I awake this day with only one thought on my mind.
One purpose, one objective,
to join you on one more journey.
This time, I feel no comfort in your arms.
I am confused.
My reality has been shattered.
Our love has been violated
by persons who think
they know what is best for me.
Lady, they have taken you from me
I lie alone on clean white sheets
in a place I do not know,
a place I do not care for.
Within the perfect storm of my thoughts
the wind gusts and I feel the dampness on my cheeks.
Eric was raised in an upper middle class family and they lived in the heights. To most he would be considered privileged in that he never wanted for anything. His parents had good jobs that provided sufficient income to support a family vacation to North America each year, the desired gifts and purchases for birthdays and Christmas in addition to a well-stocked pantry, bar and pocket for each of the residents in the household. As said before, he lacked for nothing.
To those who viewed this well-educated, business oriented family it would be expected that the order and satisfaction perceived would be translated to confidence and happiness. It was quite the contrary. The fly in the ointment was Eric.
Eric was a non-conformist in every sense of the word. He dressed differently, ate only when he was hunger, hated family dinners and despised the elaborate gatherings with the pompous family members laughing and telling stories whilst patting him on the back telling him how big he had grown. He hated them, he hated all of them.
His loathing did little for his sociability at school. He barely passed his tests as a result of not caring, not paying attention, thinking the teachers were absolute morons and having no interest in homework, assignments or promotional exams. Eric wanted to be rid of it all and he did try to achieve just that.
On Eric’s eighteenth birthday he awoke to a morning, just like any other. His mother was prattling in the kitchen and his younger sister was singing at the top of her voice, out of tune with the music she constantly listened to that was playing on her I-touch. Her cat-a-howling was becoming unbearable so he rushed through his door, stormed down the stairs to the kitchen, yanked the head phones from her bobbing head and threw the music device across the room to smash against the wall. What he hadn’t realised in his fury was that the lead cord of the headphones had caught in the young girl’s earring and the force of propulsion towards the wall ripped the sleeper from her ear leaving a nasty tear and blood everywhere.
Her screams were deafening. His mother turned around from the stove and immediately dropped the frying pan, with the partially cooked scrambled eggs, all over the floor. She ran to his sister and tried to put pressure on her ear with the dish towel. Eric’s father came hurriedly down the stairs and pushed Eric out of the way. He was furious. When he saw what had happened he turned to his son and slapped him hard in the face. The youngster’s teeth reverberated and he tasted his own blood.
“Get out of here!” his father bellowed, “Look what you have done. I don’t want to ever see your face again you good for nothing piece of shit! GET OUT!”
Eric grabbed his haversack and ran out the door. He hopped on his racer and pushed as hard as his legs would go to get as far away as he could. Unfortunately, living on a small island, far is still pretty close.
He knew he should have stayed and help his little sis but he always hated how is father treated him. He never listened, the bastard! “I’ll show him now. I won’t go back. No I won’t!” he yelled to no one in particular.
The rains started to drizzle and the road became shiny and slippery. He was unsure where he was, but the streets became narrower.
He always tried to avoid rain. For as long as he could remember he sheltered from the rain. “The good thing about the rain,” he mused, “was the smell it left behind.” His olfactory association was that of freshness, damp wet earth: this comforted him in a strange way.
He peered into the distance, to the right side of the street and saw two youths who should probably be at school, leaning against a broken down chattel. He approached them cautiously. This was the only building that provided any shelter as the raindrops were pounding now and he was getting soaked. He could feel his socks expanding in his new high tops.
The boys looked at each other and then at this high brown dude who wanted to scotch in their space. As young ones would do, they metaphorically displayed their feathers, but after exchanging names, they helped Eric position the bicycle so it wouldn’t be left in the gutter in front of the lot.
They sat in silence after that. The wind was picking up and started driving the rain towards them. The taller of the two boys, who happened to be the skinniest with very tiny baby-like teeth, suggested they find a way to get inside. They followed him and found themselves in a dark unkempt space with broken furniture, empty Styrofoam food containers, beer bottles and cans strewn on the floor. The room smelt of urine and cotton candy. A sickly sweet scent that made Eric want to vomit.
