All on my Own - pipTalk Forums

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!

OwlSA
Member Rara Avis

since 2005-11-07

Posts 9347
Durban, South Africa

0 posted 2013-01-18 03:26 PM

ALL ON MY OWN
18 January 2013

(There is no prize, except my undying admiration and utter surprise, for anyone who wades through every word of this, though you may need to spend a birthday or two or three in the process.)

From the whispers
of my first breath
in years long faded,
except, of course,
for my best friend God,
(though I am not sure
in what later years
He became my best friend),
I did it
all on my own;

in hospital after my birth;
I don’t remember what I was told
was wrong with me then
and I really don’t care;
whatever it was
didn’t recur
otherwise I would have known;

in learning to read before I went to pre-school,
my mother being a teacher,
with a big, though non-agressive, THE
on the back of my bedroom door
because that was the word
I struggled with then,
and it must have worked
because I can read THE now,
all on my own;

in the dolls only fit
for being taught
because I didn’t know
about children and babies
and family love,
but they were the best-educated dolls
I ever met
in all my pre-school experience;

on my tricycle
racing around the garden;
in the red racing car
of Peter
my five-year old
next door neighbour,
first behind him,
then – oh joy!
behind the steering wheel
all on my own!

with my beloved Woofie
given away
so soon
because my father
didn’t like animals
and so he left me
all on my own;

wearing that beige heart-shaped stone,
lucky-packet ring
that Bennie
another neighbour gave me
also when I was about five –
it was such a pretty ring
and oh how I loved it;
I wonder when my mother
threw it away;
I never would have;
though perhaps I was persuaded
to give it away
amongst the toys
I was taught to donate
once a year
“to the poor children”
though I am wondering now
if that was really the destination
of my gifts
though I am probably just being cynical
as it probably was where they went
as we took a few children
from the local children’s home
to the beach one day every year;

in the ballet competition
for five-year olds
that I didn’t practise for
(though my best friend
worked at it every day
while her mother
played on their grand piano);
and the pianist asked me
what music she should play
and I said anything because
the music would tell me what to do
and Robert Louis Stevenson’s
Child’s Garden of Verses
that I won
and have still
(though the cover is a little loose)
and all of its pages have been read
and loved
more times
probably than you have taken breath;

in the mango tree
with the branch
for me to sit on
and that short broken one
for my feet -
I can see it now
and would give my back teeth -
does anyone want my back teeth?
to swing down from that foot branch
as I did every day so many, many years ago
all on my own;

in my made-up ball games
with rules I adhered to
with law-abiding determination
all on my own;

in my imagined adventures
that nobody ever knew about,
some I spent
sitting in a large cardboard box
with milk and biscuits
and exciting dreams
in the front garden
all on my own;

even in games of my imagination
with friends from time to time,
and though whoever it was
entered into it whole-heartedly,
I doubt they saw what I was seeing -
like swimming through
a field of long golden grass
on a chicken farm
with a little black girl
who probably had never seen
a swimming pool
or the sea;
and the friend whose wooden gate
we rode our horses wild and free,
though I think she just swang
her half-gate horse open and closed
in fun co-operation;
and so,
in essence
I was
always
and still,
playing
all on my own;

in the poetry
my mother
and father
read to me
- ah yes, I have that -
and I thank them both for that
and their different favourites,
though I can’t believe
I wouldn’t have met
and fallen in love
with poetry
at some or other stage,
but it was good
to be impassioned by it so early
and I still hear my father’s voice
reading Hiawatha
and my mother’s
reading Sea Fever;
here where I sit
all on my own;

though it would have been nice
if my mother hadn’t turned her nose up
at what I wrote years later;
which would have suppressed my poetry
if it hadn’t refused to be suppressed
and it flowed all these years
from my pen
all on my own;

and it would also have been nice
if my father had wanted at least one child
especially as I was
all on my own;

in seven years of marriage
for at least one of which
I practised my French
on my husband
but he didn’t know
as he didn’t listen
and so I was
essentially
all on my own;

in my beloved children who grew up
and left the nest
and my daughter who
hasn’t spoken
a non-poisoned word
to me in about twenty years
(except for two sentences
in an email
about three years ago
on my birthday);
and my son whom I see once a week
and sometimes a little extra
when I need something fixed,
has his own family now,
and is very busy giving
very passionately
to various communities
and I am proud of him
though wish I had more time
to commune with him
and not be
all on my own;

so, except for my dog and my cat
and a renter in the outside rooms
whom I hardly ever see,
and my forest which I adore
and my horse and other cat and other dog
in Heaven,
I live
all on my own;

in long nights of reading poetry
to cats and dogs
who hang
on my every word
and let me know
that with them
I am not
all on my own;

in dark midnights on the piano
with doors and windows closed,
with Beethoven
and Dvorak
and Grieg
and my beloved Chopin
and others,
in broken music
playing
as well as I could
all on my own;

in nature reserves
with my favourite companion,
me,
so that I can wander
at my leisure,
drinking it all in,
and loving it all
and stop to wonder at
and commune with,
whenever I want,
a leaf or a rock
or an insect
or a flower
or a giraffe
or a mongoose
or the panoramic-horizoned richness
of an eco-habitat,
that God displays wide-skied,
all on my own;

in learning which friends and acquaintances
are real
and which are fake;
and weaning myself
away from those
who would blur
my vision
and stunt my growth
and threaten my spirit;

but in all of this
I became
my own
best friend
(after God)
and I know my worth,
my weaknesses and my strengths,
the good in me, and the bad;

I have few friends
and very little family
but the real ones of both
are valued
as drops of rain
in a scorched gasping desert,
though even of these,
few know me at all,
though many think they do,
and nobody knows me
as well as I do;

and as shocked as you may be
to hear this,
I like me
all on my own
in every sense of that.

