Released

Member since 2002 · Posted 27 Apr 2003 · 3 comments

I couldn't know your pain when I was young. An absentee grandmother loaded with wanderlust. Grandpa, unduly befriending dad and compressing us with his lucre. Beating you with his contempt for your motherhood. I sensed grandpa before I knew him. Jammed by societal beliefs, T-boned by an unwanted unscheduled misunderstanding, and having to grow through your violence to love me. Giving in to "life" and "the american dream" never boarding (your) cruise. You, the model flower, thirsting for your self. Enshrined in a black and white swing your smile telling the truth. 40 hour ill-communication never fit. Not like rolling with the punches and stuck zippers did. My motivation for baking and icing my love for you one February. Dad, flying the unwilling into his career. Therapists, looking for answers in a cereal box. Unheeding my suggestion admirably attempting to defy the odds. Again. Feeling your liquified locomotive of pain bore through me hauling loads of time away. This secondary killer,gaining momentum, its slipstream vacuuming your flesh away with my love. Me, ever hoping for a derailment. The phone call. October 31, 3:00A.M. 1993 One bond broken, another, deeper bond born. In your will you left, strength of persona, thoughts of the possible. And black and white Inspiration.

Rate it

0 is the worst, 10 the best. Pick a number, add a comment if you like, then send it. Keys: 0–9 pick, Enter sends.

mean 6.00 weighted 5.27 rank 3869 views 257 View voting details →

6 votes so far. Yours would make 7.6 votes so far

3 comments

[10] Jeremi B. Handrinos 27-Apr-03/10:17 PM Reply

Yes.

[8] Caducus 28-Apr-03/8:56 AM Reply

Black and white inspiration - photos - always so much more enamouring than color. This is a long poem from you I like its relaxed narrative telling a story from a vantage point of perspective coming alive from the 'phone call' which is where this poem to me became quite moving. Your prize is ...8

[9] Mr Pig 28-Apr-03/1:35 PM Reply

I was perusing this on fine milled paper as do like to print the longer poems out and have a darn good gander at them. I was interested in the capitulaton of the piece and I think Mr Caducus made an interesting comment about perspective. It reads as a very adult piece, from the last 2 lines of S1 I felt empathy and solace in the fact we all share the hurt of a lost bond wish to to say thank you for writing this it left me feeling happy on my own with a half baked cuban and a glass of sour mash over ice: 9: Take care my kindred friend.