There was a window to the rear that was partially boarded and allowed some light to filter through not unlike spotlights on the performer who is centre stage. Tallboy crouched on his haunches and proceeded to open the small green drawstring canvas bag he had previously slung over his shoulder. He pulled out an old rusty Altoids tin and looked in the direction of his partner.
“You want a hit bro?” he smirked.
Shortman grinned displaying teeth not much bigger than Tallboy’s but decidedly more yellow.
“Yea big man, let’s roll,” he grunted and squatted on his ample thighs.
Eric drew closer, entranced by the movements of this duet. The care with which they placed the slim papers on their knees and sprinkled the pinch of dried pungent vegetable matter along the crease. Tallboy’s forehead was furled as if he was performing the most intricate of experiments. He then extended his hand to his partner who seemed to instinctively know what to do without a word being passed between them. A Ziploc bag, the smallest Eric had ever seen, was ceremoniously offered and Tallboy took a small pinch of the white substance and placed it on the bed of what looked like dried blossoms and sticks. “We gonna be flying now!”
Eric blinked his eyes furiously, was he day dreaming again? No, it was those memories of his first time. These had returned to him in a flurry this day as the rain again pelted on the window of this small room he had called home for the past six weeks. He peered through the glass pane, now frosty with the condensation of his breath; he could see in the distance a turbulent ocean.
The Centre was located on a picturesque cliff and presented an ironic juxtaposition of sanctuary and calm against the rough waters that beat against the rocky ledge on a daily basis. Eric could more relate to the turbulence than the calm. He had what seemed like forever to think and contemplate in this place. He had made his decision.
I can’t stay here!
I must go!
Away from this hell hole they call a sanctuary.
I leave now,
knowing that I shall never return.
I leave now,
for better or for worse.
I know not where I am going
but I know I will arrive
where
I can find me.
It took some doing but he avoided the burly orderly who sat at the front entrance of the Centre and he made his way across the garden beds, over the low fence and down the northern side of the property. He knew where he needed to be. He knew who he needed to be with.
Mother, I am here.
I stand before you now in this place.
Green and mossy, dark yet beautiful,
beneath me lie sharp craggy rocks,
caressed and teased by cerulean waters
crashing on the verticals.
Higher and higher you
baptise me with tingling sprays.
Mother,
I need you, I bow before you.
Resplendent in your glory
you cry for me, your child.
I feel your tears
settling like cool soothing droplets
on my hot and trembling face.
I reach for you!
Come touch me!
Feel my being as I grip the edge
of this cracked and eroded space.
I wish for serenity and solace.
Envelop me in your turbulence.
Make me forget my pain.
Make me remember my joy.
Eric stood at the edge of the cliff for what seemed like an eternity. The intensity of the rains had lessened a bit but the water was still drenching his already sodden shirt. This time he didn’t care. This time he was searching for something else, something that was by far more important than his discomfort. He wanted peace. He could not continue living this nightmare. It must end.
Mother,
remove the barrier between us.
Come for me and
hasten me to your depths.
Swaddle me and
ease my Soul.
Eric moved closer to the edge. If he leaned over just a bit, he could make out the dark jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. He tried to take another step forward, but his legs would not budge despite the pummelling wind. His body behaved like a bobbing Tahitian dancing doll the taxi-men in the village place on their dashboards. Something was wrong.
The rains intensified just a little, the wind was now singing, pushing him, whispering, moaning….
Are you telling me
that your beauty is not to be tarnished
by my selfish yearning
to exit this world?
Another body to float, support and carry
on your white water tops and tides.
Turn your back on me then.
You were my friend.
You bathed me when no one else would.
You fed me when no one else could.
The rains suddenly stopped. The wind instantly died. Grey clouds parted and a sliver of light extending from sky to the water’s surface appeared, disappeared and then, became a rainbow. Eric shivered,
Mother,
I am afraid,
I am petrified.
He knew what he had to do. Eric dropped to his knees and wrapped his trembling arms around his chest. He was crying, sobbing uncontrollably.
I will take your advice
and listen.
I will open my eyes
and lift my head
as I see you reflected in that which is above me.
Eric heard hurried footsteps behind him, voices raised, concerned, yelling now “There he is!”
Before they reached him, Eric gazed out to the ocean one last time. The sky was brightening now. He smiled.
Life to have, life to hold,
My life.
