A child by the willow sat
Gazing all around
The child by the willow spat
And banged and banged and threw his head
Upon the hard, dry ground.

A golden boy with curly hair
And eyes as green can be
The golden boy cried with despair
And shrieked and shrieked and threw his throat
Into the deep blue sea.

An inside waif with nerves outside
And voice that will not speak
The inside waif moved lips to try
And shook and shook and threw his hands
Around the gentle breeze.

A little Thomas took my hand
And pointed to the sky
The little Thomas watched the clouds
And tried and tried and threw himself
To bring them to his side.

This child lives in his only mind
And very much alone
He lives a life inside himself
And bangs and shrieks and shakes and tries
He pinches, bites and hits and cries
Realities ingrown.

But....

There are times my little man
Just grins and laughs and jumps and swings
He nuzzles, cuddles when I sing
And kisses, strokes my greying hair
I know I feel him very there
Looks deeply deep into my eyes
And smiles his lips so close to mine
I feel his breath and know his heart
I thank the world for sharing him with me.

They said it would not hurt, but they were lying.
I wonder if they thought it to be true.
But what I had of trust in me is dying.

I wonder if they heard my silent crying.
I wonder if they ever had a clue
They said it would not hurt, but they were lying.

To all my questions they just kept replying:
You know, my dear, the problem is just you.
And what I had of love in me is dying.

My eyes don’t cry no more, forever drying,
I wish my heart to follow, it is overdue.
They said it would not hurt, but they were lying.

I wish I could just stop to breathe, I’m sighing.
It seems my world and theirs are all askew.
And what I had of hope in me is dying.

Oh, if I had the strength to be defying!
Oh, if I just could say “You were not true!”
They said it would not hurt, but they were lying.
And what I had of ME in me is dying.

---

This is a villanelle. It is about a true story, not mine, but a woman's who has been sexually abused since she was 9. The abuse went on for almost 20 years. She may never know, but I wrote this for her, and for her story.

But for those who do insist
I must maintain
that just because I'm front to back
or stumble through a tree
and just because I laugh alone
or scream at the tv
and ladder up towards a cloud
to prick it till it rains.
It's my reality my friends.
I'm clearly not insane.

And what if I, because I choose,
wear nightgowns in the afternoon
and wander though the streets at night
and speak beloved to the moon
Does that make me too crazy for
the world to sing my song
Or is it just the safest place
for me to be belong?

And so whereas I gather trash
to decorate the space I love
It's painted green and safe and bliss
with lights aground and floor above
Does that preclude I am bizarre
and meant to stay away from you
Or is it just the safest place
for me to be bescrewed?

I know I fly throughout my dreams
I feel the wind beneath me flutter
I sail above chaotic messes
so to avoid the grubby clutter
Does that imply I'm too inept
and doomed to be outside
Or is it just the safest place
for me to be behide?

But for those who do insist
I must maintain
that just because I'm front to back
or stumble through a tree
and just because I laugh alone
or scream at the tv
and ladder upwards towards a cloud
to prick it till it rains.
It's my reality my friends.
I'm clearly not insane.

We were hardly more than children
That morning when we crept
Out of camp before the dawn
To walk along the lakeshore,
Faces lifted toward the sky
As the Perseids fell shining
Across the inky expanse above.

We didn’t touch, quite,
But I could feel your warmth
Close beside me as we
Leaned out over the bridge,
Laughing as we dropped pebbles
That disturbed the still surface
Of the dark water below.

Later we found a broken rock,
Its two halves joining perfectly
To create a rounded whole.
You said that maybe it was once
An ancient mountain’s very crest
That had crumbled to the shore,
And each holding half we said we’d
Keep them to remind us of that night.

When camp was over I went to
Your room to say goodbye
But you were gone already,
The room stripped bare but for
A single rock left lonesome on the desk.
Your roommate asked me why
The tears were in my eyes
But what could I have said?

I will clear them out,
The jar of olives that you kept

Just behind the mustard that was
Far too spicy for my palate.

And the bleu cheese dressing that
You used to toss the salad with

Before you served it even though
You knew I liked French better.

