Condemned For Loving Too Much


Condemned for Loving Too Much

Poetry Palace Award

Loving (TV series)
Image via Wikipedia

“Condemned for Loving too Much”

All was quiet in this forgotten town,

Because of the record snow tumbling down,

Yet in the plaza crowds were shopping still,

Looking for entertainment to get their fill,

There were walkers, and talkers, shops all ablaze,

Restaurants still open but countless delays,

Marge was waiting patiently and talking to a friend,

This day had been perfect, she didn’t want it to end,

Somehow, she noticed him, standing off from the crowd,

His gray eyes fixed on her, haughty and proud,

His brown coat, his lean frame, the thin twisted nose,

Why she alone could see him, she could only suppose,

His eyes asked questions, the answers she didn’t dare,

What kind of man was he? One that didn’t care?

Was he an angry ghost or a demon of some kind?

Why were his thoughts penetrating her mind?

Somehow in his hands he held her new fate,

She thought, “Is it possible to love someone you hate?”

As this thought surfaced, Marge pushed it away,

She had never seen him before, not until today,

“He is not attractive,” she thought, “not in the least,”

But he continued to stare at her like she was a feast,

Her face flushed, and deep within the heat began,

Rising in waves until perspiration ran,

She was uncomfortable, she needed time to think,

But he watched her diligently, not once did he blink,

“Is it possible to love your enemy?” she thought,

“What is it about me that’s so eagerly sought?”

She was thirty-three years old for goodness sake,

And ten pounds too heavy, give or take,

Yet she was flattered by his attention even more,

Unlike her friends, all her faults he chose to ignore,

He willed her to move forward, but he didn’t insist,

Although she closed her eyes, she was helpless to resist,

Silently Marge turned, her demon she faced,

When he smiled, her legs trembled, her heart raced,

She took one step forward, two, then three,

She unbuttoned her blouse, letting him see,

She hated him and yet she was offering her kind,

Melting into love, her body yielding to his mind,

Seeking his hatred, demands, contempt to slay,

Doing what she could, loving his hate away,

An act of love determined Marge’s fate,

Is it possible to love, someone you hate?

All is quiet again in this forgotten town,

But there is one less demon standing around,

No one wants to question or be out of touch,

Should Marge be condemned for loving too much?

Born Lucky


I was born lucky.  I would have chosen my parents right from the start.  I was loved and I felt loved. Maybe they chose me and maybe I chose them.  They were a perfect fit.  I would never claim I was better than others or worse than others.  I know that I saw the world around me with a different view than others had.  When my friends and neighbors complained about their siblings or parents, I  remained silent or said I would choose the same two brothers and the  same four sisters and the same parents.

We didn’t always agree on some subjects but I  knew that our parents were special.  It wasn’t about money.  Money didn’t buy happiness. It wasn’t about material things at all.  We learned to enjoy the foods we had, mostly beans and potatoes and corn bread, and occasionally biscuits and gravy.  It wasn’t about the things we didn’t have.  We learned to use what we had and do without the things we didn’t have. Flour sacks became clothes. Hand-me-downs were common.  Time spent with family was valuable time.  Respect and truth and love were important.  Each day was part of a life-long learning experience.

Even though I didn’t have much I learned how to work, how to play, how to enjoy the world every day.  I was not perfect but I didn’t feel mean or rotten.  I wanted to help people who were hurting, sad, or lonely.  I was usually considered “nice”.  I was a good person, willing to help neighbors and friends.  I could change a tire, carry buckets of water, travel across countries, and participate in games without getting angry as long as there were rules to follow.  I believed in rules and fairness.

Lucky? Maybe I should say I was treated fairly in life. When I saw what others had, what they needed, and the conditions surrounding them, I knew I was blessed.  The world around us did not appear fair in its treatment to others.  Perhaps I was so naïve or oblivious to problems that I escaped what could have been painful experiences.

When I compared my circumstances with others, I began to wake up and observe.  When I visited a friend who  made great claims regarding things he owned, I discovered the truth.  His imagination gave him all the things he didn’t have.  He didn’t live in a mansion. He didn’t drive a fancy car.  He was surrounded by problems that he chose not to see.  He was ashamed to invite me inside his house. The house was tiny and crowded. The windows were broken and needed replacements. The floor had holes.  The house was cold and damp.

The worst of it was the human factor.  How could they survive with conditions like this? It got worse.  In another room his brother sat on a bed in dirty clothes. His eyes were glazed over, flies were clustered all over his face, and yet he was smiling.   I could not imagine living in that home.  His parents were sitting at the kitchen table, discussing the weather, waiting for some super cells to hit the area, and wondering where to go.

Maybe that is why I began volunteering, helping out when I could.  I came into this world looking to do something for others and this was my opportunity to quit talking and begin acting.  I am lucky because I got a good start in life. My life has been blessed even though I have physical problems. Physical problems will not hold me back. I am a poet and a writer.  I must encourage others to help make the world a better place. I must act quickly because death is always waiting and I don’t have time to die.

July 23, 2017

 

 

 

 

YOU THINK?


