Sorry I haven't been around for a while - health issues. Thought I would update/edit existing work on this site to hopefully get the creative juices flowing again. Please feel free to comment or recommend changes, while I catch up with some of my favourite writers on here.
Memories of Mum and Dad
Where are they now, these people who loved me?
One of them is dead and the other might as well be.
He died early and she's waiting for the devil to ring her.
I don't think of them often, but these memories linger.
Six foot five, full of Guinness and fight.
Five foot four, full of vinegar and spite.
Belligerent bully with fists of iron.
Constant critic without a shoulder to cry on.
These things were normal to a six year old boy.
Long distance Dad on jobs shifting steel.
Driving his Volvo, almost asleep on the wheel.
Missing Mum on part-time shifts at the local.
Tending drunks on her own, getting angry and vocal.
These things were normal to an eight year old boy.
Gatling gun volleys of verbal violence.
Prolonged periods of insidious silence.
Repeated outbursts of furious feuding.
Ensuing intervals of black-hearted brooding.
These things were normal to a ten year old boy.
Acid accusations of adulterous assignations.
Desperate denials of flirtatious fascinations.
Rushed relocation of besotted betrayer.
Lust fuelled lies of a selfish strayer.
These things were normal to a twelve year old boy.
Countless beatings with his belts or their buckles.
Pointless arguments resolved with a slap or his knuckles.
Her off the scene, set up home with her lover.
Divide up the kids, setting brother against brother.
These things were normal to a fourteen year old boy.
Staying out of the house to miss the projected rage.
Stand up for yourself, you're a man at this stage.
Never show your fear, put away your emotion.
You're not welcome here, find a place of your own son.
These things were normal to a sixteen year old boy.
Where are they now, these people who loved me?
One of them is dead and the other one should be.
I planned their deaths so many times in my mind.
Putting them out of my misery, to myself I'd be kind.
These thoughts are normal for a fifty year old boy.
BLACK DOG
Frightening in your stealth, you descend like the darkest cloud.
They may not see you, but those close know you are with me.
Your visits provoke their wariness, afraid they may tip the scales.
Some are aware of your deceptive nature; the ignorant have no perception of your power.
Others turn away in accusation. As if I would ever invite you.
No discrimination or sense of timing; no discernment or sensitivity.
You impose your will with malicious glee; my own self recoiling in your shadow.
Darkness cast over me like a heavy blanket; the dense shroud smothering.
Despair surrounds like quicksand pulling at my thoughts.
Retreating down your path. As if I could ever fight you.
Your shadow's weight is paralysing, debilitating the strongest minds and bodies.
Shapeless, and yet I have known you before; saddened that I did not see you coming.
Overpowered by the guilt you inflict, my strength sapped and hope flagging.
Communication closing down. Those outside see only the facade and not the pain.
Must make people see your face. As if I could ever light you.
Fear transmitted through quickness to temper; no patience or forgiveness.
Shrinking the circle of those willing to be involved with this monster.
When will this torture end? All thought with no reason.
But wait, you have been before, which means you left me.
It is you that is wrong. As if I could ever right you.
Very moving Robert. I haven't read much poetry before on this site. Your introduction helped understand it. Please share some more of your work.
I find it much harder to comment on poetry than on prose.