Dangling on a Hook‎ > ‎Poetry‎ > ‎

Beginning to Twist




















I don't know about you but…

I'm Uncomfortable with Tacit Agreement

I told (fill in the blank)

Told my (fill in the blank)

"I don't know what it means when you wink at me.

Stop winking at me!"

I said.




Eventually it stopped




My (fill in the blank) then told me

(fill in the blank) told me

Told me my language was unacceptable

Told me things had changed

Told me the past 

Did

not

exist



????



Told me 


Told me I need only see their vision

Told me I need see only their future


And then everything would be OK




E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g would be OK?




Everything would be wonDERful!



This was told to me

Great concern

Even anguish on the face of

(fill in the blank)

. . .




I found (fill in the blank)
hard to believe


;-)








I Have Enough Friends

I'm on a quest.
A dream.
A trip.
Searching.
And
As a consequence.
Too much is happening in my life.
Too much unknown.
Too much fear.
Too much pain.
Too much me.
So.
I've diverted my quest.
Just for a while.
Just for a pause.
I've diverted my quest just for a brief interval.
To another.

My diversion quest.
The lull quest.
The short gap quest.
The quest within a quest is:

To get blind drunk.

I tell my friends this I need.
I tell my friends this I need to do however.
This I need to do however it requires someone willing to hold my hair
Whilst I throw up in the toilet.

A friend who does this for another.
A friend who holds your hair.
A friend who holds your hair whilst you throw up in the toilet,
This is a friend I need.

My friends laugh.

Not much of a drinker I explain to my friends:
I have seen the damage caused by alcohol.
Up close.
And I fear.
I tell my friends of my hatred and my pity for my father.
A mean drunk.
Leaning over my bed breathing dragon fumes into my itty bitty baby face.
And the fear I had of him and of and for my mother.

I tell my friends of past lives.
And stomach churning fear.
I hear the car outside,
3:00 a.m.
And know He's home.
Raging.
Mumbling. Crashing through the forest.
And somehow I know I'll be the cause of it all.
The one to blame.
The one at fault.
The one who's wrong.
Wrong.
Very wrong.
Wrong.
I tell my friends I fear.
I fear if I'm not careful.
I fear if I don't think
I too will feel rage.
And that's a problem.
That's a problem because I know
I'm the one to blame
And thus
The rage would be all mine

And so I fear
And I need a friend.
A friend who will provide.
A friend who will hold my hair whilst I throw up in the toilet.

My friends listen.

A friend.
An old friend.
A friend who knows too
A little
Has offered to provide.

I didn't think it would be so hard for anyone to get blind drunk but apparently
It is.

My diversion quest has been going on now for three weeks.

A new friend offered to provide, but other obligations intruded, and then couldn't.
A good friend offered to provide, but timing didn't permit.
A semi-friend offered to provide, but there were stipulations and provisos.
Too many to accept.
A dear friend offered to provide, but that friend,
That friend too has fears, and so
I could not allow.

My friends try.

My provider friend is coming from far away.
Across miles.
Across time.
I explained my problem.
My diversion quest, to my friend
And my friend made decision.
I was instructed to buy two cases of beer and a bottle of wine.
I would be reimbursed.
"This I can provide", said my friend.

My friends provide.

Today I am on count-down.
Three days then I can get blind drunk.
I can't get blind drunk unless I have a friend.
A friend who will hold my hair whilst I throw up in the toilet.

When asked "Why?", by my friends,
"Why do this?
Don't you remember hangovers?
Don't you remember bile?
Don't you remember stiff limbs.
The agony.
The pain.
The next day?
Don't you remember shaking your head, vowing,
Never,
Never,
Never again?"
And I say "Yes.
Yes, I do remember.
But.
I need to be released.
I need to be diverted for awhile.
I need to forget.
I need to get blind drunk.
And
To get blind drunk I need a friend.
A true friend.
A friend who will hold my hair.
A friend who will hold my hair whilst I throw up in the toilet."

My friends have sad smiles.

And after.
After I've been blind drunk.
After I've been blind drunk and diverted.
After I've been blind drunk and not me for a few hours.
After I've thrown up in the toilet, my hair held by my friend.
After.
When the head is large and the pain is all consuming,
My friend.
The friend who provided.
The friend who made decision.
The friend who held my hair.
The friend who held my hair whilst I threw up in the toilet.
After.
My friend will take me to the water.
To the sun.
And let me lie.
Let me lie quiet.
Very small.
Very quiet.
And watch.
This too my friend will provide.

My friends watch.

