Forsaken

My father's mother Anna on the right, with her younger sister Socorro

Daddy, Daddy, pray, who are you?

My savior that I thought I knew.

In mother's arms you could not stay

She gave you life, gave you away

On her own birthday you came to be

She kissed you softly, set you free.

Of shame and guilt she carried deep

A child that she couldn't keep.

Upon your death, what did you find?

Her face of love, like yours, like mine?

My Daddy and me

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Chahta Spirit

 

Lucinda Hampton Burke, my Great Great Grandmother

My people walked on dead men's tracks

With bundles of betrayal on their backs

Forced to this land, harsh and unknown

In the dusty dark plains, they made their homes,

Braced against bitter terse winds

Dignified Indigenous begin again.

Steel grey skeletons of timber stands

Rolling green and jagged lands

Past wrongs cannot be right

Survive, overcome, yet live to fight!

The seasons pass, and time wears away

The green prairie grasses bend to pray

Creeks run high and hopes hang low

Broken towns filled with rotting homes

Weathered barns and rundown farms

Rez cars and cowboy bars.

Black walnut, red cedar, and evergreen pines

Sing songs of our ancestors' joyous times.

Shining brightly under Father Sun

Our Chahta Spirit carries on.

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Driving On a Road

I can't count the times I've crossed the Continental Divide. The Rocky Mountains, the Lincoln Highway, the New Mexico desert . . . The expanse of the Canyons of the Ancients is as large as my lonesomeness. Driving, but there are no destinations. There are only places to pass through on my way to somewhere that no longer exists. My only destination is the road.

I count the towns as they go by. I give way to the rise and fall of the asphalt. My mind wanders while my foot presses the gas, hands on the wheel, rain on the windshield, tears in my eyes. I miss a sense of belonging. No matter how far I go I can never find my way home again. I have no home to return to. My only home is the road which I'm damned to wander.

We are all on a road. Each on a journey seeking temporary comforts, momentary peace, slivers of serenity, connection, belonging. You are rushing through your day. I am driving on a road.

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The Poison of Euphoric Freedom

Cracking the concrete around my heart

Oozing seepage of spoiled desire,

The golden striped trail

Pulls with a fire.

Cocaine mornings, a bruised soul longing

To be fed by an asphalt diet of miles

Fill me with landscapes

Twists and trials.

Tacos and sunsets, truck stops, hotels,

Clean, white sheets and open horizons

Intoxicating as hot bourbon

Wanderlust; the sweetest poison.

My journey, insatiable and satisfying in splendid moments of euphoric freedom.

I am destined to wander this life with the sweetest addiction; travel.

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Illusion of Division

Sparkling flames toss dancing shadows
Crackling stars glisten high
Pressing darkness gives illusion
Of sun succumbing to the night

And in the starlight I can see you
You are the darkness, I am the sun
Within the firelight I can be you
Because we all are made of one

You knew me long before I met you
When you exhaled my lonely sigh
My song you sang from deep within you
Your tear slipped from mine own eye

No single part in singularity
No individual of the whole
You and I are strung together
By golden thread connecting all

Lightening born from earthen solid
Shatters Spring's tempestuous sky
I am the bird, you are the beetle
Your last breath was my first cry

We are the same, we are the every
To each, to all belong the sum
Within the one, correspondent
As flames and darkness are but one

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A poem from my broken part

I am
Insignificant.
Broken, battered,
Rubbish tossed,
Isolated, alone.
On a highway,
On rolling wheels,
I am free.
Isolation abolished.
Connection to Infinity.
Pain released.
But in our bed
Ice. Ice cold
Hard slab of
Emptiness
I am useless
When I am empty
Nothing to give
Valueless
Abandon the rubbish
That I am.

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Meditation Of My Two Wheels

I long for strange roads
And to find myself
In the unfamiliar

For in the familiar
I hold, yet I find
Those things I already know

I long for strange faces
Sharing their own truth
Their roads I shan't travel

Roads that serve their purpose
Long roads of wisdom
I wish to bring inside

I ache for long roads
Black sparkles dancing
Droning, groaning asphalt

No destination other
Than the road itself
Deliver me nowhere

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Family Words

Age 3, second from the left

Stop talking.
Stop your babbling.
No one wants to hear you!
SHUT UP!

No one likes you.
You're so stupid.
What are you saying?
SHUT UP!

What is wrong with you?
No one can stand you.
We don't want you here!
SHUT UP!

*******

I want a voice.
Only to be heard.
Listen to me!
PLEASE!
Don't shut me up.

(Writing has become the voice I didn't have as a child. Thank you for reading.)

