming from my eyes
Nowhere
To
Go

Will it ever be enough
Control slipping through my fingertips
I never said I was perfect
It was never enough
 For
You

So many paths I have walked
Yet never seeming to right find the one
That leads
To
Happiness

Walking aimlessly towards the darkness
Further into the shadows
Of the past
I
Cannot
Escape

Lord knows I have tried
The tears I cannot escape
Falling
Down
My
Face

I pray to the heavens above
To end my suffering
Release me from this
Hell that
Invades
My
Soul   

The Lord is my Shepard I shall not want.
He makes me lay down in green pastures;
He leads me besides still waters;
He restores my soul.
He leads me in the right paths
For his name sake.
               Psalms 23.1-3

© 2012 The Random Writings Of Me..Kates