My friend will watch.
Watch as the true pain comes back.
Watch until the me that is I returns.
Watch.
As I Lie quiet.
Very small.
And then.
And then my friend.
And then my friend who held my hair.
My friend that held my hair whilst I threw up in the toilet.
My friend who watched me after.
After I lay in the sun.
After the me that is I and not them has returned.
After.
My friend will love me,
Goodbye.

My friends say goodbye.


Remembered from a Past that Didn't Be


Squirrel Cove

Anchored
The sun is shining
It's warm 
But not summer
There are no other boats

I'm standing on the back deck of a sailboat
My companion is sitting on a chair
The chair is tipped back 
He's laughing
He has a can of beer in his hand


I look around and see a rope swing on the beach 
Flocks of birds
A small cabin off in the distance
Smoke rising from its chimney

I can hear the creek
I can hear the bird

I dive off the boat
A perfect swan dive
I'm buck-naked


I'm alone in a dark room
There's a big window in the room 
I can see out into the night sky
The moon is huge
My children are safe

"Did you get my message?" propels me to the phone
I pick up the receiver
And dial

A small child and I are walking down a dirt road
I can see only our backs
I'm wearing a long patchwork skirt and a sweater
It's windy but it's not cold
The child is running a bit
Happy
We're laughing

There's a cabin behind us with a porch in the front
It's rural, forest, dirt road
Leaning up against a post of the cabin is a man with dark hair
He too is laughing
He too is happy
His arms are crossed over his chest
He's watching us







An End To A Means



It's the: the only thing that is relevant;
is me "thing",
and the lure of providing to "that".

If you're in the right place
~ in time and space ~
you don't have to follow the rules ~
they just are.
The rules; they're not a means to an end,
they're an end to a means.

Life and time, circumstance and fate;
easy to see the flow ~
after.

Yet.

Hard to see the flow when you're caught.
Hard to see in the swirls and eddies;
of now.
Hard to remember,
when you've weather the storm,
made it through,
managed to survive;
gone past the whirlpool,
the rapids,
the vortex,
then.
Then peace slams down;
setting it's neat cover of calm on the past.

There you are: heart beating,
breath coming quick and strong,
chest heaving,
eyes glazed,
looking around,
seeking out witnesses.

I've survived.
I've survived.
Did you see?
I survived.









I Know Enough

    I'm working on getting what I know right.



Stop pushing me into an endless quest.

   
Never enough.




I have enough.









Just Longing

He stood in my dining room
Looked down into my face

Hands on my shoulders
Distanced pain in his eyes

And told me he was looking

Told me he was looking for some

One

Who would forgive?

No guile
No guilt
Just longing










Baby Boy

I keep wanting to write about Baby Boy,
but for now I'll talk about the Farkle Family.

The Farkle Family was, I think, an old radio program.
There was Fred Farkle and his lovely wife Fannie.
There were their cute adorable precocious children,
Fiona, Flower, Ferdinand and I suppose, Baby Boy.

The Farkle family was delightful;
slightly dotty, but close and caring
and they were always there
for each other.

The Farkle Family had various madcap adventures that always turned out all right,
and in the end it was always the Farkle Family;
one for all and all for one.

Baby Boy.

Baby Boy was bum fucked when he was 5.
Baby Boy was sniffing glue when he was 8.
Baby Boy was on the streets, selling his bottom when he was 12.
Baby Boy Farkle kept trying to have fun, kept trying to be adorable, but.
Wha'da'ya do with a Baby Boy. Who do you blame?
Do you blame Baby Boy's Mom, taught not to take care?
How about Baby Boy's Dad, lost in a world that guaranteed not survival,
but something seriously different.
Let's blame the system that Baby Boy got tangled in?
Baby Boy's a number
in the middle of a massive data sheet
filled with other numbers.
Not alone.

"Come home Baby Boy." I kept saying. "
Come home.
We'll change your name to Fancy or Free
and start all over again.









Carry the Pain

You just leave that door
through which,
they may walk
open

and wait,
that long while


Create a way through,
always

and wait,
that long while










Here We Go Again, One More
 Time,
Dangling from a Hook



I know people get wrong perceptions in their heads

So I know my perceptions might be wrong

But



I get chastised from others for ending some sentences in
 but


But


To me the But

Is obvious


Need not be said


But



I know people get wrong perceptions in their heads

So I know my perceptions might be wrong

But



I'm me

Alone within me


And without input from others

I'm merely









Dangling

from

a

Hook






































Includes:
Do You Know?
Redemption
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