Poems 1
&
Other Stuff

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Something Usual In Any Other Circumstance

The afternoon is sunny after the storm

as Joe and I make our way

up the incline of Black Road

slow going in the old V.W. Bug

Our son rests on my lap

something not frowned upon

before child safety-seat laws

only he’s in a small cardboard box

inside a plastic bag

tied with a twist

I think of the many times

we’ve traveled this road

him wiggling on my lap

gurgling with glee

I attempt to shade his eyes

from the blaze of light

as we drive that final mile

Today we take him home

for the last time

park in front of the empty lot

scorched black where our house stood

the week before

open the small cardboard box

untie the twist on the plastic bag

and one last time he is animated

playing on the sudden breeze

that rises to guide him to his rest

Remarks

VOID…

stamped across original certificate of live birth

left nameless

…sold by mother-host

to highest bidder of military man

…newness sheen soon worn matte

expectations chiseled to bone

… love-light knew not how to shine

parenting by Doctor Spock or Kinsey

… lesson for wetting her bed

comfort, to turn-about, flow on me

…daily berating words or handy weapons

wipe self esteem

…parental sustainers

Robert Young and Donna Reed

…loaded up with stuff

more stuff to infinity

Empty…

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Hummingbird

Tiny nervous creatures

Flitters all around

Such intense movement

Without so much as a sound

Stunning, all a quiver

Such a solemn face

Expending all that energy

While floating in one place

Cynthia Bryant September 22, 1998

Lock Her Up

Somewhere

to a nonplussed audience

of her parents

a molested daughter

blurts out the secret

about her lately pouting tummy

how it came to pass

Somewhere

a mother screams

unintelligible sounds rise

to blot out offending words

that present too hard a choice

Calls the police

on her canary-yellow kitchen phone

Somewhere

the fury of a father

shocks high-color to face

as he pummels daughter

in attempts to exorcise

the madness

that threatens exposure

Somewhere

nosey neighbors open front doors

stand in groups in their yards

make up minds by committee

about what sort of folks

and who’s at fault

when laundry is aired

Somewhere

small town police arrive

lights flashing

as parents point to daughter

an undone puzzle on the floor

police gather the pieces

pile her into the back of a squad car

Somewhere

an unheard daughter

serving one-month solitary in Juvenile Hall

revisits over and over

the last few moments at home

outnumbered

incorrigible

Cynthia L. Bryant

Epiphany

We think we know the story

heard it since Sunday school

And the angel visited Mary

told her she held the fruit of the Lord

in her womb

And even though her condition was such

Joseph would take her for his wife...

legitimize the heavenly rape

In those times unwed with child

bequeathed a slow gruesome dissolution to an adulterer

death by stoning

at the hands of neighbors

for your shame

So, what if this was your young life alone pregnant circumstance waived

rape or consent death your prize

What would you say

using all imagination under heaven and earth

slacking death's desire

tugging at robes hem

to stay rocks

bashing in your tender brains

We're trying, we're hoping

We're hurting, we're loving

We're crying, we're calling

'Cause we're not sure how this goes

Calling All Angles-KD Lang and Jane Sidberry

Diving into 2020

Who of us could have imagined?

Living in a time of so much suffering and loss

We scratch through the dust bin of history

For an understanding yet to be known

We revile the wagging tongues spewing poison

Daily on screens large and small

Pictures of dead bodies piled high

Most never able to see loved ones at the end

Tireless unsung service workers

Beyond weary in their bones and minds

Less cars going to work Less planes in the air

Factories closed to save lives

Fresh products left to rot

Farm animals raised only to euthanize

Hungry get hungrier poor poorer

Easy targets for a ravenous virus or selfish society

Feral creatures venture out

parade main streets USA

Air fresher, freer of pollutants

Earth quieted hums in harmony

People bitch, yell, demand their rights

A re-opening of things back to normal

Mother sings to those who will hear

Opening begins with minds and hearts

(c) Cynthia Bryant 2020

A Mother’s Lament

Before he was born

only a mound

where a small fish swam

in guileless bliss

as cells knit and grew

Even then did a persona

seeking to experience

make it self-evident

to the host

She knows

there must come a time

when he will trudge that trail

that none may turn from

not even our precious one

She knows this

though she means to arrive ahead

For no noble cause conjured by man

holds worthy weight

to which a mother would willingly

sacrifice her child

No promise of shiny medallions

or precisely folded flag

could honor these innocent lives

or console a mother’s agony

Taken to Wing

My son’s taking a creative writing class

looking for a runway

to take his writing to the sky

Almost ready to be nudged from the nest

test his wings

see if they can hold the wind

buoy him up

skywrite his stories

to ant-like creatures below

The second session slams him

back to earth

as he is handed a poem to translate

into people-speak

one of his mother’s poems

praising the sun going down

BIRTH MOTHER

I keep on Knockin',

but no one answers.

