Woodland Cabin

Here’s a poem I wrote about feeling alone and feeling like no one noticed that a part of me was dying. Anyway, I don’t want to give too much of it away. Or maybe I already did. My nickname in high school used to be Jo.

Woodland Cabin

The sun beat down one afternoon upon the cabin roof,
The musty air inside lay thick and still.
A summer breeze blew fragrances of honeysuckle rose
That wafted lazily from off the hill.

The woodland creatures roamed that day around the trees and bush,
The air made light the branches of the trees.
But stillness pained this summer time that brought a chilling touch
And deafening silence, hallowed by the breeze.

A rocking chair stood on the porch, a pipe lay to one side
Upon a tree stump cursed with blackening rot.
Collapsing steps and peeling paint and beams in ill-repair
Had marked this woodland home that time forgot.

And there within the belly of this dark and lonely hut,
Amid the dust from summers gone before,
Engulfed in foul-smelling air, the shriveled mound of flesh
Of Hermit Joe lay rotting on the floor.

The sun beat down that afternoon upon his lonely grave,
O’er which no sorrowing eyes had bowed and cried.
It gently heated up the dust and age-old rotting flesh
That housed and fed the worms that bred inside.


(c) JMariah

Bees, Words and Dead Flies

I didn't have time to post this earlier, but after my very interesting conversation with my friend today (that started at a decent time in the morning and hurled us both so quickly into the afternoon), words came at me. We had ended our conversation with her telling me about the wasps that had attacked her honey bees and how they were out to get her ever since she doused their nest (but that's another story - and it's hers so I won't be telling it). Well, as I sat at my computer again, these words just came at me from nowhere. I closed my eyes and just let my fingers dance in the dark. And this is what they typed:

words tumble
and roll off the page at will.
they shake and drop
to the floor like dead flies.
some attack me around my ankles
and I stamp them out
and I hear them squeal
still
I have no mercy.
They tremble and shake
as they tumble off the page
where my poems used to be,
and all I can do is watch in disbelief,
till they attack -

and then I stomp.

(image by Marina Camargo)

The Sadness Of Unfulfilled Dreams

Here's a poem about the sadness of dreams that go unfulfilled.

Dance

Dance
said my little girl,
dance
as she twirled the way I used to
whenever mother put on her tap shoes
and made the dining room her personal
stage

she said she was revisiting the remnants
of discarded dreams
the same way Grandma would
jump in and out of old photographs

I never quite understood
till I married
and started having children
of my own


Read more poems by JMariah

Sometimes, I Just Can't Seem To Write

I've been battling much writer's block lately. It's such a painful thing.

Still I Write

I sit with my pen poised
at the ready
and my heart longing
to write,
saddened that all the words
and phrases
I scribble
have been lain down
on parchment before,
strewn
hastily
or with grave caution
upon a page
somewhere
before.
And in me
there is nothing new.

Read more poems by JMariah

I Thought Of An Old Flame Last Night

This poem came to me just as I lay down to sleep. It was tugging at me so hard, I had to get right back out of bed again to write it down. I'll have to work on it in the morning.

Memories

I lay my unclad body down upon my open bed,
the gentle whispering of a spinning fan
blowing against my skin.
And I think of you.
I close my eyes and remember you
touching me in the memories
that dance around in a time
far behind me.
And I ache
to drag you into my room,
or to go back to meet you
where you are.

Read more poems by JMariah

A Fascination With Blackbirds, Ravens and Crows

Painting by me, entitled Crow

For a long time now, I've had a fascination with Blackbirds, Ravens and Crows. For instance, the raven is often seen as a bad omen, a foreboding of death. But in some cultures, the raven is viewed as a symbol of change, mysterious, a messenger of the gods, highly intelligent, keeper of secrets. 

Where I live, I see a lot of crows. I pay particular attention to them when they fly overhead. And I see it as a good sign when they land and walk along beside me.

The Crows

Today, I watched the crows
as they swooped
and dived at each other
above the tops of the trees,
squawking
above the din of early morning traffic.

Sometimes I wish I were a crow,
moving to the music
of the seasons,
squawking my song
and dancing my dance
high above all the gazing eyes
looking up and wishing
they were me.

Read more poems by JMariah

No Such Thing As Secret Love

Ok, so I've been in love with this guy for some time now. We dated years ago and were planning to marry. Well, things didn't work out and he is now married and living....well, let's just say, he lives a world away from me. Well he claims he is still in love with me....ok, so I still love him too. 

No Secret

If I close my eyes and hold my breath
I can see you
Smiling up at me like you haven’t a care in the world,
As if no one will notice the longing you possess in your eyes for me,
Like our love were a secret…
It’s not you know,
It shines on my face
And resonates in every word I utter between my lips.
And you are no better
Every smile you smile tells of the love you have for me
Every glance you gaze off into the distance
Tells of the thoughts you have for me
The wanting that burns you up inside.
We think we’re hiding a secret,
But we’re not,
it’s all over our faces.


Read more poems by JMariah

Africa Sings

A moment
siphons dreams
from a barren woman
like puffs
of dusty air
from panting nostrils,
while low hums
betray her presence
in the thick,
and billow
like a fragrance
on the smoke of prayers
to the gods,
until her hunger
beats the skins
of the ashiko and djembe
and dances the earth,
pounding out the rhythm
that is Africa,

and Africa sings. 

Painting by me, entitled Africa

Read more poems by JMariah

Show Me Your Eyes

The heart of the man was cunningly wicked;
His tongue was callous and cold.
The schemes he used hurt and abused,
While his eyes were the windows to his soul.

Sweet words he twisted to suit his purpose;
Each promise was bent, then broken.
Lies he construed to sound like the truth,
While his true intent went unspoken.

