/ Carolyn's / Mommy: A Study of Loss

How to Join	Member's Area	Private Library	Search	Sanctuary		Login
Main Forums	Discussion	Tech Talk	Mature Content	Archives	A home without a wall, Our haven without ends, A circle we all call Our Family of Friends!

Christopher

Moderator

Member Rara Avis

since 1999-08-02

Posts 8296
Purgatorial Incarceration

0 posted 2008-02-26 10:47 PM

/ Carolyn's / Mommy: A Study of Loss
(c)2008 C.G. Ward

-----

"Black is the absence of light, but white is the absence of memory, the color of can't remember."
-Stephen King (Duma Key)

"I'll bet it even snows in Hell... although I doubt it sticks."
-Stephen King (Duma Key)

-----

     --prologue (Selene):

there exists no solidity on the face of the moon;
all textures are kind, soft, malleable.

curved outward, it reaches...
like the later times
she would arch the tines
of her back.

parody of ecstasy
     (parody only, no truth there, oh no, only a pretense of heat.
      the moon, after all, is cold)

the light is furtive,
the night is sloped.

     [is cold]
     [is cold]

-

her prey stands removed.

-

she owns desire,
or thinks she does -
  it is a "storybook" beginning,
so who cares if sometimes he...

pickup truck, an occasional smile:
a bit of the
bad-boy-dark-side-maybe-might-anger-lust-red-red-red-red.

oh well,
close enough
to a shining knight
for
her.

     --genesis (Eros I - Carnal):

she cries.
grasping at hope is
like picking snowflakes off the ground.
do dreams melt as grand
as ice in a muffled scream?

he is a picture of solidity,
their hope exempt from s o l i d a r i t y.

Peace is a word prefacing Love,
an act as far from the concept as
needles are from straw.

grunt-groan-"great"
roll over and focus on Nox
while she shudders
and sleeps only in her mind -
but never with her heart.
    never with her heart.

even together, apart.
the silence is a sham,
a mockery of hand-holding
that represents so much more
than the reality.

she is a china-doll,
a glass-eyed figurine
sticky-taped to the fireplace mantle
so his friends can joke and jibe and jeer
     (when she's not around, of course)
about the shape of her thighs
and the jiggle of her walk.

it arouses him,
incites his hormones to ever greater achievements
of debasement.

and she thinks it is love,
suffers the ministrations of an self-involved man.
because, where else can she go?

...

but, gracious is not her nature,
and she has ways to make him pay.

     (after all,
         as we said before: the moon is cold)

     --delivery (Demeter):

a baby is born,
oh hallelujah!

and,

her mother dies.

  yeah, not so good, so joyous, or even understandable:

life has its way of messing with us,
   - all one big joke -
of convincing us
that all will be well
and well
and well
and all manner of things will be - - -

- - - over.

/ Carolyn /

a name fades on the mother's lips...
lips stained with such grief
     (not to mention other, nastier things)
that even a reaper must weep,
must wonder if the job is worth it.
     who needs a nine-to-five
          when you can watch a young mother die?

others, though, misunderstand,
whisper
the kindness
that one could trade like for like
life for life
time for time.

     [tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock]

     --silence (.....):

I will not expound here;
we know this part,
understand it with a depth so visceral, that
no amount of evolution can dredge the riverbed of our psyches.

penitent now, we must move on.

     --nightmares (Chronos):

now,
Father must man-up,
bite the bullet,
become... responsible?

he cries -
not for the loss of love,
   (come on, do you really believe in that crap?)
but the decimation of dreams,
the cessation of planning
for a bright future,
a golf cart in the garage,
and a mid-life mistress on the side.

/ Carolyn /

the child is a stowaway,
a passenger on the cruise---liner of his life,
rarely noticed,
vaguely considered,
'ought more 'n a trophy...
much like the wife used to be,
longs to be,
   (we can assume)
never will be
again.

from an invisible perch,
mommy watches,
the spirit of spite
bound to her girl,
as a golem to a spell,
and just as stony.

she hates that / Carolyn / has a future
she herself can never regain,
and hates herself for hating.

yet she watches still,
riding the dreams of her daughter through the night -

first jumbled and juvenile,
later...

some could say
the concept of darkness
is derived
from a teenage girl's dreams.

her mother sits astride those dreams as well,
burrowing,
borrowing,
barrowing.

for / Carolyn's / mommy,
time is measured
only...

     --sidebar (godless / humanity):

/ Carolyn / is a goodly child,
a quiet child,
a troubled child,
if anyone deigned to notice.

but silence is preferred when gods disdain,
and Father cannot abide the noise
of a child molding tomorrows
he avoided reaching.

/ Carolyn / is a battered child
a ruined child,
a child who's taken the place
of a mother
who didn't want to be there either...
not really.

at night,
sometimes,
she speaks to her mother,
never knowing

she is listening.

of course,
so was Father,
and then -

a bit more of the
bad-boy-dark-side-maybe-might-anger-lust-red-red-red-red.

and / Carolyn /
cries herself to sleep,
her mother's ethereal hand
brushing the nape of her neck.
but not,
we think,
in sympathy.