Owl
(For anyone who got this far, you have determination, well done!)

RedStoneEB
Senior Member

since 2003-06-08

Posts 772
uk

1 posted 2013-01-19 02:59 PM

it was like reading the life story from start to yet unfinished for life is still of you but i can understand the whole remembering part, looking back on all these events that defined some part of you that make you, well you. I always thought the whole scene of been a poet and been told that our pieces of art weren't really upto standard always worked towards a driving poet but been told by your mother it didn't really meet much of her apporval wasn't really a way to uplift the arts of someone wanting acceptance on some level.

I'm guessing the family pet for a short time was a dog by the name woofie, but least you got an experience of it, sometimes people say they like been alone but I guess thats because like you say we are the understanding person of ourselves that have done the critics on us through-out our lifes, it was a nice read.

RS

OwlSA
Member Rara Avis

since 2005-11-07

Posts 9347
Durban, South Africa

2 posted 2013-01-20 02:03 AM

Thank you, RS for having ploughed through the whole of this and of having understood it so well. Yes, Woofie was a dogalog, a fox terrier. All I have left of him now is one photo of him on my tricycle with his paws on the handlebars. Until my parents’ divorce, I had to make do with much-loved cuddly toy animals. After my parents’ divorce, the first thing my mother did, was to give me a kitten for my birthday (whom I called Socks), and since that day, I haven’t gone without animals, except for short aching times, between one going to Heaven and finding another one or more.

Owl

latearrival
Member Ascendant

since 2003-03-21

Posts 5499
Florida

3 posted 2013-01-23 04:26 AM

Owl, as I have been sharing computer time with my son of late I have not had the time to finish this post. But tonight or this early morning I finally did. AND I so understand your feeling all alone. I had for many years off and on. Not as long as you have but growing up with an older and a younger brother and mom and dad working I was all alone many times. But it lead me to books and pen pals, paper dolls, journals and scrap books. AND through pen pals I wrote constantly to other young girls and a few boys all the way from age 12 to now. As I count pip and facebook leaning toward the same route of making friends from all over the world through writing.

After the family has grown they have to lead their own lives and we are here when needed it seems. I feel the pain for you.You have had a much more lonely life but also have been able to learn who you are as have I. We seem to be steadfast and able to be alone or with others as time permits. best wishes to you , jo

secondhanddreampoet
Member Ascendant

since 2006-11-07

Posts 6394
a 'Universalist' !

4 posted 2013-01-23 11:15 AM

wow ... what an opus magnum!

fine writing (as always) ...

--- hopefully, one of those 'friends,'

B.

OwlSA
Member Rara Avis

since 2005-11-07

Posts 9347
Durban, South Africa

5 posted 2013-01-24 01:16 AM

Thank you, Martyjo, for your kind reply and for going to lengths to get to the end of the poem. However, my point was that despite being all on my own, and more to the point of the poem, DOING whatever I did mostly on my own, contrary to most people, I LIKE being on my own. I am not and have never essentially felt lonely – except for a very temporary mood (of a few hours at the very most) which has occurred very seldom at one time or another. I have felt intense pain at the break-up of my marriage and at the loss of some (not all) boyfriends (even, in some cases, if I was the one who broke up with him), but not because I am “alone”. There have been times that I would have liked companionship for a short while, and mostly when I have, I have actually done something to find it, but I actually NEED to be on my own most of the time. I normally find companionship a strain and a drain on me, even with people I really like and want to be with - and there are very, very few people with whom I feel entirely comfortable and at ease. I feel very comfortable with my own company and like spending time with me and am very happy to escape other people and get home to my own company, and of course my animals. Granted, I need the constant company of animals and always feel completely comfortable and at ease with animals (mine, anyone else’s, or any animals I meet) right from the first moment of meeting them, and I never feel that they are a strain or a drain. When my late ex-step-mother-in-law, who was one of my most favourite people on earth, and my late father-in-law (of whom I was very fond, and with whom I also got on very well) visited my husband and me for the weekend, before or after the children were born, as pleased as I was to see them arrive and as pleased as I was to spend time with them, I found it exhausting, and I was very, very relieved when they left. I had a next-door neighbour when I was married who was the exact opposite of me. She NEEDED company for at least part of the day. I NEEDED to be alone for at least most of the day. She would pop in at least once or twice a day and it drove me up the wall, until I asked her to visit less often, but for longer visits – she took offence for 2 weeks, and then turned up again and complied with my wishes, but probably felt very hurt for much longer than that, no matter how much I tried to explain. I suppose the essence of it all is that other people don’t understand me - some understand one or other aspect of me to varying degrees – mostly because they share that aspect – some even understand more than one aspect of me, again to varying degrees - but I don’t think there has ever been one person who understands all the aspects of me – or who has even wanted to (and yes, both of those facts make me sad – especially because I believe – but could be wrong – that there have been people whom I have understood totally, or as much as they have allowed me to discover – and I have wanted to) - and I understand me very well indeed, lol! I have never needed to FIND myself, lol. I have been here all the time – and I know me, and always have, from as far back into my childhood as I can remember – the good and the bad equally, and I think that I have as unbiased and as objective a view of me, as anyone can possibly have of oneself. And, whether anyone else does or not, I like me (as almost embarrassing as that is to say). Sorry for the long boring ramble all about me!

Thank you, Bruce. Of course you are a friend!

[This message has been edited by OwlSA (01-24-2013 02:03 AM).]

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