Red A Poem by Cher Corbin
red ribbons
red ribbons
tie kinky brown hair
pixies
ponytails
bobby socks
baby dolls
baskets and bears
cute chubby cherub cheeks
crease with laughter and tears
now blossoms and blooms
as sweet innocence disappears
barbie dolls
glitter and lip gloss
create fashion with flair
white velvet sashes
red bandeaus in hair
strewn over the floor
beads
baubles and glue
this passion for life
adolescence rings true
words of wisdom cut short
swift back chat to the keeper
just pushing the envelope
no fear of grim reaper
burning red in the face
spitting vicious retorts
respects no one's space
in this dangerous sport
refusing to listen
to lessons
to pleas
protecting the wicket
batting close to the knees
on a reckless journey
all diva’d and bleached
will bring forth regrets
this is constantly preached
the pleasures of self
consume and provide
the escape and the daring
no protection
just ride
red seas return monthly
expressed sighs of relief
just a pause in the passion
a menstrual brief
resuming the patterns
the dances
the dates
the skimpy red dresses
those killer heels quake
but something goes wrong
the fun starts to wane
red fire balls pelt
bring abdominal pain
the rumors you hear
the whispers
the taunts
the friends you once had
stay clear of old haunts
your favorite colour
now symbolic of pain
embarrassment and suffering
your family’s disdain
you thought you were smart
all clever and sweet
now all that is left
are the tears that you weep
red ribbons
red ribbons
no longer tie hair
the colour of passion
of vanity fair
this satin red ribbon
blood colour of life
will cut a new path
immune to the knife
wrapped tightly this virus
looped awareness is found
red ribbons now smaller
on chests pinned and sound
the colours of red
pink
burgundy
magenta too
are now all absorbed
in a pale deathly hue
red ribbons
red ribbons
if only we could
return to a life
once vibrant and pure
a dream
a desire
no lanterns to rub
just regrets and reminders
of red ribbons we loved
Not Me A Poem by Graham Bannister
Sitting Alone
Staring out to sea, is it the horizon he watches?
The sun how it sets?
He sits and he stares with a look in his eye.
A look so sad, so alone, just staring out to sea.
‘Are you ok?” I ask slowly moving by his side
He beckons me to sit on the sand a while, as he stares out to sea
Not at me.
He’s an elderly man, on a vacation he had planned
Months ago with his wife, the love of his life
She too loves to sit and stare at the sea
It’s their anniversary, fifty years of wedded bliss
She loves jewels he says, now holding an ornate box in his hand
Gently and lovingly he caresses it, as he stares out to sea
Not at me
From far away they came, running from the cold
To the island of paradise where the sunset is gold
He looks at the box a smile on his face
Staring out to sea
Not at me
He smiles ever so slight
for that second as the golden ball sets
He squeezes the box and on the horizon the green light flashes
He opens it gently and in the waves, spreads her ashes.
A tear down his cheek, staring out to sea
Not at me
Caught A Story by Carol Mitchell
Lauren was nervous and it showed. In fact, it radiated from her body and made her two young children so agitate
d and restless that one hour after their bed time they were still like jack-in-the boxes refusing all of her attempts to get them into bed.
“But Mommy …” they protested as she insisted that it was too late for another bedtime story. Usually it was never too late for a book on the weekend, but tonight was different. She needed them in bed and fast asleep so that she would have time to prepare the house and herself for her visitor. She kissed the children good night, turned on the fan and started to leave.
“When is Daddy coming back?” her daughter asked, her voice full of longing. Lauren felt a stab of guilt and wished that she still felt that desire to have her husband home.
“He’ll be back from his trip in two days, honey, and I promise to read to you tomorrow,” she responded over her shoulder as she closed their door and headed to her bathroom.
She sat on the toilet and dropped her head into her hands.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry” she muttered to herself over and over. The last thing she needed tonight was to think about John. She thought of the parting shot that he gave before leaving for this trip three weeks ago. She had been pleading with him to explain why he was so distant. He had given a sigh of gentle exasperation and spoke as one would speak to a persistent child.
“You are overreacting. We’ve just grown apart. It happens. We have to stay together for the congregation … and the children,” he added almost like a footnote. “If we give each other the space we need, we can both be happy.”
St. Somewhere Journal, July 2013 Page 4