     --transition (Apollo):

when silence becomes a balm
in a child's life,
we must search for the cause:
     chaos is the preferred ambience
   for a young person.

but  / Carolyn /
oh, / Carolyn /

has her dreams
and her schemes
and the thing
that keeps her up at night,
gives her a reason
to paint the valleys of her eyes
with a pale, flesh-hued stain of
how-well-can-you-hide-the-shame.

she is still quiet,
still troubled,
but only partially broken.

perhaps,
we would like to believe,
her mother lends a strength
she never had
when she wore skin
instead of ether,
when she used to play the same
hide-the-shame game.

16

17

18

19

sheltered?

imprisoned.

she yearns for another life.

does not want to be her mother.
sure as hell doesn't want to be Father...
doesn't even want to be in the same room,
the same house,
state...

'perhaps,' she thinks.

     --escape (Eros II - Agape):

how often does a child revisit the sins of their ancestors
before they
can live their own?

we cannot know,
but imagine
it's an impressive number

- - -

/ Carolyn /

- - -

He is nothing (everything)
like Father.

He is young,
vital, real,
and,
best of all,
He understands her, who she is.
(oh, I think we’ve heard that one before.)

He listens to her dreams -

  (at least, long enough to convince her
     to shed her inhibitions and...)

she doesn't see, or really know.
come on, really,
how could she?

- - -

/ Carolyn /

- - -

Father shrieks.
Father wails.
Father cries,
then threatens,
then crumbles;
what use have the strong
for the weak,
when the chains that once bound
have been transferred to another?

     --sacrifice (Persephone):

yet,
as we know,
/ Carolyn's /
mommy watches still
   [so cold]
   [so cold]
sees in Him
the father that once held her loins to his hips,
and bound her freedom to his fist.

she knows,
oh, she knows.

'better dead,' she slithers,
from behind the veil
separating the living
from incoherent reasoning.

Mother doesn't recognize that
her backdrop is faded,
her fingers are insubstantial, and
her soul - frozen
     in selfish hatred
and desire
     in selfish spite
and pity
(perhaps more for herself than / Carolyn / ?)
she can only weep tears of shame
and call them Love.
she can only reach for the sun
through a waterfall of hatred,
reach, and...

     --epilogue (Thanatos):

silence beckons all,
fingertips bony as slivers of ice.
we heed.
in time,
perhaps welcome,
  the cold
    the moon
        [so cold]
           the moon
              [so cold]
                 the moon
                   [so cold]
as she once used to welcome the heat
of his self-loathing.

blackness envelopes her shroud:
the white recedes,
memory returns,
and Mother wails from behind stapled eyes
as Death embraces her second soul
pulling outward
and away from dreams of living.

with invisible fingers,
/ Carolyn /
turns from Mother's cries
and,
reaches through a
    [so cold]
waterfall of hatred
to touch the darkness that
spawned her
spited her
pierced her.

- - - - - - - - - -

it is entropic,
this journey we make.

time devolves only into what we can provide those
left behind -
be it happiness,
or fear.

anger-lust-red-red-red-red

it always ends
red.

-----/-----/-----/-----

References (for Karen):

Agape: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agape
Apollo: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo
Chronos: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chronos
Demeter: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demeter
Entropy [entropic]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Entropy
Eros: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eros_%28mythology%29
Tantalus: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tantalus
Nox: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nox_%28mythology%29
Selene [nee Luna, nee Artemis]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selene
Thanatos: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thanatos

--

Steven King - Duma Key: http://www.amazon.com/Duma-Key-Novel-Stephen-King/dp/1416552510/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1202345999&sr=8-1

Sunshine

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

1 posted 2008-02-26 11:40 PM

Oh Lordy...you wrote an Epic. I'll be back tomorrow to study...

it's been a long time coming, but I'm so glad I've something to look forward to!

SEA

Moderator

Member Seraphic

since 2000-01-18

Posts 22676
with you

2 posted 2008-02-27 12:27 PM

I have goosebumps!!

good grief Kissy....this is so intense! The way this pulls the emotions...so excellent! Not only are you cute, but you can write like none other...

nakdthoughts
Member Laureate

since 2000-10-29

Posts 19200
Between the Lines

3 posted 2008-02-27 09:59 AM

and...
she yearns for another life

so much to contemplate here...every line led me to the next.

M

serenity blaze
Member Empyrean

since 2000-02-02

Posts 27738

4 posted 2008-02-27 10:03 AM

You made me break my vow of silence.

(references for moi? Or another Karen?)

I was good until I hit Nox. And I should known that one too.

This is most especially good stuff, C. I'm ever curious about technique--um, the slashes are for...????

I'm gonna save this one. (I think I'll have to send a link to a few friends too--and I only do that occasionally.)

This is the whole meal, m'friend. Complete with perfect wine, artful presentation, and yet it's simple enough to go down easy (so to speak--sorry--I'm still me

)

Ah...roll over and sleep now. You've done your work masterfully. Wow.

Is this feeling I have...could it be?

SATISFACTION?

