Darkened Tides: An Experimental Poem

Bitter on the lips
Pulled under like sinking ships
Swept in darkened tides
The ember of love has died.

– Lynn Mari, © 2009.

An experimental poem, alternating syllables of 5,7,5 with couplet rhymes. Haiku inspired.

Conduits of Dark and of Light: A Terzanelle

Dangerous currents run between you and I
Conduits of dark and of light
We are arrows of lightning that pierce the sky

A bruised heart cannot lie
An erratic beat reveals its desperate plight
Dangerous currents run between you and I

Frayed wires of bone and flesh multiply
Sparks within secret places ignite
We are arrows of lightning that pierce the sky

Tears linger in the eye
Rage has blinded the vision at first sight
Dangerous currents run between you and I

Surrender–you scream, I cry
Clouds turn black, and tremble in heavenly height
We are arrows of lightning that pierce the sky

A love destined to die
Struggling against a force of greater might
Dangerous currents run between you and I
We are arrows of lightning that pierce the sky.

Lynn Mari, ⓒ 2009.

I would love for Lisa Loeb to put this poem to music…
Is that better?? Or would you prefer ska???

Run Away (Lyrics)

Run Away/Don’t wait for the stroke/Of midnight/ Pretty ‘lil girl/ Nothin has changed/All alone/Like Cinerella/Just a Pretender/Gotta run away

Run Away/There’s no love here/All alone/Run Away/Gotta run away

Run Away/Ridin’ a bus/Into nowhere/Gotta have faith/When it all breaks down/Smile/Cry/Gotta be strong/Gotta Run Away

Run Away/There’s no love here/All alone/Run Away/Gotta run away

Run Away/From the secrets/So broken/Gotta run away/Into the arms of a stranger/He says he loves me/I wanna believe forever/Then it all breaks down/Naked/Alone/Gotta run away/Run Away

Run Away/There’s no love here/All alone/Run Away/Gotta run away

Run Away/There’s gotta be something better/Gotta have faith/There’s something better/Gotta run away/Gotta be strong/Gotta run away

Lynn Mari ©2008


If You Are in need of Help:

National Runaway Switchboard
Between 1.6 and 2.8 million youth run away in a year. Our mission at the National Runaway Switchboard is to help keep America’s runaway and at-risk youth safe and off the streets. 1-800-RUNAWAY
http://www.1800runaway.org/

Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAINN)
RAINN provides support for sexual assault victims and their loved ones through two hotlines at 800.656.HOPE and online.
http://www.rainn.org/

I Have Changed His Heart

I have found the softest place

Trembling under my touch

Fingertips linger

On your scent, your memory

You have married him

I have changed his heart.

Now we stand woman to woman

Breathing heavily,

Our weight falling against each other…

Who shall bear the most pain?

You must always have the last word

I must draw blood

You know it

And I know it.

I am through with you–

Though it hurts to let go

My heart is bound by scars

Evidence of when I have tried

To take my life,

Now I strike

To save you

From the agony of a broken heart.

I forgive you

For turning against the bond of sisters

Though I cannot forgive myself

I am tempted by fleeting pleasures

I reject second chances

I push away what heals…

Love.

I only feel safe

When the moon withdraws

From the night,

Gentler memories

Gather in darkness

I have found the softest place

Trembling under my touch.

Lynn Mari, ©2007.

The Light Shining In

Someday, Someday
The faintest light shining in
Someday, Someday
The hurt will fade
A new life will begin

Someday, Someday
Crumpled wings will fly
Someday, Someday
A golden sun will shine
Through a darkened sky

Someday, Someday
Angry fists will fold
Someday, Someday
Crumpled paper softened
Into hands to hold.

Someday, Someday
Love will be the company I keep
Someday, Someday
In peace all the world’s children sleep.

Why wait another day?
A new life will begin
When you let God lead the way
When love leads your words
And peace is behind ev’ry action

Today, Today
Have faith,
Let God lead the way.