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The Older I Get

The older I get
The less I want people
The more I live in my mind
The less on the outside
The less I seek relationships
With anyone

Maybe because I don't trust
Because I've learned more
Because I'm finally filled up inside
Filled with their lies and bullshit
Filled with my own self worth and love
Finally

Maybe I don't need their baggage
Their problems
Because I have enough of my own
My own baggage and bullshit
And the lies I tell myself
About self worth and love

The older I get
The more I am burdened with baggage
That builds up along the road
The less I can carry
The less I'll tolerate
The less effort I'll give

The older I get
The more I want to be alone
In a desert
In a shack
Out of sight
Out of touch
Gone

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Broken Body

I am lost, set adrift. I am betrayed by my broken body.

I have plans. . . things to do. Everything halts.

Once again I scream in an emergency room from agonizing pain. My body breaks but my mind isn't ready to stop. My mind had things to do. My mind wants more.

Screaming and tears brings me to my knees, stopping all forward progress. I'm crushed to watch the rest of the world go on without me as I lay prisoner to my own failing body once again.

Piteous, vulnerable, broken. The bondage of weakness clamps down upon me. Plans wither and die.

Rest and heal this broken vessel in hopes to start again.

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Visiting Hell

Prison City
Barbed wire words
Cement blocks of feet
Frozen solid

Burning sidewalks
Fiery stares
Longing hearts of pain
Deadlocked

Suffocated love
Anguishing, languishing
That child
This child
Mine

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If Marriage Were a Motorcycle

We came into the curve too quick
Road of scattered gravel was slick
Spring rains had once poured
Such dangers we ignored
Until the rear tire started to kick

The high side came as a surprise
I couldn't believe my eyes
We came in too hot
Perhaps we forgot
This risk comes with such a high price

We landed apart roadside
Ashamed, you went to hide
Covered in blood
I laid in the mud
And screamed, shouted and cried

Neither picked up the bike
I chose to take a hike
Left you alone
To face the unknown
Behaving quite childlike

We knew coming together was key
The end it needn't be
Picked up the parts
Of our broken hearts
And pieced back the shattered debris

So we'll turn the key again
Take the lesson from where we've been
Learn what it showed
Look to the new road
And from the crash begin again

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Your Black Existence

The infinite hole
That was your soul
Inhales
All light around
Without a sound
To break within
Your existence.

Unsatisfied
The sorrow you hide
Rapes
Every soul
You'll ever know
To die within
Your existence.

The cumbersome black
Of all you lack
Bankrupts
The whole
Of humanity
To die due to
Your existence.

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Actor

I am nobody.
I am not real.
I am an actor in the reruns you chose to fill the role of your past.
You don't know my real name, my real pain, my real love.
I go unheard as you read the script of your play.
You see the scene in your mind; beginning, conflict. . . complications, unrest. . .
The play never works out quite right.
There is no final act, no resolution.
The actors don't know their lines, their marks, their cues.
My words, my words are tattered by the screaming voices of your past.
My love is fragmented through a tornado.
Our life is only a repeat.
Same channel, same story, same time.
Repeat the shame, worthlessness, guilt, sorrow, abandonment, pain, loss, FEAR.
Emotions we both grudging drag from day to day, place to place.
We hate the baggage.
I beg to be heard by ears filled with old chants of yesterdays.
You can't be loved.
I want to give to you a new life filled with joy, love, reality, passion.
Our passion fuels the flames of shouting and tears.
We press hurtful cries from lips rather than kisses.
The script's lines hang in the air twisting, gnarled.
Cut!
Start from the top.
You stand in love's doorway and look backwards, behind you, inside you.
You long for love as much as I want to give it to you.
I haven't the ability to stop the play, to quit the role, unless I go.
I will not quit.
You deserve my love.
I shout, beg, cry my love, my compassion, my empathy, my sorrow, my desire for you.
You can't feel me.
I am not heard.
I am nobody.
I am not real to you.

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Amnesia

Amnesia would be welcome,
To come over me,
To recreate me,
To bliss me.

If I could ride away from
Time and schedules,
Expectations and demands,
Requests and guilt,
Money and trappings,
Clothing and coverups,
Yesterday and the stories,
There would be truth.

Perfection is truth.

I want to swallow morning sun,
Bask in river waters,
Roll upon two-wheeled asphalt trails,
Touch a buffalo on his nose and
Pray at his the hooves of his awesomeness,
Watch a tornado thunder by and
Lie under Jupiter with an open heart.

My soul soars every moment,
If I choose a limitlessness life,
Each second without a second hand,
No appointment to keep,
No person awaiting my arrival.
I am able to walk into truth.
I see her eyes beckoning me enter.

Amnesia would be freedom.

To wander empty prairies,
Roam among the buffalo,
Clothed in daisies,
Warmth from the high sun,
Darkening my shoulder skin.

No etiquette nor rules,
No burdens nor chores,
But to live now;
To breathe.

Let me forget how I came,
How I have become, whom I have become.
Can I not just become again?

