Final Reflection

From my poetry notebook….This Ain’t Shakespeare…

final reflection

The darkened window, lit only from behind.

Shows a sharp-angled face, etched with anguish-filled lines.

 

As she stares, long suffocated tears begin to flow.

A life built on trust has been crushed in a single, selfish blow.

 

How did she let this happen? Allow her family to be snatched away?

Now all is gone. Even hope that fate would return them one day.

 

She stands, looking unseeingly at the face reflected back.

Her mind sees a young woman whose life was on the right track.

 

The man of her dreams had swept her off her feet.

Promising to love, honor and cherish til’ death they do meet.

 

A child was born, a sweet little boy.

Endless smiles and bliss at this wonderful joy.

 

A home was provided through a business that soared.

A husband who loved her, a child she adored.

 

Another arrived, from out of the blue.

Claiming friendship that was accepted as true.

 

Manipulating and coveting what belonged to another.

That the bond being built was simply a cover.

 

The true motivation was meant to seduce.

Not caring that lives would be shattered, and true love reduced.

 

The other used emotions to bait its catch.

Listening and offering kindness through a rough patch.

 

The catch had been easily tricked by the bait.

More stroking of an ego made it worth the wait.

 

Reeled and then eaten by a prey too fierce.

Unconcerned how the wounds would hurt and pierce.

 

Guilt overcomes, and a confession needs to be made.

Begging forgiveness, making promises, in order to stay.

 

Eyes blink and she sees once again.

The reflection of a woman cast aside for her sins.

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Portrait of Lies

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare…

portrait of lies

Your eyes see a picture of perfection

But buried beneath the beautiful package

Is something outside the truth

 

Secrets, lies and deception

All tumble over one another

In a wildly beating heart

 

A heart panicked

At the thought of discovery

And the inevitable destination

Of a loss of a life

Carefully crafted

 

A smile tricked out at the corners

Speaks of a lover kept secret

 

Eyes gazing into a memory of

Citrusy rooms and paisley bedspreads

Where two bodies writhe in desperate abandon

 

Chasing away lost hopes and daily drudgery

Looking to find a past youth

And forgotten excitement

 

But ends up with guilt weighing heavily

As true love smiles tenderly

From a portrait of perfection

 

Temptation

From my poetry notebook…This Ain’t Shakespeare…

temptation

https://dorinacostras.com/paintings/

Long lashes lowered.

Full lips over a knowing smile.

Flowing tresses that tease with their softness.

Curves that entice with her every move.

Open and willing, flaunting her needs.

Encouraging, suggesting, ignoring his ring.

****

No one will miss it.

It’s just a few dollars.

They have so much.

She has so little.

The children need shoes.

There’s no food in the cupboards and the rent is due.

So easy to slip the money,

From the cash drawer into her pocket.

****

The doctor says no.

Anymore and he’ll die.

But the need is so strong.

The struggle so fierce.

The addiction controls his every move.

****

Temptation is thrown at us from everywhere.

How we respond to it is our choice.

The Monster Under the Bed

Excerpt from my book…Mom’s Eye View

monster under the bed

When I was a little girl my biggest fear was the “Monster Under the Bed.” Others may have had the “Monster in the Closet,” but either way the monster was there and definitely something to be feared.

My monster lived under the bed only at night, during the day it was never there. Not when I played hide and seek with my siblings or even when I had to retrieve a toy from under the bed. It only made its presence known in the dark of the night. My imagination conjured up a monster with scales, red, glowing eyes, a mouthful of sharp, jagged teeth and a body that slithered back and forth beneath my bed, with only the box spring and mattress keeping me safe from it.

My sister and I shared the same bed and would scare one another with our silly monster stories. When we had finally worked ourselves up into a whispered state of panic we would huddle in the center of the bed, “our safe place,” and stay as far away from the edges as we possibly could. We wholeheartedly believed that if we got too close to the edge the monster would be able to reach up and grab us with its long, cutting talons; ripping us to shreds in a matter of seconds.

When we got too scared we’d comfort one another and provide each other with enough strength to get us through the night.  Upon hearing actual scurrying noises in the walls or in the ceiling, as we did most nights, we never doubted that the noises were the monster duplicating itself over and over in order to surround us and then more easily capture us and turn us into an evening meal.

We never stopped to consider that we lived in old apartment buildings that were notorious for having rat and mice infestations. To us, it was the monster and nothing else.

We’d eventually fall asleep, sticking close to one another, providing one another with comfort and support when our fears were outweighing our common sense.

My sister and I have always been this way though, we stick together and along with my other two sisters, we all can be a formidable force. As we’ve all gotten older and more independent though, we realize we don’t always have to fight each other’s monsters. But it sure is nice knowing that you’ve got someone to cover your back when the monsters decide to sneak up on you.

Lost / The Bottle

Excerpt from my book…I Heard You

Like I said…nobody gets out of this life unscathed.

drug addiction

http://www.artnet.com/artists/hu-jundi/

 

Lost

“C’mon Dad, let’s go! I’m gonna be late if you don’t get it in gear!” Kyle yells at his father.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Just one sip of this coffee and I’ll be ready.”

“There’s no time. I gotta be at the school at nine sharp. The coach will kick me off the team if I’m late by a minute.” Kyle says.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go then. Get your gear and go get in the car.”

“My gear is already in the car. I’ve just been waiting on you,” Kyle casts a scowl in his father’s direction and slams the door of the house on his way out.

Chris mumbles to himself, “jeez-us H Christ, that kid is always in a frigging hurry.”

He gulps down the last of his coffee, burning his tongue in the process.  “Goddamnit.”

