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#449986 - 10/13/13 12:49 AM Benny
bey Offline

Registered: 01/28/10
Posts: 447
Loc: canada
When my father would get mad
I would run
climb out of my skin and out the door
to wait in the backyard

Listening though red brick
to the sound
of fist on skin
face on hardwood
muffled cries

I felt bad that I left him there
I felt relief to be out here

I used to be a ghost
Hiding in the back yard
While my body lay on the kitchen floor

I'm sorry I forgot to unload the dish washer

I would wait until it was safe to return
Tiptoe over blood and broken dishes
And climb back into my skin
Clean myself up
And get into bed.
School tomorrow.

Years later
Even now
I remember the sounds of crickets
the cold night air
and the grass under my feet

Much more than I remember the kitchen.

#449991 - 10/13/13 01:28 AM Re: Benny [Re: bey]
Shyshark Offline

Registered: 10/30/12
Posts: 973
Loc: Canada
((( bey )))
Experience is a brutal teacher.

#450016 - 10/13/13 04:06 AM Re: Benny [Re: bey]
mattheal Offline

Registered: 06/10/12
Posts: 142
Loc: Ohio

Your poem put me right there with you. All I can offer in terms of a compliment are my tears for your poem and for that little boy.

It's okay to find the faith to saunter forward
With no fear of shadows spreading where you stand
And you'll breathe easier just knowing
that the worst is all behind you
And the waves that tossed the raft all night
have set you on dry land
- The Mountain Goats - "Never Quite Free"

#450019 - 10/13/13 04:50 AM Re: Benny [Re: bey]
Jacob S Offline

Registered: 01/01/13
Posts: 691
Loc: where the shadows lie
I am a veteran of the soul wars.

#450442 - 10/17/13 10:29 AM Re: Benny [Re: bey]
Jacob S Offline

Registered: 01/01/13
Posts: 691
Loc: where the shadows lie
I wrote the following poem in June, and then chickened out and deleted because I felt that no one understood it. But your poem is about a similar thing so I hope that putting it here under yours is ok. If its not let me know and I'll delete it. I did wait a few days so as not to hijack your poem. What you wrote is just so clear that I am hoping it will help people understand my convoluted story.

The Runner

Scene begins, zoom-in
tree level, bright sky
birds sing
pan down along the trunks
to ground level
a backyard shed at the edge of the woods

Afternoon sun lights two figures against the shed
A small boy in the grip of a big one
both eight, but the little one a small eight
and the big one would be a giant for ten.
The large one is obviously a jock
Stereotypically spiky blond hair,
a little remaining baby fat in the face --
Think the bullies in "The Neverending Story."
The little one could be a waif in Victorian London
With bony cheeks that are red and swollen.

The small one's eyes are reaching to the woods
inches away
knowing if he could cross the line, leave the backyard,
he'd be safe.

And now a third boy enters the picture.
Fighting his way out from beneath the skin
of the small one.
The camera focuses not on what the big one is doing
to the little one
But on the eyes that suddenly open on the boy's chest
Right below his neck bone.
In an instant, the eyes have become a face
and then a full head
Straining to break free from the little boy's body.

This new boy is more wild than the other two
Tanned skin and longer hair
More of an animal
Born of the desire to leave the yard.

With a strain, his hands reach up from nowhere
to push himself out of his heart.
And in a flash he is free,
sprinting naked through the woods,
leaving the shell of the other boy
limp in the arms of the big one.

He runs, crashing through underbrush
The thorns on the ground poking into his newborn flesh
The dirt under his feet is soft and cold and free
The air is warm and damp and his

He doesn't turn around
There is nothing back there he wants
He runs through a deep wood
Farther than any map says those woods go

His strong but young legs cramp
Sweat trickles down, blinding his left eye
The salt stinging him victoriously
Because it means he is alive

His lanky arms reach out
And swing up over a Sycamore branch
a second later and he is balanced in a tree
His strong legs bent and tense on a sturdy white limb.

He scans the darkening brush below for any threats
He glances at the blood-soaked sky
His eyes dart from tree to tree to tree
Making note of his new home.

Thundarr the Thundercat he calls himself
Joining two fictional characters into one
As one real boy split in two.
In time, that name will collapse to T'kut
As he rejects all things
From the world of men.

And the little boy awakes to find the day over
And the space between the trees and the shed is gone
And whenever his mind wanders back to it
T'kut comes back

...and runs.

T'kut ran for a long time. Decades. Until he and the little boy met again and became a team. But that's a different story. He goes by a different name now, but he still keeps an eye on the fastest way out of any situation. And he still prefers the woods to the suburbs.

Edited by Jacob S (10/17/13 10:32 AM)
I am a veteran of the soul wars.

#450447 - 10/17/13 12:29 PM Re: Benny [Re: bey]
traveler Offline

Registered: 02/07/06
Posts: 4249
Loc: resettling in NE Ohio
wow - incredible!

Jacob, i could see it.
and bey, i was there, feeling yours.

these depictions are not like my experience - (i just seemed to disappear or cease to be present) - but i could understand your experiences very well through reading these poems.
thank you both for giving these glimpses into your painful pasts.

How long, LORD, must I call for help, but you do not listen?
Or cry out to you, “Violence!” but you do not save?
Why do you make me look at injustice?
Why do you tolerate wrongdoing?...
Therefore the law is paralyzed, and justice never prevails....
Habakkuk 1:2-3

#450474 - 10/17/13 07:07 PM Re: Benny [Re: bey]
Shyshark Offline

Registered: 10/30/12
Posts: 973
Loc: Canada
There is such powerful imagery in both of your poems.

I can 'see' each of you so clearly ...
Experience is a brutal teacher.


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