Lynn Mari, © 2008

Remember (the Flight of Scars)

Altamont’s legacy would stir a troubled boy,
awed by images conjured in mind
In ’69 a free concert ended in chaos, four killed and three born–
remember, life and death so closely intertwined

I fell in love with that boy, whom I called Lies,
once we walked under the stars hand in hand
Remember; trace the flight of scars,
leaving ghostly footprints where feet once danced in sand

Lies promised forever and placed a seed in my belly,
without ever saying “I Do”
The deflowering of Woodstock,
take heed, remember the frenzy of free love askew

So afraid of Lies, his hands are smashing glass,
useless fuckin’ stars, there is not a tear
The band plays, thrashing to rock n’ roll,
hard to remember dropping acid, drinking beer

Firstborn sleep through the rage…for you I remain silent,
hiding has become a way of life
Rage takes hold, remember, Hell’s Angels
beating down the man who died of uncertain strife

I gaze upon Firstborn wonder what if…
no tears, no lies, no hollow where my heart beat
Remember a prayer, so the past may rest of its fears and curses
so that tragedy will not repeat

A backpack slung over one shoulder;
I carry Firstborn under Dipper’s light
Firstborn sleep through the flight of scars…
remember only the softest dreams of night.

Lynn Mari ©2007

Note: Inspired by Ghazal and by the 1969 Altamont Free Concert. I was watching a children’s program on TBN where a child, who was grounded, snuck off to the movies and watched a horror show. When the child’s parents found out, they told him that after watching the show there will be pictures in his mind–things he will not forget, and that they said no to the movie for that reason. This poem is on the same thought as that show…the experiences of a child so often shape who they will grow into, as adults. What a child sees is often replayed in how they act and treat others, even as an adult.
Special thanks to the Poetry Club for your inspiration and advice as I muddled over the first draft!

A Shanty in the Hollow

A shanty in the hollow, among thick trees and muddy lake
Gave birth to ancient struggle, oh secrets seeded there
Mara survived, poverty and bitter heart ache

Rotgut whiskey there was plenty of while the cupboards bare
A drunken hand raised to trembling children, who hold back tears
So hungry, Mara’s stolen the last bit of grain from the starving mare

Mara is hiding her body, beneath tattered clothes, she avoids mirrors
Not of silver or glass, but from eyes like her own
Hands reach for Mara’s small breasts, she shudders as cold hand nears

Tumbling in darkness, the night is pierced with a moan
This is the cry of Mara’s secret, birthing from amniotic shame
For a silver coin, Mara will use her body—it is the way she was shown

Mara will leave the hollow, to seek a new life, a new name
Though she wears a pretty dress, the scars will never fade
The past slows escape, as if she were lame

There is one way out, a trap must be laid
Smile the right way, show a little skin
For everything that is gained, a debt must be paid

Mara gains deep satisfaction when he begs for a bit of sin
Humiliated, he will raise his fists, smashing her pretty face
As the months pass, her belly swells where bruises begin

Mara will be married in a curtain of white lace
She can’t say she is happy but she is hungry no more
Sheltered among shame budding in an old hollow place

Mara’s firstborn son learns to curse and kick in the door
Lullabies have become ugly accusations sung to broken dreams
Mara will raise a frying pan and knock her husband to the floor

A silver glint in the night, flesh torn by a knife that gleams
Firstborn will speak the language of rage with a raised fist
Violence has ripped the family apart at the seams

Northern winds push down an old shanty, causing ancient trees to twist
Old secrets, old wounds will give way to rot
The next generation struggles to wrench free from its pervasive mist.

L. Mari, ©2007

Note: The name “Mara” is Hebrew and means bitter.

Baby Girl’s Been Downloaded

If you have a digital camera
(or you are thinking about getting one)
be careful that a portal may open…
to an online orchard
of innocent dreams
of flesh as soft as peaches
of brilliant leaves reaching for a ‘lil sunshine.

I you have ever wished
that you had more money coming in
imagine what twenty bucks will mean
to a young, fresh teenager…
to pay off debts
you look away when she huddles over the keyboard
to buy those little extras you’ve always wanted,
you ignore the long sigh then the click click click
to just to save for a rainy day
you don’t realize she slipped away
until the rainy day has come
amidst the thunder,
a strange silence…
from an open window,
a cold wind shackles the warmth
of her blanket, pink and soft as cotton candy
drops of silver rain fall on an empty bed
littered with e-mail flirtations.

This is a seduction
masterfully crafted within your home
a reassurance of safety, of family
violated like a peach wrenched from a tree
before it has blossomed
the e-mail you read today
will reveal Baby Girl
for a moment, forgotten…
has found someone else
to hold her forever
to tell her she is wise
to tell her she is pretty
to tell her that her parents don’t understand
then encourage a smile for a camera.

Innocence is a tease
a sun-warmed peach
the tickle of suggestion
as juice drips down the lips
(seems, so, well—innocent)
twenty bucks to pose
dimpled cheeks gain praise
a glimpse of blossoming flesh
at first, willing to bare
just a shoulder
then a few buttons more…
her brown eyes, your brown eyes
gaze into a thundering world
but see only peach trees
of innocent dreams
(shining—yet still out of reach)
beneath golden sun rays
fields of long, green grass
tickle her naked toes.