There's a "NOT WELCOME" mat

laid out in front of the door.

Debris and cobwebs line

either side of the entrance

address plainly visible

from the street

1 - 2 - 3 Where You Came From Lane

I keep on knockin'

The lights are on

and tacked to the door,

a small sign that reads,

" Just cuz you got the address,

don't mean you're comin' in!"

CYNTHIA L. BRYANT

2/28/96 10:00am

Cold Skin

Cheap masks

quiet grimaces of despair

Years survived chaotic fury

Graveyards layered in myriad lies

piled higher than used-up people

can ever take back

Trudge travailed paths

baked into finite history’s deep ravine

Times of folks whose evil tones

Slipped out like shit from overfed crows

feasting pain and loss

Heretic lost burned in effigy

hoping to create something pure

out of skid marks left by Trump

“Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.”

Wizard of Oz

Home Now

Hydrangeas bloom beneath stairs

That lead to our door

Safe in the shadows

Climbing every day closer to sky

We remain much the same

Cloistered away life wanes on

as we search night sky

waiting for our stars to change

Abysmal

I took a shower, not a bath

It was the right thing to do

Easing my spirit back into body

Takes patience, not full Monty

My mind takes notes

June 30, 2013

DISSASOCIATE

WHEN I WISHED UPON A STAR

IT GAVE GREAT RELIEF,

WHEN I DIDN’T WANT TO KNOW

WHERE YOU ARE.

1991

Flirt

Were you born

stars in your eyes

sparkling like fireworks

set ablaze

or does that light

betray tremble

of weakened knees

rubbery stilts

unable to hold

their weight of passion

set free

when your eyes

caught mine

Flood of Consciousness

What about the time—

Do you have any

Has it been frittered away

As only

Truly present in the now, can be

Abandoned—

Among dead and undiscovered dreams

All the time guessing the truth

Holding just a little something in reserve

Wanting more, wanting it all

Settling in the end for rationed portions

One at a time, lining up in formation

Gathering for a last chance at bleating

Surrendering to fate, resurrection

What about the time…

May 26, 1998 4:03 PM

Panther

The stranger's open hands

found mine

grasped them firmly

pulling me up

on to the backdoor landing

Clothed in black

leather pants

that hung low

clung to narrow hips

encircled by ovals of silver

Long-sleeved white shirt

hugged close to

masculine shoulders

several buttons open

down his chest

Restless curls

wandered his head

wild and free

settling on his collar

Intense cat eyes

almost golden hungry with curiosity

took my temperature

With self-satisfied smile

he purred

"Hey honey,

What ya doing here?"

Suddenly self-conscious

I mumbled something

about my old man

being in the opening band

"Too bad"

His lips pursed into pout,

showing me to a chair

That night so long ago

at the American Legion Hall

hand in hand with a guy

whose name I can't recall

lost in a universe of faces

on a darkened dance floor

one beam of light

shone on the Vee-Jay announcer

"Time has come to welcome

here from L.A. with their hit

Light My Fire, topping the charts

Let's hear it for ...The Doors"