Here’s one more can of Mr. Pibb,
And some marshmallow Peeps that

You said you’d eat last Easter,
The barbecue sauce you liked so much

That I thought tasted like feet,
And the bright pink jar of pickled ginger

That you bought to go with sushi.
I never could stand the stuff.

It’s funny – I cleared the closets of you
Months ago, sorted through the stacks

Of papers you left on your desk
And threw your shampoo out,

But I couldn’t touch the fridge,
Wasn’t strong enough to put away

These remnants of your embodiment,
Fodder now for nothing but my wallowing.

But this morning I woke knowing that
I couldn’t hold you any longer

And it’s time I had some space.

The moon reflects on white-washed dunes
The sea gleams silver in the night
A voice drifts over, ancient tunes
Hummed by an immemorial wight.

A face, all wrinkled, green with moss
Peeks out of the abyssal sea
Its tune is heavy with old loss,
With pain, with longing and a plea.

The creature sings ’bout love long gone
A promise that was made in vain,
About a game where it’s the pawn
Where treason called a horrid bane.

A hint of stories far beyond
All mortal grasp or sympathy.
I cannot bear it - and I don’t,
I turn and run, I have to flee!

I leave the nightly dunes behind
get back into my lively flow.
The stories that the song entwined
Are gone now. I will never know.

Resplendence of sunlight, from you reflecting,
magnificent grandness, serenely projecting.
Gracefully veiling the darkness of night
as all traces of daytime concede and take flight.

Such elegant qualities so clearly revealed,
unapproachable splendour, harshness concealed.
I stretch out my hand to hold you tight
and all I take hold of is a fistful of night.

Unreachable moonlight far in the distance,
with radiant glory you reveal your existence
'til I witness your setting as a new day is dawning
and your glory dispels at the arrival of morning.

Farewell.

I sat quietly
by the little glass lake
and dreamed warmly
in the sun.

I sat still
by the water's edge
and waited excited
for the wind to blow
across the surface.

Water lilies
pink, yellow, white
delicate fairies
resting carelessly
accessories to the
tall, slight reeds
and brown rushes
just behind them.

I sat so still
by the little bay
and waited
for the breeze
I knew would come
for such were
the clouds that day.

And then
as though in answer
leftover fall leaves
began to rustle slightly
and the glass pond
quivered
waiting.

Water lilies, reeds and rushes
motion to wind
small waves lapping
against the shore
and the dance on the lake
had begun.

Ballet of colour
glistening in the light.
And the reeds making music
with the rushes.
Trees tops bowing
woodwind left and to the right.
Whirling gusts
coming harder, harder
until soon, the little lake
was on fire.

The crescendo, intense
brought tears to me
I lay down quietly
and wavered for a moment
above the fresh green grass
Fulfilled again, oh again
by the strength
by the artistry
of the wind.

The gusts soon calmed
The air stilled
Lilies and reeds and rushes
drained.
Trees straight
Waves to swells
then quivering.
And as suddenly
as it had begun
it had passed
and the little lake
once again
glass.

The last time around we
watched the sky and waited,
knowing we were likely
out of the danger zone
but feeling restless anyway -
winds can change, you know.

The sunset was too orange.
The smoldering mountains
bore down on our hearts,
the northern sky was dark,
the acrid air caught in the
backs of our throats and
made every word sting as we
prayed for the winds to die,
for the heat to break,
for containment.

We knew not to bother
praying for rain in
southern California.

When I left that day
ash lay like snow
on my windshield.
It caught in the grass,
and collected in
corners where it had
blown into drifts.

Today I wonder if
the ash will fall again.
The sky glows red as
miles away, homes burn.

Ode to thee, o Horse of mine,
Thou art God's creature most divine.
Thy eyes so gentle bring me peace,
With thee alone I am at ease.

Among all others thou art unique,
And to me thou dost speak
Words of friendship and of love,
Thou art a gift from Heav'n above.

Riding thee in fields of green
Is pure pleasure; it doth seem
That across the fields we fly
Underneath a cloudless sky.

Gallop, canter, then we trot,
The sun has set, and we must stop.
I lead thee home by starry light
And whisper in thine ear "Good Night."