Baby girl can’t comprehend
a small taste of something sweet
will impart a hardened seed
engorged with her flesh, her pain
where her heart once beat.

Cold rain continues to fall
Baby girl is on the street
the digital camera forgotten
now eighteen, she is getting old…
there will be a man to love her
(there always is)
a moment of a promised forever
passes in a few minutes
she still believes she is wise
she still believes she is pretty
though she has forgotten
what it meant to playfully run
barefoot on green fields
or feel the warmth
of the sun upon her face.

The rain falls, so unrelenting…
Baby girl will seek shelter in a library
and find her parents online
too ashamed to return home,
she still believes they do not care
click click click…
she is gone again.

You will regret all those moments lost
(before Baby Girl slipped away)
while you dreamed of buying those extras,
she dreamed too—
of what twenty bucks could afford;
a dimpled smile captured on digital camera.

While you wished for more money coming in…
Baby girl wished you would see her
(to stop her, somehow)
she has been plucked,
then thrown across green fields
now muddied as she rolls and rolls
farther away, her clothes a tangled mess,
a part of the past lost to her.

Still you believe,
in the undiminished innocence
of dreams, of prayer
where Baby girl once felt loved
Lord keep her safe
Lord bring her home.

Lynn Mari, ©2007

For More Information

Cyberwise.ca: Be safe, be wise. Protect our children
http://www.cyberaverti.ca/epic/site/cybk-cybe.nsf/en/we00134e.html

The Child Protection Society: a White Ribbon Campaign Against Child Pornography and Exploitation on the Internet
http://www.geocities.com/capitolhill/5021/

Stop It Now: Together We Can Prvent the Sexual Abuse of Children (1-888-Prevent)
http://stopitnow.org/
Keeping Safe on the Internet:
http://stopitnow.org/downloads/Internet_Resources.pdf

Wired Kids: Dedicated to protecting children from sexual exploitation related to the Internet
http://www.wiredkids.com/
WiredSafety.org

The Secret River

St. Paul Riverwalk

The multi-racial lineage of my family is but a whisper…
secretly we know it is
secretly we deny its existence.

When you talk about ‘mixed’, memories turn to obvious reminders
relatives with the lighter skin or the straighter hair.
Of course, they are mixed, what else is there to say?

Underneath the rumble of our voices,
the turn of our smiles,
is the secret river of our bloodline,
carrying not only genes but a hidden shame.

So we don’t look that far back in our past, don’t ask questions,
and turn our eyes away from the obvious.
It is much safer to be black.

Black is a color that blots out any stain,
awash in darkness our feelings are numb.
Fumbling through the darkness,
we find each other, we always have.

We love our blackness because they once hated us,
from their hatred we came together as a family,
loving our dark skin, curly hair and midnight eyes.

We love our black babies,
bestowing dreams upon our children
of them all, the strongest is a wish,
a need to break free from the past.

So we moved forward by embracing
the black that blotted out all painful memories
Our children are the most visible reminders,
so through their blackness,
we sought to remove from ourselves
the most painful reminder of our humiliation.

We worked and fought to create
our own place in the world
a unique vision of what it meant to be black.

Woven within that vision were the traditions passed down
in our memories, beliefs, family recipes.
And yet, we could not escape
the secret river that rose through our veins,
washing the black
with something strikingly different.

Lynn Mari, “The Secret River”: 2007© All Rights Reserved.

On a Street Corner at Dusk

Remembering….

Just graduated from high school
Awarded an Alan Page scholarship,
I imagined the world before my eyes
would be as exciting as the life of
the Zelda Fitzgerald
I wore baggy jeans (to drive Mom crazy)
And a mini backpack filled with my poetry
Slung over one shoulder
Like most Eastside girls, greased my hair back into a bun
—One curl hanging down was my signature
Foxy Brown bumpin’ my CD player
She was just a year older than me,
All that I wanted to be
With those sassy brown eyes
And smooth flowing lyrics
A real Big, Bad Mama.

Thought I was so careful
After that awful night,
When I was stolen into the darkness
A trip to the gas station for a cold drink
Resulted in a loss so profound
I refused to speak, or name
The brutality done to me
In silence, I came home
Hid my dirty clothes beneath my bed
And refused to leave my room
So I wrote poetry
Wondered about Zelda as a Hip-Hop Flapper
She would be stylin’ in a short fringed skirt and Timberlands…
Zelda I understood—
She knew a good time,
When inwardly life was spinning out of control.