Like a clap of thunder

the drums thumped solitary

As strobe lights flashed

the electric harpsichord played the intro

as the young man in tight leather pants

leapt onto stage like a panther

microphone in hand

It is only now in the luxury glint

of recorded history

I realize how closely I had come

to being devoured

Cynthia Lane Bryant

SALT

Often when you touch me

in that familiar way

sensation transports me

takes me to the borders of the infinite

a place where you and I are intertwined

with all that have been or will ever be

dazzling jewels like sea foam

sunbathing on the rocks

Soothsayer

Having never nursed a child properly

A dragon has taken up residence

Into the darkened cavern

She brought forth progeny

Fed them off living walls

We can burn them out

Use chemical warfare

Send in the dragon slayer

Armed with a great sharp sword

But because you never learned

How to correctly nurture your own children

The old cavern will collapse

And dragon has a chance to set you ablaze

Save her own

Afraid of the Dark

A room in darkness

always seemed to hover

wanting to swallow whole

the little girl shaking under

her sheets

And even though

it’s been thirty years

since my father

creeping into the darkness

of my room

broke open my heart

I sometimes

still lay in darkened rooms

expecting the inevitable

to jolt me out of tranquil sleep

into his homespun nightmare

I had the dream again…

the one I am given finite moments

to gather what is needed and get out

Over the years urgent details have changed

an earthquake

a flood

a hurricane

sometimes an hour

fifteen minutes

Always the heart pounding

blood pumping push

for safety

As a child I remember packing the hand sewn

leather purse full of raisins, half a roll

saved from supper the night before,

pennies recycled from daddy’s dresser

enough to make do for an afternoon

of hiding in bushes to avoid an angry mom

I woke to the alarm screeching

windows breaking

smoke replacing air

with only seconds to grab my purse

run from the hellish scene

my babe asleep in his room

at the top of the stairs

Follow the Leader

1.

Twelve, thirteen and fourteen year-old girls

Oprah brought them in front of America

to say

It isn’t really sex

it’s more like shaking hands

an idea that seems to have stuck

like crusted evidence

on Monica’s blue dress

since our former President

thought to use semantics

to burrow under intimacy of deeds

when he came out of his hole of addiction

to contemplate the meaning of IS

Hormone driven teenagers

looking for loopholes

in elder’s behavior

imbue lascivious pastimes

with youthful enthusiasm

of follow the leader

as pimply-faced males line up at parties

drop their skivvies

pubescent females bow low to serve

2.