Love was a game for him to win,
And hearts that were blind, he stole.
His touches felt good, so she misunderstood
That his eyes were the windows to his soul.

The woman believed the tongue of the man
Who lied of such doting affection.
She hung on the smiles that he donned all the while
That his mind sought another direction.

His lips burned with kisses that teased her inside
And bade her to fall for his lies.
Her emotions he played with the future he paved,
While his lids closed over his eyes.
He refused to show her his eyes.

Sick Of Being Alone

I gulp down another forkful of loneliness
and choke on the excuses smothering it,
the way globs of ketchup
would cover clumps of unpalatable mashed potatoes.
My stomach tightens,
heaves
and threatens to throw it all back.
I gag,
then swallow.

Lies squirt my eyes
with the pungent juices
of a ripe onion,
and send the tears over my teeth
to wash down the lumps.

I burp up a memory from the past
and re-taste its teases
on the edges of my tongue,
before slowly guiding another forkful
toward the back of my throat.
Bile rises. I gag,
then swallow.

Read more poems by JMariah

Dark Cloud

Today I am alone and feeling so deeply lonely. This loneliness is so overwhelming, biting into the hours of the day with much crying and a deep depression. I am doubting that there could possibly be anyone in this whole world who would truly love me. I look at myself in the mirror and I don’t like the image I see. And more than that, I can’t believe that anyone else would either. A dark cloud moved over me last night and I’ve not been able to shake it since. I am reaching for the happiness in a love that has always been beyond my grasp, and it scares me. It scares me to think that one day I may find that this illusive love wasn’t meant to be anything but just that – a dream I was never meant to attain.

Dark Cloud

A grey mood slips
silently over my night
and hovers
menacingly
moments above me.
And suddenly,
I’m aware that I’m alone.

A deep heaviness
rises within me
and shields my mind
from reason.
Staggered breaths
break the silence
and flood my swollen eyes
with the sting of self-doubt.

Hours drag on,
‘til morning finds me choking
on the memory
of past neglects and abuses
and drowning on the tears
they’ve made.

And who’s going to love me
out of this depression today?
Who’s going to help me
end this silence
that echoes my loneliness
back to me?

No one…

I Miss My Mother

As Mother's Day approached this year, I became very sullen. After about a week, I realised that it was because I missed my mother. She was such a vibrant woman, a social butterfly, a loyal friend and generous hostess. My mother is still alive, living an empty existence without the memories of her experiences that made up who she was. Now this shell that used to house my mother is pacing a hall in a medical facility with other Alzheimer's patients. Her personality has been snatched from her, and I miss her terribly.

I wrote this poem the day before Mother's Day. I post it now.


Mother

You have forgotten
that I have come to see you,
as you walk
to the end of the hall,
and smile at old men
in wheelchairs
and toothless women
shuffling their bed slippers
on the sterile floor.
As you pass me
on your way back,
you slide a glance
over my face
with the eyes of a stranger
and smile, empty.

I still hear your voice
as you call for me
to stop climbing trees
and scaling fences.
I see your smiles
as you follow the lines
of my latest poem,
were they the handstands
and back walkovers
in my competitions.
I still watch you picking out
the choicest pieces of meat
for my plate.
I feel your laughter
that still rides
the beat of some popular tune
you dance to.

And you don’t know how fast
I hold on to the remnants
of what your mind has let go,
misplaced, erased of yourself,
as you walk to the end
of the hall.

Not Me Anymore

You have affected me.
Your words
have displaced my senses
and I can’t breathe anymore.
There’s a stirring inside me
that I don’t recognize
and I can’t sing anymore.
I’m not free anymore.

I pinch my eyes
against the tears
that burn with the breath
of a liar’s tongue.
And I don’t trust anymore.
And I watch silently
as you adjust your touch
like the dial on a thermostat,
so that when I open my legs to you,
you run cold.

See
how you have affected me?
This face isn’t mine anymore.

With My Heart

With my heart, I feel you close to me
I feel you want me desperately.
With my heart, I hear you call to me,
And I answer you with love.

With my heart, I feel you touching me,
Feel you quell my insecurities.
With my heart, I hear you comfort me;
I respond to you with love.

With my heart, I know you ache for me
Ache to passionately cover me,
Pour your hopes and dreams all over me,
And fill me with your love.

In my heart, I know assuredly
That you are mine eternally,
That when you pledged your heart to me,
You pledged it with your love.

I Hate Being Lied To

I hate being lied to, especially in matters of the heart. I hate when a man misrepresents himself. I hate when he tells me that he loves me when he knows he doesn't. And the words "I love you" were only used to mean "I want something from you, and I'm going to be smooth and slick to get it". 

A Lover's Lie

I should have seen the end of this,
Before I played my part.
I would have turned away the kiss
That took my heart.

I should have weighed more carefully
The words that you had spun,
And thus, this lie would certainly
Not have begun.

If I'd been careful at the start
Your cunning ploy to know,
I shouldn't have allowed my heart
To love you so.

Read more poems about love by JMariah

You Want Me

As daylight dims across the room,
A hunger burns you deep.
It stirs the blood within your veins
And keeps you from your sleep.

A shiver trickles down your neck
And siphons out a sigh.
In whispered breaths of lustful glee,
You part your panting thighs.

You yearn to feel your fingertips
Caress my wanting skin
And ache to feel your manhood firm
Against my flesh within.

But darkness falls against the walls
And hides the tears you shed,
And wraps you in its emptiness
Upon its empty bed

Far deep into the haunting night
Where love and distance war,
And parted lips but dream the kiss
Our hearts are longing for.