After high school,
I received a computer as a graduation gift
My family was so proud
That I delivered the speech at my graduation
That I received the Page scholarship
That I held down a part time job, two in the summer
I feel I let them all down,
When I used that computer to go online
And again stumbled into the darkness
When I met a much older man.
I really thought I was being careful when I met him

He said all the right things: I was smart, he loved my poetry,
My Mom didn’t understand me—I had to get away from her.
I carefully dressed for our first date,
Those baggy jeans with a sporty coat
Meant I was “something” on the Eastside,
He saw through whatever was there
Young girl with no father at home
Didn’t even have a driving license
All that toughness meant I had something to hide
I was just an eighteen-year old girl with a head full of dreams
Meeting an old man wearing a Mr. Rogers sweater at the zoo,
To Him, I was not pretty or smart
He never loved me,
(Although he lied and said he did)
He was checking out another eighteen-year old girl at the time…
I never meant anything to Him though he chose me

While I was laughing at the monkeys,
Eager to share my poetry,
He had a plan
Taking control of vulnerable, abused teenage girls—
Scared and alone and running away.

I liked “Winnie the Pooh” so He bought me stuffed animals
And cups shaped like Eeyore, Tigger, and Pooh
I was too young to go to clubs but liked to explore
So He took me to places where I could run free
I took off my shoes and ran barefoot in the grass,
Even climbed a few trees
He listened to the music I liked, buying new CDs
He never could dance, pointing and jutting his belly
He looked like a beached whale
Fighting for air on some forsaken beach
Later, He would make fun of my music
He would find fault with everything I did
I found it best to stay small and out of sight
He did not have any adult friends,
So we wandered without destination, alone
He did not like my friends—
I avoided fights and accusations by avoiding them,
While pretending everything was “fine”
I learned not to speak, just to smile.

At eighteen, I did not have a license
So He drove me around—
Keeping me up all night to be me close to him
Wandering into rural back roads, stars overhead
He told fantastic stories of the connection between us
When I pulled away from his advances He was suddenly cold
Stomping, throwing his fists, and then the smile…
The smile of being utterly isolated in the woods as he told
Scary stories of demons and UFO’s, then lunged for me,
As if I was only safe within his arms.
Later, when all my defenses were broken,
He put his hands over mine and I took the wheel,
Even when his shadow was long gone
I would feel his presence,
Feel the crazy tip of the car in the wake of his rage
Choking on the roar of the wind as two wheels
Skidded from lane to lane…
Calm was a secret yearning unmet,
Even alone I was afraid to be in the driver’s seat.

I learned to be afraid when He smiled, because it meant
Something awful was going to happen
That He is hiding something
That my world is to be shattered,
My tears ground into the splinters of glass
Until my very eyes bleed
With a smile, He lunged for my breasts
With a smile, He screamed “I did not appreciate him”
That I am a “bitch”, a “manipulator”, that I need “practice”
Large hands that smashed sheets of dry wall
And raised walls of lumber
Now pulled at my clothing,
Grabbing for my body
I was supposed to just take it
Because that was He wanted
So I learned to smile, to lie inside
I learned to “be appreciative” and hoped things would change
A part of me thought…Maybe something is wrong with me?
I didn’t want to believe the one person who seemed to care
The one person who seemed to understand
Would ever, could ever hurt me
That horrible night so long ago on the Eastside could not prepare me
For the nightmare that was to become my life for the next nine years.

No longer a girl, no longer a dreamer,
I now carry a diaper bag and not a mini backpack
The lives of children—
Is a dollhouse upturned by violence
My son raises a fist to protect me,
Mommy is not as strong as the mean Daddy
My daughter cares for the house
Cleaning up the mess, wiping tears—
Just as I have cleaned up broken glass,
Picked up the toys thrown against the wall,
Pretending everything is okay…
Wile I wipe the tears of my children away.

After one last act of rage,
I have begun the journey to break free
Memories bleed
Reminding me of the unnatural freedom of being thrown
Through the air, limbs spread like broken wings
The dull thud of being slammed down again and again
Silence broken by my screams
The terrible cost to finally get away.

Standing on a street corner at dusk,
Using the last coins in my purse
To make desperate phone calls to shelters,
Pleading for help.
I can ask for help now,
And fall into the arms that will catch me
Though I will always look over one shoulder.

Lynn Mari, ©2007.