Headlines read

Being Gay Means Being Harassed in Schools

School administrators

scurry to stop bullies

like newly hatched spiders

spinning a better theme

Attempt to plait tolerance

into individual moral fibers

where the weave

of close knit fears anyone different

too arcane to be exposed to light

Meanwhile back at the ranch

like the praying mantis bites off

her mate’s head

after connubial bliss

our Commander and Big Chief

would sever homosexual’s rights

decree away

to love, honor and cherish

until death do part

For Always

I thought that you and I

Would go on forever

Like sky, the color of your eyes

When last our glances met

I thought the years ahead

Would be full of our sharing

Like your first nine months in

The second eight months out

That was almost 18 years ago

Life was filled with your giggles

Before the moment

I lost you for always

September 29, 1998 4:45 PM

Forever Bound

Arthritic ribs, inflamed intercostals

Heaving in painful huffs of searing breath

Longing for past menthol oil comfort

Soothingly applied to over-used mechanics

Tender ointment of childhood's bronchitis

Brought on by holding helpless breath

Feeble attempt to hold back the nights

Or horrors that came by day

Impotent cure, stayed on too long

The rigidity held in armored chest

Like a newborn bundled tightly

After breaking free

Into a world with too much space

August 10, 1998 11:07 AM

Fragrant Remembrance

Senses swoon

under spell of opened amulet

patchouli oil heavy on the air

I climb aboard the moment’s magic carpet

transport to an earlier time

full of kisses that turned knees to warm butter

virtue to a forgotten memento

held onto so long all reason faded

into steamy wanton need

Simmering all that long summer

and first love ‘s tactile tattoo

marked me woman

19/27/2004 12:95pm

Free Floating Fear

The sun won't be up for hours

I sit straight up in bed

My heart pounding an alarm

This is the third night

I am up before morning light

A sense of impending doom

Grips my gut

Thyroid tests come back hyper

Sometimes anxiety is not

A neurotic reality

4/17/2012

Free For All - But One

I walk narrowed hallways

little light to find my way

atmosphere aggravated

by swinging doors

left swinging

no way to lock

keep out the riffraff

living in my home

Total access tendered

taken as welcome

to the inner sanctum

that held the hope

of a small heart

beating wildly

unable to hold back

the marauders

June 15, 1999 8:43 AM

GHOSTS

A man dies alone in a Kansas jail

While a woman at home is serving ale

A child is born, left much on her own

Turns to God soon after leaving home

Seduced by a soldier who fathers me

My bloodline now part of herstory

Adopted out, at two days old

Mother nearly broke the mold

Father used me, for more than his child

Countless years after, spent running wild

Finally finding love, peace at my core

Why would I want to open that door

Setting ancient ghosts loose, haunting once more…

May 28, 1998 11:57 AM

Generation Gap

It is so hard to make my way

Grampa stood for something in his day

Free Love, Low maintenance

Painted wild sliding down the road

My parents never made the grade

Shrank in their parents shadow

Conservative, downright invisible

In their time

It is my day today

Dependable runs in the family

New rounder contours

Class rebellious is my creed

Proudly I join

With my generations cry

VW rules once more

January 23, 1999 9:52 PM

George A. Romero verses Alan Turing

I want to write something to wake the dead

like the mysterious atomic mist

randomly unearthed folks

in Night of the Living Dead

Stop the zombies perusing

for bona fide truth

under control of the screen

Make people hungry once more

for the taste of one another

become wary of self-proclaimed heroes

with pop-up ads aimed at third eyes

whose unforeseen purpose

hastens psychic deadening

virtual lives compete

Moments Before

Siren's sound

Light-flash glares

Rubble to warm

Tucked under a school

upon a shelf astounded dolls

sit in lines knees to chest

Final resting place

past dreams of home

Game of Life

When I lived in the time

Of lonely princesses,

Damsels in distress

When all that mattered was being pretty enough

Having the fullest rounded bust line

The smoothest skin to touch

And nothing was held as high

As the sanctity of young woman's virginity

Raw lust and chaste all in one package

The final word being no….

All the while whispering maybe

Importance stressed on the chase

Being sought, never in being caught

It is long since the race has ended

Young conqueror bringing home his prize

Setting up their first fairy castle

Filled soon with next generations gamers'

Schooling them in the unspoken rules

Coming, cooling autumn days

Quiet in their expanse

Bittersweet duration spent in fine ivory towers

Pendulous breasts sagging, ageing skin dry

And etched with road maps

Stretching across claimed territory

Long ago captured, settled

And turned out to pasture

July 9, 1998 4:08 PM

Gilligan’s Dirge

My couch has become a birthing chair

my dying dog lies between my thighs

his favorite blanket covers him to stop shivers

my pain and his rhythmic and constant

Alone together I am aware of his breathing

Uneven ragged labored

signaling the end of days

separating each tiny fiber of living memory

from the pup that came to live in our home

At five weeks so small

he fit in the palm of my hand

an unwanted runt to the bitch who bore him

an early valentine present of love to me

All head then

With short little legs

Unsteady in their gait

Curious, ever exploring

the home where he soon ruled

His black and white fur tuxedo

Covered a strong muscular frame

Months gone now

The baggy suit hangs over visible bones

his playful personality already asleep

The only familiarity left

licking his mom’s cheek

and his joy to bathe in sunshine

As I attempt to help birth him today

Back into the light

Gift Givers

As I walk Main Street in my hometown

I imagine how you don’t dare walk down yours

streets that lay in rubble

another car attempts to pass

carries enough humph

to send dozens to hospitals

the rest to paradise

We come to bring freedom of rights

Christian values, not unlike early missionaries

loaded with wisdom and trinkets

bound to enlighten indigenous heathens

bring them to God

one way or another

We clothed their nakedness in European garb

while we stripped their beliefs, their dignity

stole their resources and lands

made them into our image

the way we did with God

Even now those who won’t make the transition,

or enter the hallowed halls of democracy

will go the way of American Indians

as we fill them with our diseases

to possess to devour to fear

white men bearing gifts

Gilligan Sings the Blues

They say

It’s a dog’s life

nothin’ but sleepin’ eatin’

waitin’ to have our day

but

Gilligan sings the blues

They don’t know

the trouble I’ve seen

waitin’ to be fed

made to watch

while they eat

beggin’ for a crumb

Mournful eyes dartin’

to catch folks watchin’

then to the locked door

wishin’ they’d hurry

not wantin’

to entertain their scorn

Lost in a world of confusion

where some toys

I’m encouraged to chew

while others bring

the wrath of humans

what’s a pup to do

Like now

here I sit patiently

hopin’ someone

will throw my ball

instead she types

at the computer

while

Gilligan sings the blues

November 10, 2000 10:28 AM

Busy-Blue-Eyes

Although the gift has come late

like a well-deserved vacation

at the end of a tough run of daily grind

friendship she has found me

Busy blue-eyes

don’t miss a beat of the heart of life

compassionate caretaker

to those who lose their way

need a comforting arm

to guide them along

the maddening pace

humans going nowhere fast

February 17, 2002 4:03 pm

At Fifteen

Held captive

in four walls sturdy

doors that locked

air sucked out daily

and someone else held the key

Where eyes wandered

over posters

pictures

words that shouted

Rebel

collaged alone walls

hung across the ceiling

Lost into the rhythm

the sounds

of music

words that shouted

Rebel

Onto pages of books

that lifted spirit out

set soul free

words that shouted

Rebel

Something my jailers

never expected

(C) May 13, 2000 Cynthia L Bryant

Atlas

He must have been

on a walk that spring afternoon

stooped to smell marigolds

I bet that is when it happened

a casual acquaintance asked the favor

Carry this

for a moment would ya?

