My husband's poetry

Category: trauma

  • the weight of living

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    1. Because they were loved and were loving Because they were needed and were needy Because they did not want to be misunderstood 2. Because they would not submit, they stayed, as long, as they could. Eventually the weight of living became too much They knew they could not wait long enough For the loving…

  • The burnishing

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    “My first counsel is this, possess a pure, kind and radiant heart” (Baha’u’llah) crow in woods torments squirrel at bird feeder neither of them will quit neither of them will win trauma of growing up love and hate relationships do not go away there is no finish line no final tabulation sum of victory and…

  • Up early

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    4 am, up early, I have things to do before I drive a friend to breakfast, help him get in an out of his wheelchair so he may see old friends, visit old haunts and see the waitresses he used to flirt with and who flirted back. I wish I could do more; I wish…

  • Voices

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    When I was a child my conscience would talk in my father’s voice I didn’t recognize self-hate as my own Now I argue with the voices, take ownership and try to change 4-15-25

  • Reading the news

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    some days I feel like I may survive the calamity, if those who want to heal me would use love, instead of lacerating my arms and bleeding the world’s sickness from my veins 4-3-25

  • Childhood memories

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    They say a pruned tree bears more fruit. Did the tree ask to be more fruitful? Did it willingly submit? I have been pruned severely, whole limbs lobbed off, abandoned on a orchard floor. Some of my own choosing, some not. If I come for you with my pruning hook, tell me to shut up…

  • Two lifetimes ago

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    two lifetimes ago, returning from a lonely hike In mushroom mountains sat under a bush, light rain falling in the yard of a church I did not attend Johnny Cash sang about Sunday morning coming down on the radio of an idling car I left my body unburied, never returned and found a new one…

  • Mini-ice-age

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , ,

    (The prompt for a monthly workshop I host was ‘Sediment’. I don’t often do rhyming poems, but as I wrote my poem several rhymes appeared naturally so I went ahead and made the rhyming scheme uniform.) Beneath the sky As ancient whispers blow cold, Glaciogenic breaths take hold, Mountains carved with frozen scars, Etched by…