Leaving

When I was a child, I sat on the edge of a single bed and listened as my father told me how he was going on a business trip. He never came back. He was, in fact, moving out.

The nuclear family I had been born into died that day. The funeral was the day all of us kids were seated around a lawyer’s conference table when the divorce was final. They gave us odd lemon cream cookies. The sweet stale taste cemented that day in mind.

There is a lot more I don’t remember from those days. Trauma sometimes bestows the gift of memory lost. I don’t remember yelling at my mother blaming her for his absence. Or how things changed. One day they were just different.

I don’t remember even fragments of the first time I met Papa. Pictures remind me of the day that he married my mother and how he took me to college, all of my things packed in the back of his truck. He came to get me in the same truck after graduation and took me to Florida and a new life.

I was there the day he sold that truck. He was so happy that the man who brought it told him what his plans were. His beloved truck was going on to be a farm truck. The truck that had moved our family time and time again would be working gain.

Papa came into my life when I was 14 years old. He gave my mother back to me. He gave me another big brother in Eric. He gave me the family I lost in my parent’s divorce. I understood living with him after college that family life while scared isn’t easy and as he taught me what it was like to have a dad, I taught him what it was like having a daughter.

I was his daughter. My sister’s children his grandchildren and he adored them.

Papa died today in 2018. His life ending in Orlando, Florida surrounded by Momma, my brother Eric and myself. Three years and my heart doesn’t ache any less.

It aches even more for Momma who lost the love of her life. For my nieces and nephews who lost a grandfather loved them unconditionally.

Papa, I love you. Thank you for being my dad and healing parts of me that I didn’t know where broken until you were gone.

A Good Man Died

A good man died today, or maybe it was yesterday.

News of his passing just reached me today

A good man died

And in his honor I’m drinking some whiskey

Some sweet Jack that he would have liked

My heart weeps and my world quakes

But its foundations still hold firm

I may weep and I may wail

But my world has not been shattered.

My grief does sting , but it cannot, will not eclipse

That of those

Who held his heart their hands

Who lost their sun and moon today

To them and for them

I hold my glass up high

And weep still more tears

For grief, I cannot comprehend.

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I will miss you, Chris.  Be at peace, you are loved. You are remembered. 

The Good with the Bad

The day began with insomnia

drifted into lateness

and fell into despair

One found dead, the news feed reads

the reaper’s  prize

at last

sorrows grips friends

still other silent cheer the end of the road

two kids in a doctor’s office sick with the flu

 

two strangers cling to life

victims of happenstance

attended by the best

No news is good news or so the fellows say

No news is bad news worries the friends

beloved ones

Victory arrives late

lesson learned, acceptance obtained

a child born

new shoes,  credit extended ,

then end of an abusive relationship

 

No clever words need

or cliques expressed

Just another day

the good with the bad

the bad with good

perspective the only means of definition

 

 

Blinded

blinded by smoke

scored by the heat

nothing but the most bitter fruit

left to eat

nothing left but to fight

to fight

to die

and maybe then be heard

or be seen on CNN

and misunderstood

still better than

do nothin’

being the big man’s punk

and doing my time

in the oligarch’s machine

better to go out

with a stone in my hand

than dying in an attempt to live

the promised life

 

Sometimes I….

Sometimes I write bad poetry and sometimes I write stories that don’t make sense.

Sometimes I just write and write for hours in my head. Lately, I have been working really hard to set a schedule up for myself and it hasn’t been working really well.  I did good up until last Thursday and then I fell off the writing wagon last Thursday and didn’t get back to it until today. Writers must write and they have to write things that sometimes scare them and push the boundaries. Something that I haven’t done a lot of in my own writing. I have tried to stick to safe topics so as not to offend people especially the people I love.

I have tried to be a pillar of strength, but really feel most days like I am falling apart and the duct tape isn’t sticking anymore.  This past weekend, I looked back after a phone call from Momma and my sister, Tish, that I realized that my strength doesn’t come from being strong, but each and every time I got myself back up and kept going.

So I am back at it, but with a difference. I am going to write the stories I see around me. The ones that have been pleading with me to finish them. The ones that scare me.  I will be finishing my April Page A Day posts and then going back to work on next book along with other projects. I want to have it finished by the end of summer and begin the editing process.  There are two or three more books, I have notes for but I am going to focus on the one that began this journey.

 

Casting Off

I was a broken girl

tattered by the love you toss away

Used my scars and tears to build myself

Now

the past is gone and you still live there

calling of all my love obsession

no that’s right

and I would hate to miss quote you

all my love was just a delusion

a silly fantasy

nothing to cry to about

Just one more silly girl broken by your love

 

I was a broken girl

running from my heart ache

ran so much

ran straight into womanhood

left you behind

never really living

tell love found me begging

and I learn my to love myself

and say those magic words

taking my time rolling them off my tongue

 

No!

 

No!!

 

No!!!

 

They are so sweet to hear and

even sweeter to say

 

I was a broken girl

just a little thing cowering

from all the thorns you toss my way

twisted from my own need to be needed

Saying all the right words

but never understanding that my power lies

in my hips and lips

all fueled by

the soul that animates them

 

I am woman, rebuilt from all my heartbreaks

more than a lover, a thinker and action taker,

dancing through the rain of my own memories

splashing in every puddle and laughing all the way

knowing that when I stand up for myself

casting off the labels

casting off delusions

imposed or otherwise

I am the woman

I am meant to be

Friday the 13th and a Book is Born…

Something wicked this way comes… and my first novel, Blood Child, has been released.

It is a weird and very surreal thing to have a dream come true and at the same time not yet know if it will flower.

I hope you will enjoy my first book and all the ones to come.

It is available on Amazon  in both e-book and paperback formats.

Blood Child
Coverart by Steven Warrick

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And We Begin Again….

This month begins National Novel Writing month and I know that many folks are already feverish writing working on their novels.  I still have some minor things to finish up with Blood Child and she should be out by the end of the month, but while I am waiting I am going to be writing and joining the madness.

This blog was started on the advice of a dear friend as a way to introduce myself to the world as a writer and build an audience for my first novel, My Dragon Friday, which remains unfinished. Blood Child took over my brain and my life. Now it is time to return to Raelin Lewis and her world.  In keeping with the rules and guidelines, I will only count the words that I write this month.

Raelin’s story needed sometime to mature. When she was first conceived, my life was in chaos and her story took on some of that insanity. She was too much of me and not enough her own creature. I hope in the coming month to change that and allow her to tell her story, instead of one where my heart is breaking and writing is the only way to keep myself from crying. Raelin deserves more of my attention.

Word Count as of 11/02/14 ~ 1,686

Broken Beaches

The beach was broken.

There wasn’t much of a shore to explore

At least at first…

Further on the path

Around the bend

And through a mangrove forest

There was some sand for my toes.

And waves to rinse away

All the residue that has been clinging

To every step I take, weighing down

Thought, action and tainting feelings

I stood and laughed

Free

Cleansed the unvoiced anger

letting me breathe

for a time

unburdened.

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