Precariously hunched over

the weight of the world

on his shoulders

I know how he felt

Perception

an interesting game of the ages…

Cookies for the Children of Haiti

On any given day

kids of every age are seen sitting

legs crossed squatting

nibbling this much sought-after staple

in the La Saline slum

Women up early

cross an open sewer

to buy dirt

$5 to make a hundred cookies

Climb rope ladders carrying buckets

up to the abandoned prison roof

sift out stones and twigs

infuse dirt with water

on occasion add some sugar, salt and butter

fill over-sized clay pots

thoroughly mixing with hands

some while nursing

Scoop out a handful at a time

arrange into cookies on the ground

left to dry in the sunshine

Sell to others waiting

offer hopes of rich minerals held in the earth

a way to slow the rumble of empty dreams

Back Alley . . .

Taken to a hovel

one of many

seemingly abandoned

away from prying eyes

outside

broken stucco

straddles cracked parched earth

rancid rusty cans

yesterday’s news

splintered bottles

We enter the doorway

room lit by one bare bulb

questions of sanitary conditions

answered simply by lift of eyes or nose

seated in thick silence

on stained threadbare couches

fetid women

white knuckled

dark eyes iris less

here for the cure

none acknowledge our entry

completely submerged

each in her own

cloth of shame

Tranquilized

corners of vision fracture

add a surreal sense to surroundings

resign to my plight

Mother by my side

chatters about decorating the living room

dispels the image in her mind

my fear rises

Menacing strangers

lead me down the dark hallway

a lighted room holds a table

cover ripped

equipped with restraints

pungent odor of ammonia

burns tearing eyes

my legs are placed into stirrups

lights glare above

thoughts

murderous

matched with longing

serve Daddy up

sacrificial in my stead

Gas hastily given

squeals crash

orange yellow red lights flash

assault my senses

awake into a nightmare

the sound of terror screams

white-hot pain

my womb surrenders

body contracts to hold on

sounds of a ruinous remedy

run into a far away bucket

outraged

my mind screams again

I come to

two tampons

fill the ravaged wound

overloaded mind splits

beyond belief or care

Father’s sin scraped away

clean

murderers paid in full

I am encouraged to leave

post haste

forget the bodies

buried out back

shoulder the shame

March 18, 2000 12:01 PM

Crematory New York City 9.11.01

Incinerated

except those souls

who take flying leaps

out of 100 story windows

claw the air for breath

no wish to be consumed

by evil intent

Thousands

vaporized in seconds

reduced to ash

inhaled into heaving lungs

as the terror filled flee

hopes and dreams fall

like paper tears from heaven

Cremated residue

settles in hair on clothing

as death masks

Leaves folks

all the same color of shock

never mutes

the horror felt beneath

Blocks away

medical teams ready

for legion of injured

the dead

Few escape the pyre

to fill beds

body bags for burial

Saviors of souls replace savers of lives

Soot layers parked cars

neighboring buildings

Fills in gasps of anguish

at every breath

From manmade ovens

the smell of death rises

innovates New York skies

Firefighters and police remain

mangled among iron wreckage

mingled with concrete dust and earth

While the undead dig for bodies

or shuffle quietly in orderly fashion

across the Brooklyn Bridge

away from the scene of the crime

Crazy Is . . .

Chaos

from one end of my world

to the next

Uncertainty set up bivouac

unpacked its demolitions

removed the pin from grenade

early on

Came in the guise

of father flying bombers

over sleepy villages

of Viet Nam

at dawn

On patrol

roaming daughters’rooms

to feed his craving

for something sweet

after dark

Covert campaigns

hidden

from hair-trigger mother

who exploded into obscenities

expletives that flared

hourly

A maniacal dictator

she catapulted

over the borderline

of her own disorder

into inner worlds

where another war raged

March 1, 1998 1:09 pm

Dedicated to Rosa Parks

who went to her final glory

October 24, 2005.