Your story reminds me of an incident that happened long ago and far away, and it’s a true story.  I was divorced and dating a woman with three kids.  The oldest child would do some creative thinking when he was bored.  He could be very good but he was bored often and needed attention.  One afternoon I decided we could go to a park and play softball.  It seemed harmless enough at the time.

the kids weren’t ready to play so they began looking for things to rip apart or accidently destroy. I was young once so that seemed reasonable. When they began throwing rocks at each other, I was hesitant about letting it continue. But their mother thought it was o.k. until another family complained about the rocks bouncing off their car.  They suggested we take our family to a quiet place with thick metal bars.

We compromised by letting them throw water balloons at each other.  Harmless, right? It didn’t take long before they were soaked and cold.  They didn’t have other clothes to wear so they began whining and fighting.  Perfectly normal, right? The oldest began teasing his sister.  His mom blew up! She was tired of all the noise.

They were hungry, wet, and cold. I suggested I could buy them lunch at a mini mart close by.  I pulled up, set the hand brake and kept it in gear. The space was slanted but we were all going inside. But, no! Because the oldest had been bad he would be punished by staying in the car. No supervision, one mad child, hungry, cold, wanting to get away……Now it doesn’t seem like such a good idea.  At the time I was very concerned but I went inside with them.

It didn’t immediately dawn on me that customers and workers were running in the same direction for a reason. I wanted to see what was so exciting!  I was almost run over by the crowd so I went to check on Toby. I thought he must have seen the exciting action(whatever it was).  There was a catch! I couldn’t find Toby,  And, yes, the car was missing!

While we were in the store Toby decided he would run away, er, drive away. He was able to take the car out of gear AND release the hand brake. When nothing was holding the car in place, Toby turned the steering wheel and the car went backwards down the hill, up a small ramp, jumped over two cars without touching them, and came to a stop suspended between two large lamp posts. I climbed up and carefully opened the front passenger door.  Two dark eyes in a very pale face stared back at me.

“Toby, are you o.k.?” I asked him several questions before turning him over to his mother. Cars were blocked from using the road so two tow trucks hooked onto my car, front and back, and slowly lowered it to the ground.  I gathered everybody and we returned to civilization. Score: nobody hurt, no damage to car, no arrests.  Just one tired boy with one big adventure. And yes, just like many of my stories, I believe angels always watch over me and those with me.

july 23, 2017

 

 

TRADITIONS OF TRUTH


Traditions

Our family had traditions,

Coffee, morning newspaper, crossword puzzles,

Discussions about upcoming plans,

American holidays, political candidates,

The winners and also rans.

The discussions blended together

And nobody cussed,

But one thing was sure, we sought the truth,

We took pride in knowing George Washington

Didn’t lie when he chopped down the cherry tree,

And Lincoln was known as “honest Abe”,

They were leaders we could look up to.

We believed our country attracted the world’s best,

And with hard work and determination

We could rise to the top with all the rest.

Our leaders were thoughtful and honest,

 We believed in a handshake or giving our word,

To lie or to cheat was simply absurd.

We believed in who we were fighting for or voting for,

And we wanted to be known for  loving more.

But somehow our love relationships and respect

For each other has gone out the door.

There are no more honest presidents like George or Abe.

Our words are not true and our relationships worthless to save.

We are not honest and always true,

Ugly Americans, we are called, and other words too.

Where are the immigrants, natives, and protectors of rights?

We hide in the darkness and run from the light.

It’s time to tell the truth.

July 22, 2017

 

 

NEIGHBORS


NEIGHBORS

There is something odd about my neighbor,

I guess she’s under some kind of stress.

She stares without seeing,

And plays with the buttons on her dress.

She avoids attention, even light from the sun,

And I would swear she’s packing a gun.

She sits across the aisle from me,

Trying to ignore the things she sees.

A man stands at a corner waiting for our bus,

He is tired, hungry, defeated, just like us.

After days of searching , there’s still no work,

He’s just a fraction away from going berserk.

How can he survive if he’s living on pride?

Will he find a place to live safely outside?

A group of teens climbs aboard, boisterous and loud,

I wonder if one will escape the tenement and return rich and proud.

They threaten the homeless man.

He might have money stashed in a can.

They threaten the woman as she pretends to read,

Telling her they want her to meet their needs.

They laugh and suggest they could have fun,

Not noticing her hand touching her gun.

They turn their attention finally to me.

I was watching and waiting, it had to be.

Survival of the fittest, or the ones with most greed,

Somebody’s angels, or someone’s bad seed.

There is little to distinguish between me and my brother,

Hell will claim one, and heaven will get the other.

July 21, 2017berserk

  THE AIR LEAVES WITH YOU


 

When you exit the room all the air leaves with you,

And the world is not the same.

I still hear your voice.

I continue to call your name.

Time hesitates, suspended in air,

I’m confused and lost, without you there.

The world is bleak within my sight.

There is no color just black and white.

I gasp, I choke,

 Clocks have stopped in mid-stroke.

Where is love without you near?

And where is music for my ears?

Nothing is the same as it needs to be.

Please come home and bring air to breathe.

july 21, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

The Air I Breathe


 

THE AIR LEAVES WITH YOU

When you exit the room all the air leaves with you,

And the world is not the same.

I still hear your voice.

I continue to call your name.

Time hesitates, suspended in air,

I’m confused and lost, without you there.

The world is bleak within my sight.

There is no color just black and white.

I gasp, I choke,

 Clocks have stopped in mid-stroke.

Where is love without you near?

And where is music for my ears?

Nothing is the same as it needs to be.

Come home, my love, and bring air to me.

July 21, 2017

 

 

 

clocks,