Amnesia, pour across my dry path,
Renewing my spirit.

Grateful for the days of life I've walked,
In this name I've grown into
This name I've become.

Oh, but to embrace the freedom of amnesia,
To drop the clock,
And guilt
And expectations.

Oh, to be new again.

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I Love

I Love. . .

The colors of a sunset in Albuquerque, NM.

Walking in Manhattan on a Saturday afternoon in August.

Red Velvet cupcakes with a dollop of frosting on top.

A sip of smooth bourbon as it warms my chest going down.

Crisp Ginger Snaps.

Lavendar lotion at bedtime.

The desert after a rain storm.

A very large sirloin steak, medium rare.

The view from the Laurel Street Bridge of the city lights of Downtown San Diego as the sun sets.

The feel of my throttle pulled back relentlessly.

Shopping in thrift stores.

Poetry.

The feel of real fur on my shoulders, especially mink.

Soft socks and my Hello Kitty Blanket.

Campbells Turkey Vegetable Soup.

Chai Tea with cardamom and honey.

Plays by Tennessee Williams and Screenplays by Billy Wilder

My husband's smile, his crooked teeth and the tips of his fingers.

Riding my motorcycle with wild abandon, laughing madly, for just a moment or two.

That my grandniece climbs on my motorcycle to ride it like it's her own, even though she isn't quite 2- years-old yet.

Jimi Hendrix lyrics and Elizabeth Barret Brownings' poems.

Jupiter by Holst.

The name Prudence.

The smell of my grandson's skin.

The sound of fiddles and banjos on the sidewalk in Knoxville, TN.

Holding my daughter when she comes to me for comfort.

Wearing turquoise, diamonds, sapphires, pearls, white gold and silver.

The laughter in my niece's home of she, her husband and her children.

Tacos, sushi, and fried chicken.

The song, My Funny Valentine.

Alaskan Malamutes and Bull Terriers.

A California beach on a rainy day.

Receiving an unexpected phone call from a friend, just to offer comfort and love.

Strong blue cheese with white truffle honey served with kalamata olives and roasted almonds.

Saying shocking things to people, but hoping I never offend them in the process.

Learning that I have inadvertently helped someone with my story.

The scent of Banana Bread cooking.

A long, warm oil, deep tissue massage.

The scent of star jasmine in the late afternoon.

Waking up early with energy on a day I'll be riding my motorcycle.

The purple that sets into the Rocky Mountains as the sun goes down.

The sound of a real silver spoon against a fine bone china tea cup.

Myself, my past, my future and my life, just as it is, right now.

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Stains of Pain

Cough, cough, cough up the black licorice fire of charcoal vomit from the medicinal spasm in my torturous thoughts.

Think, think, think of the wind soaked blue grey flight nearly leaped from the sunset 8th floor balcony.

Taste, taste, taste the cold blue steel of the 32 mm revolver on my tongue against the brain intended bullet.

Suicide skips this spot today, only to visit again, with hopes to steal the soul of a pain-soaked, willing victim, ready to plunge head first into concrete coffins of city sidewalks, leaving stains of sorrow.

Stains that beg forgiveness from those who cannot comprehend a life of being hunted by pain.

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Knowing The Real

Until you've crested the mountain top

With your mechanical speed between your thighs

Until you've seen the sprawling horizon

With tears flowing from joyful eyes

Until you face the pounding wind

At 80 miles as you ride

Until you face all fellow humans

With nothing left to hide

Until you've veered between the semis

On highways of rubber and steel

You've not known the fear of living

And you've not known what is real

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Fuel of Pain

Choking on fuel

That burns anger,

Pain, resentment,

Spitting of words,

Choking the sobs,

Pointing fingers.

Starving for air.

No room to breathe.

Engine gasping,

Chugging, lurching,

Begging to be,

Understood once.

Motorcycle

Engine stalled,

A breath comes in,

Truth exhales fire,

Burning the room,

And all inside.

All is in ruins,

Fuel everywhere,

Poisoning all,

Soaking through earth,

Paralyzing,

And sets me free.

Air and fuel mix,

The spark ignites,

Engine fires up,

Wheels start turning,

The road ahead,

Open, calling,

Beckoning me.

Escape and Ride

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Fly Black Birds Fly

Pain is Black Birds

They lie under my skin

Come to remind me

Of darkness within

Release the Black Birds

Allow them to fly

Let go of the pain

Goodbye, goodbye

Fly Black Birds Fly

Away from my body

Black Birds take flight

Into the skies

They make the midnight

Release the black thoughts

Pour out the black tears

Black Birds don't belong

In bodies with fears

Fly Black Birds Fly

Black Birds mean no harm

Not meant to be held

Blacken our hearts

Poison our cells

The pain that I feel

Is their struggle to fly

Release the Black Birds

To make the midnight

Fly Black Birds Fly

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