Southern Breeze

Summertime in the south

was slow with thick wet air

smell of magnolia blossoms

fragrant mint grew in yards

Swamp-coolers and overhead fans

moved like molasses poured over fritters

Black tea, sweet and well iced

hushpuppies served with syrup

grits drenched with butter, on the side

Where sensible white-folks with means

hired colored women with hungry children

for pennies on the dollar to do their bidding

Syndicated Amos and Andy Shows

played by under-employed black actors

brought peals of laughter across the South

on black and white televisions

in proper white homes

where blacks were allowed only as servants

White-hooded Klansmen still came by night

continued to burn crosses

hang bitter crop reminders of hate

from white poplar trees

that Billy sang about at 78 r.p.m.

for whites and blacks to sway to

The time before Martin had his dream

that ended in a nation’s nightmare

Days when thousands of people marched

singing “We shall overcome”

and a tired working woman took her place

defiantly in history, just by sitting down

Still Small Voice

They made me come see her

those folks that protects kids

Last year they took away sissy

for getting too fat or sumpin’

Next day police grabbed papa Joe

took him straight aways to jail

Mama says same thing happened to her

with papa Sam

Seems like womens are always causin’ problems

One time

after my baby brother Buck went to his rest

Mama told me her mama passed when she was ten

At Eleven, sissy born almost dead

could barely whimper

When she was thirteen I came into the world

screamin’, her daddy’s face grown on to mine

she slapped regular for no good reason

I saw the whole thing

clear as softball every Saturday afternoon

behind the old school

Papa Horace came knockin’ round midnight

singin’ Amazin’ Grace how sweet your mouth

lookin’ for some sugar

no more childs that way

How mama told him

she was fixin’ to have another child

he stopped singin’ then

turned all mealy-mouthed

mama shouted no, then screamed

Horace’s shiny black boot

caught her side, her open mouth

then landed on her belly over and over

‘til she was quiet as night

Mama’s in a high bed on wheels

her mouth split open like rotten peaches

left on the ground, spittle bubbles

runnin’ from the corners of the black hole

where teeth used to be

open to no man no how

The red bandana mama wore to bed

Is missin’, ripped off

Head wrapped with a clean white rag

stained with red patches like the berries

she puts up the end of every summer

spreads on our bread all winter long

Everyone of my papas run off or run in

No papa to take me in

Show me man stuff

Tell me how lifes gonna be

State foster folks my familys now

Grace is gone

Left me like her mama left her

no good for nothin’ mama just lays there

No more mouthin’ off, no more nothin’