He kicks off his slippers and bends to tie up his sneakers. He shrugs on his Red Sox hoodie and then pulls on his Patriots cap in order to cover his unruly hair. He snatches his car keys off the key holder beside the door. Within minutes they’re speeding down the road to the high school.

Kyle is still visibly upset. “Oh my gawd, Dad, you always do this. You frig and fart around each time there’s a game and we always have to rush around. I hate that! I can’t wait to get my license and my own car, then I won’t have to wait for you to drive me around!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I thought we had plenty of time.”

“You waited until the last minute again to even get going. I told you I had to be there by nine. Now we’ve only got ten minutes to get there! The bus is going to leave without me!”

“The bus isn’t going to leave without you, you’re the quarterback. Can’t have a game without the quarterback.”

Kyle crosses his arms and they ride the rest of the way to the school in silence.

Chris can feel his son’s anger hanging in the air between them.“C’mon, Kyle. Don’t be like that. A pissy attitude isn’t going to help you guys win this game. And you need this win, right?”

Kyle looks at his father and breaks his stony silence. “You know we do. We have to win in order to get to the playoffs.”

“You know I wanted to come to this game didn’t you?”

“But you’re not, ” Kyle says.

“I can’t,” his father hangs his head.

“So you say,” Kyle turns his head away from his father.

Chris glances in his son’s direction. “I’ve got to be at the hospital.”

Kyle snaps his head in his father’s direction. “I don’t even know why you still bother. She put herself there. She’s the one who put herself in a coma. She didn’t think about anybody else but herself when she took that shit and decided it was a good idea to go for a drive. All she’s ever thought about is herself. She can rot away in that hospital bed for all I care!”

Chris lays his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Kyle, don’t. You know that’s not true. She loved you. Still loves you and you’ll see that when she wakes up.”

Kyle shrugs off his father’s hand. “Give it up Dad, the doctor’s said she’s not going to wake up. She fried her brains and the car crash scrambled them even more. She can’t even breathe without the machines. She’s not coming back! I lost my mother a long time ago.”

Kyle feels the tears start to well up again, but bats them away with his fist.

Chris knows there’s no trying to explain things to his son. He’s been trying and trying to make him understand for the past month, but his son can’t see beyond his own anger. And Chris doesn’t blame him. He’s angry as well. At himself, for not seeing how far gone Mary was. He blames himself for not being more insistent, for accepting her excuses, for believing in her when she told him she was going to get better. He loved her too damn much to believe otherwise.

They pull into the school and Chris parks behind the bus. Kyle bursts out of the car and then opens the back door to grab his gear. He slams the back door shut and ignores his father’s shout of, “good luck!”

Chris watches Kyle get on the bus, high-fiving his buddies as he passes by them. He sees Kyle laugh at something one of his teammates say and then watches as Kyle places himself in one of the high-backed bus seats.Chris waves even though Kyle refuses to look at him through the window.

Chris watches the school bus leave the driveway and head down the road.After the bus is long gone, Chris puts his car in gear and sighs. He begins his journey to the hospital where his wife lies in a coma. A coma that was induced by the car crash his wife was in while she was high.Chris feels dread and hope at the same time. Dread that his wife hasn’t come out of her coma and the decision he may have to make on whether or not to take her off life support. And hope that she has awakened and they can begin the process of healing.

But then dread fills him once again, because if she has awakened and survived this latest ordeal, he worries that her addiction will consume her yet again and he and Kyle will again suffer through the pain of seeing a loved one battle a drug addiction that they have no control over.Chris sighs again, there is no happy ending for him or his son.

Either way Mary is lost to them..

****

The Bottle

The distance grows
The time apart seems like death

Knowing that the space will spread
Until the gap becomes a black hole

Feeling as though the tunnel is too long
Too far
To reach you

Yelling out your name
An echo my only answer
Throwing out a lifeline
Filled only with love
And hope

Begging you to grab it
In order to save you from
Your lonely solitude of depression and despair

​But the bottle
Battles me each day
Taking you further and further into the blackness

I don’t know how long I can hold on
Without eventually following you into the abyss
In order to be with you
If it’s the only way to hold you

Why

From my book, I Heard You

why

Digital art by SakimiChan

 

She drinks her beer from a wine glass.

When asked, “why?”

She says, “why not?”

She wears her rattiest hoodie beneath her best leather jacket.

When asked, “why?”

She says, “why not?”

She pulls on muck-covered work boots over designer jeans.

When asked, “why?”

She says, “why not?”

She smokes her weed from an ivory pipe.

When asked, “why?”

She says, “why not?”

When asked does she ever wish her life was different.

She looks confused and says, “why?”

Why indeed.

Just Friends

Because we’ve all been here…from my poetry notebook  This Ain’t Shakespeare

just friends

You say you want to be, just friends,

That our time together has come to an end.

After years of intense, heated passion,

You wish to close that door and firmly latch it.

Forget the whispered moans and sighs,

Forget the press of thigh upon thigh.

Feel no longer your touch upon my breast,

Your soft stroke and gentle caress.

The shivers that run up and down my spine,

As your hips repeatedly crash into mine.

The heat of your body, which blisters my own,

The hands that clasp my flesh and my composure is blown.

Your kiss, so deep, it draws me in,

The fingers that tenderly cup my chin.

Your tongue so knowing, making me plead,

Why can’t you stay? I’m begging you, please.

Just friends?

I don’t think I can.

It’s deeper than love and more than I am.

Just friends?

My love still lingers, it will not disappear.

My heart beats madly when you are near.

Just friends?

No, I’ll keep my memories of us alive.

Our love was too strong to just let it die.

You go your way,

I’ll go mine.

Leaving those years far behind.

A piece of my heart will always stay true,

Belonging unfortunately, only to you.