Sunshine

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

5 posted 2008-02-27 11:03 AM

I enjoyed the weave the storyteller/narrator [second voice] but I too am curious as to the / slashes / unless you are currying favor as to some form that I am not familiar with [and I'm not familiar with a lot, but I'm getting better

]

As said above, this was very enjoyable, hard-hitting, life and death and we won't speak of love, more of dependency and lust and co-dependence and some spiritual ever-lasting that could be there. [I choose to think it is so.]

It's so good to see you post, and if it takes months before the next one that is as great as this one is...it will be well worth it.

You're publishing, right???

Christopher

Moderator

Member Rara Avis

since 1999-08-02

Posts 8296
Purgatorial Incarceration

6 posted 2008-02-27 11:05 AM

for you midi-k.

Robert E. Jordan
Member Rara Avis

since 2008-01-25

Posts 8541
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

7 posted 2008-02-27 11:17 AM

Christopher,

Shades of John Dillinger, and the “Lady In Red”. Stop signs should really be green.

This is excellent work. I enjoyed the read.

Bobby

TomMark
Member Elite

since 2007-07-27

Posts 2133
LA,CA

8 posted 2008-02-27 08:53 PM

Enjoyed the read. Beautiful poem..the emotion and the flow, though I only got...may be half of the story.

Midnitesun

Member Empyrean

since 2001-05-18

Posts 28647
Gaia

9 posted 2008-02-28 08:36 PM

wow...C, this was a fascinating read!

serenity blaze
Member Empyrean

since 2000-02-02

Posts 27738

10 posted 2008-02-29 01:31 PM

"noli me tangere" mutters Karen. *weak smile*?

Okay, so you dont wanna explain the slashes. (Even if I promise not to steal them like I stole this little thingie---> ~

And hey--in my own defense if I have one on my keyboard too, it's not stealing. Imitation is...well flattery when it ain't annoying, isn't it? And c'mon, I only used that thingie a couple of times.)

So okay, I'll just assume the slashes are to isolate Carolyn, and thus, it gave the impact of detachment on a subconscious level for me as your reader. If that was your intent, congratulations.

And C? I really, really love this poem. As I told a friend, I'm not sure if it is a great poem, or just the right poem for me at the right time. (Now, now, it can be both.)

I want to add that normally, this style of poetry is not my cup of tea. But somehow, with that tone of detached observance, you hit just the right notes for me. I would love to go through it line by line, but I related to it so personally, I'm afraid I'd ruin it for everybody as I regressed into an all about me self absorbed analysis of my own experience (yet again) and somehow, this poem is like when you meet someone, and you just know that they know what you know--even at first glance.

I applaud your use of ellipses here. Loss is grief and mourning and it can't be measured in increments of time. Even when we would like that. (That bit about "it will heal in time" is absurd because time slows to a crawl when pain is intense and you wait for relief. (tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock?)

I couldn't help but notice that aside from the Gods and Goddesses in your "headers", / Carolyn / , "Father", and "He" "Him" are singled out for capitalization. I don't think that was one of your happy accidents either.

I like it very much, and I'll try to refrain from delving into my masculine/feminine speech about being more accurately described as active/receptive principles. That said, it's enough. *smile* Nice touch, you.

I loved "delivery" because it brought to mind something I realized when I had my own children. Actually, at the first flutter of quickening, I realize now that even through the awe that I felt, and still feel, that when I gave birth to my first child--the child in me had to die. And then, how unfair it is to the child, but it's inevitable that parents revive that inner child as they relive their childhood watching their own children, and clumsy attempts to heal the oh-we-thought-we-forgot traumas incurred through them. But this is dangerously close to me getting too personal again, and I've done that enough, methinks.

I love that you start with the moon, the receptive principle, the reflection which can serve to guide us, and then, during the nights of the dark of the moon, we become acutely aware of our stargods.

But I'm going to shut up again--I love this poem--it is fluid metaphor and my own very personal interpretation can change again over night. And that is what a poem should do.

Now, back to silence? smiling, you don't mind if I quote you, do you?

"I will not expound here;
we know this part,
understand it with a depth so visceral, that
no amount of evolution can dredge the riverbed of our psyches. [the bold italics are mine good people, that there is my favorite line]

penitent now, we must move on."

and thank you Christopher.

I love this poem. It is worth thinking about more than a few days.

serenity blaze
Member Empyrean

since 2000-02-02

Posts 27738

11 posted 2008-02-29 01:44 PM

Oh. And I wouldn't have minded at all if you'd painted that last word red.

*chuckles and winks to Linda*

serenity blaze
Member Empyrean

since 2000-02-02

Posts 27738

12 posted 2008-02-29 01:44 PM

But just the last one.

Alison

Member Rara Avis

since 2008-01-27

Posts 9318
Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy!

13 posted 2008-03-02 12:28 PM

I am coming back to read this when I am more awake - but I want it up here so I don't miss it.

Alison

Member Rara Avis

since 2008-01-27

Posts 9318
Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy!

14 posted 2008-03-02 03:08 PM

May I print this out?

I am just feeling really quiet inside and want to read this again. And, I want to save it out of the computer, if I may.

Alison

	⇧ top of page ⇧
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format.