Just like her papa Sam told me

Before he took off

Women’s ain’t nothin’ but troubles

They gets what they deserve

All of them bitches

Knot Knowing

Braided rigidly in childhood

Gently unwoven without thought

Santa tied to gifts faded with years

Followed by giant hopping rabbits

Colored boiled eggs that nobody ate

Huddled in mollycoddled upper middle-class

my country always the righteous leader of the free

where a Christian God determined choices of liberty for all

Everyone’s propagandized experience the same view

above the fog of reality

Ruminate on rote holidays loosely based on Pagan myth

A first Thanksgiving of wrongly named Indians savages

losers in cowboy games

Trinkets exchanged Indian givers

dry paper treaties that choke going down

Colonization stealing words beliefs lives

African Americans casual mention in textbooks like footnotes

Pictured serving betters in fields of cotton with simple song-joy

kidnapped chained close quarters below deck

wallowed in vomit shit tears for ancestors lost

So severe the treatment administered

Nazis used our blueprint to oppress Jews

Yes, we learned how Germany treated their Jews

In 1930’s America we excluded them

Doled out neighborhoods to live clubs to join jobs to seek

Our final solution, turn back ship-filled escapees

To concentration camps bullets gas then ovens

Tulsa’s Black Wall Street Massacre of 1921

Most knew nothing of before 2019

As a graphic novel Watchmen

released on HBO watched in horror

Streets of successful blacks of Tulsa

awash with killing burning

chasing reminders those who earned the same

or more than hate riddled whites

Millennium stories color our nation

The lies, the lynchings, the Jim Crow South adorned postcards

Buffalo soldiers escaped and emancipated slaves

drafted and enlisted fought died here and over there

maintain American moxie

Still treated like filth no jobs no honor

Redlining kept America white segregated and racist

In the Bronx landlords bribed

beyond poverty-stricken neighborhood kids

to burn it down in the 1970’s

create slums collect insurance money

cleanse area of color build ritzy apartments

Sundown towns still exist in America today

As do people of color chosen to die for our honor

Still fight for the rights of others

Voting roles stripped to drive while black

Or walk street paying a price the final one

History muted annexed protect fragile whites

America bans books to hide shame

Keep folks from shuddering at two-faced mirrors

Knowing has escaped loosened

Knot untied

Big Lies

Someone’s boning up on fascism

Feeding folks propaganda

Chanting catchy tripe

Repeat Repeat Repeat

Dumbing down folks

fed anger fill empty spaces

Where nutrition education clean living

No longer recognize home

Chaos has been sewn

Fear rages through streets

Littering pathways

disparities abound

Democracy has greedy hands

Wrapped around its neck

Choking out life liberty

The pursuit of happiness

Vote Take to streets call it out

Resistance is our job

Righteousness our moral compass

Repeat Repeat Repeat

Addend

Few people notice

A lone woman as she makes

Her way along wetted asphalt

Walks with head down

Where puddles glisten

Interpreting the many shades of gray

The shame pushed out over every inch

Serves to cloak her sensitive skin

From prying eyes

Her eyes catch the reflection

The knife stabs deep

Adoptee’s Lament

Something unsettling

a slap in the face

realization

to find personal history

once lost forever

Genesis

buried like old relics

under layers of denial

fervid prayers

questions never risen

Why did you give me up?

Aftermath

Freshly home on glorious tailcoats of exploration

small sections of this remarkable country

sealed together in the tidy package

of united states

This package so recently burst open

something taken

something else takes its place

a wound delivered in anger

As the pain exploded

like smoke from giant crematories

shock permeated people

shook loose part of the united

like bright shiny shrapnel stars

that cannot be put back together

For now a haughty patriotism blows righteous

across our purple mountain majesty

bloody revenge waves

red white with blue

from sea to shiny sea

June 20, 2002 11:38 pm

Anniversary

Tears
saved up
like a nest egg
over a year
tucked away

Stealthy steps
avoid emotional landmines
await the date
anniversary of a heart
unwilling to say
good-bye

Copyright 2001 Cynthia L. Bryant

Atlantis Aftermath

I could not let go
Timeless traps held tight
Vulnerable spaces etched out
By trials of splattered tears

Modus operandi
Molded from form fitting
Casual lies, defense defined
One major hit at a time

Ask me not to be real
But rather safe, isolated
Sensory deprived
An Atlantis aftermath

August 22, 1998 1:52 PM

Autumn Days

New fiery burnt orange days—
when moisture abandons
the leaves
that wave long soulful good-byes
to balmy summer memory

Restless brisk breezes
catch leaves, set to spin
as they cycle to the ground
trees fabulous undressing
of colors extraordinaire

Fallen leaves
roll out a many-hued carpet
crisply crackling underfoot
harbinger of another
austere winter on its way

…as for the other mothers

The ones for whom no cards were penned
The ones we prefer to blend into the area that lives in a landscape
just beyond sight, the green rolling hills dotted and dashed
With daisies, poppies and those little purple flowers
That is really just weeds grown along the periphery

We may find beauty in the decrepit barn and farmhouse
Blanched colorless, desolate with the running on of years
What of the woman who lived there, barren as the now
gone to seed garden hidden behind the house

The woman who opted for readymade children,
painting pretty pictures of the smiling family of four
standing outside a house waving at admiring passers bye
The woman on Mother’s Day every year who was heard to retort
“Quit bringing home handmade garbage for me to throw out”

