exorcising demons

[PAUL C]

I don't submit many poems (hooray, some say) but I wrote this a long time ago when I split with the love of my life. I'm over that now, I am married with children and a granddaughter. Has anybody else one that is better on this page than in their heart?

Hurting me.

How many ways can you hurt me?

Ignore my calls and messages.
Disappear for ages at parties.
Smell of other men's perfumes.

How many ways can you hurt me?

Tell me that there is no one else.
That we can still be friends.
That you need your freedom now.

How many ways can you hurt me?

That you are too tired.
That you are too sore.
That you have things to do in the morning.

How many ways can you hurt me?

To tell me that you love me.
With your words but not your eyes.
To think that that is enough.

How many ways can you hurt me?

Too many.

 

[WickedEve]

I'm sure many will be able to relate to your poem, Paul.

 

[Angeline]

Here is one of mine, Paul

I think I was in a fair amount of pain when I wrote it. Thank you for sharing your poem; it has an honesty that is wrenching.

You Just Walk In (Little Wing Again)

You just walk in
with your smile and your love
and your need and you drop
it all in my arms like a coat and
your gloves you've arrived at
the party the me and it's good
for you I can see that you're
dying to wrap me back up in
your arms and your life so we
talk on the phone so we chat
at the chat but we're not alone
and you're jealous again so you
leave and I think well that's
that till you call and you want
and you love and you need
and I love you too but you're
breaking me down as you're
filling me up and you made a
choice once and you were
abrupt when you left now you're
back with butterflies moonbeams
bed me little wing and you took
everything I gave everything
and you say it's just coffee just
come to the city just talk to me
everything else is a sham and I
want to say no let you go let it
be make it end but you need me
and I need to learn how to not
give a damn.

 

[WickedEve]

This one is about something that happened a few years ago when my husband and I separated for the second time (we are currently on separation #3 -- the final one) and it was written over a year ago. As far as poetry goes, I now see how poorly written this is but it is honest and tells a sad story.


No Fool

At the door, newborn in arms,
toddler behind my leg.
Husband protects us from all harms.

Weak on my feet,
deal with the stranger.
I don't retreat.

"I'm here to turn off the gas,
but since you've got a baby...
I'll leave it and not be an ass."

"I'm sorry, you're wrong.
He paid the bill,
told me that all along."

"It's not been paid."
I'm surprised, not angry...
didn't know he'd gotten laid.

I call his work.
He's not been around.
Doubts begin to lurk.

"I'm sorry, you're wrong.
He called me from there.
It hasn't been long."

"He hasn't been here today.
We don't know where he is.
He must have called from far away."

Check receipts, bank statements too.
Bills for roses and rooms.
How could I not have a clue?

He comes home, acts cool.
Finds things have changed.
Never again will I be his fool.

 

[Cordelia]

ouch...

Wow.

Paul, Angeline and Eve,

You guys brought a tear to my eye and got me digging around for a poem I wrote long ago when I was deserted by the man I had given my soul to. I had thought he was the man for me. Poet, thinker and lover...he turned out to be shallow and cold.

Nothing like a broken heart to bring out the words, eh?


Cordelia


(I'll post that poem as soon as I find it)

 

[Rybka]

Re: ouch...

Wow.

Paul, Angeline and Eve,

You guys brought a tear to my eye and got me digging around for a poem I wrote long ago when I was deserted by the man I had given my soul to. I had thought he was the man for me. Poet, thinker and lover...he turned out to be shallow and cold.

Nothing like a broken heart to bring out the words, eh?

Cordelia

Some of you guys may remember my poem "Why I Hate Oregon". I have still not been able to post it anywhere (and I do not want to post it on Lit.), but I do have a "first love lost" poem here. It was written many years ago, but the feeling, if not the style, still seems fresh. First loves are never forgotten.
Here it is: Carol

Regards,                       Rybka