At 70…

There’s a hollow

in the space youth once grew

Bits and pieces strewn

without prejudice

Stretched thin in process

seen through to the other side

Some still full of fluff

float to the surface

An amusement to ponder

a nightmare I wandered

Never filling the void

sacralize memory or thought

A hole bombed out

left to challenge non-believers

Change is Going to Come

It was rumored for years

Nobody believed

The scientists

Playing around in the gene pool

Day 1

After the bombs fell

All awoke

Still perfect in every way

Only changed

I no longer female

Aware of the subtle weight

Between thighs

chest pulled taut

Against me

My mate appeared before me

He no longer he

He now she

With full ripe breasts

Smooth soft cheeks

In those short sweet moments

As magnetic poles shifted

As men became women

Women, men

Wars suddenly ceased

Precious time spent

Coming to terms

Self exploration

And then full out

Joyous coupling

Life flourished anew

(C)October 5, 1997 Cynthia Lane Bryant

Rinse Cycle

Ocean at high tide

slowly recedes

belching up treasure

Yesterday's creatures caught

exposed unaware

In the giant net of twilight

Spotlight of gloaming

Gently displays

Iridescent jewels

discarded by mermaids

grown tired of it all

Ban the Bomb, Burn the Bras

Women ripping them off

taking to the streets in numbers

that staggered imagination

everyone was protesting something

In midst of fray

breasts became important to me

checking delicate buds daily

couldn’t wait for them to grow

With time came the first brassiere

cinched the diaphragm

covered the obvious

promised to lift and separate

suddenly we were shapelier

The first time out without

mom insisted

Band-Aids be placed over aureoles

as if nipples were eyesores

that would wound

Out of the house, out of the harness

revel in every bounce and jiggle

expand ribcage without duress

no more dents in shoulders

as if I carried the world

I suppose

the shelf-life of my breasts shortened

a day, a week, a year

for the rebelliousness

only to redress once more

a few years later

As for the bombs

they still fall

off and on

but put your minds at ease

Word is, they are smart now

Cynthia L Bryant

Avocation

What to be when I grow up?

How often I've aimlessly wandered
through that field of hopeful dreams

Still young I wanted nothing more
than to be a mother, loving her child

As a mother, I dreamed of being
a nurse, nurturing sick folks to health

Venturing into therapy, I had hopes
of spreading sanity into this crazy world

Not until I wrote poetry
did I finally nurture that lonely inner child
Heal the sickness inside celebrate sanity

having finally grown up

November 5, 1998, 3:30 PM

“Our new Constitution is now established,

everything seems to promise it will be durable.

but, in this world, nothing is certain except death and taxes,”

Benjamin Franklin

Acoustic Shadowing

War brewing just out of sight

Rumbles not heard for years

Become a constant irritation

Eclipse over folks a flutter

Unwilling to register whirling balls

Of fear and hate as they explode

Close enough to leave craters

Filled with leaded lies

Varnishing a thin coat of

How things are interpreted

Whether a response

Warranted or no

Is worth the effort

Where sound goes to die, acoustic shadows are areas where sounds, from a certain direction and on a given day, will not penetrate; these acoustic phenomena occur either because the sound waves are absorbed, refracted or simply blown in a different direction. Relatively unnoticed in our modern, wired world, the phenomenon played a significant role in some of the most famous battles of the American Civil War.

Doing Time

Some say

Earth

is a giant penal colony

where all the spiritually bankrupt

file their Chapter 11’s

and time monitors

evolution of the soul

but I have spent my life

fingers in ears

eyes tightly closed

waiting

to be released

September 8, 1999 10:48 AM

Dragon

Today Dragon she got out

when you left the door open

to her underground home

Banished to the darkness

since before time remembered

chained to the wall in windowless cavern

where the demons chased her

immobilized her actions with fear

only a few short departures

which allowed dreaded beauty

escape then recapture

at last her bondage broken

fear conquered

Drawing an Elephant

He always began elephant drawings

with a single stroke of pencil

beginning at the trunk

finishing at the tip of the tail

filled in the body

massive legs finally the tusks

Told me of blind men

all in one room with an elephant

To discern its essence

each touches a different part

revealing to each

a unique sense of elephant

When I trace memory

of the many facets of Daddy

I am blinded by a daughter’s love

disoriented from the truth

I could not allow

in my search to know him

Bittersweet

At twenty

my favorite frock

an off-white muslin dream

festoon across smooth shoulders

gather in empire

under full-firm breasts

two pale-pink ribbons

cascade down the front in frivolity

like softly woven hem

that dance across the skin

of my bare feet

From the trunk

I gingerly gather treasured time

with all its longing

steeped with simmering passion

like a favorite aromatic tea

dark with desire

sweetened by time

At fifty

my precious dress

yellow musty daydream

elasticity given way to girth

surrendered in defeat

under sagging breasts

the once pink ribbons hang limp and lank

like dead poems of unrequited love

tattered edges of hem move slower

rake across feet

that do not dance

Missing in Action

He walks the neighborhood

halted step - jump - step

left leg wounded in the war

Shoulders hunched

from years of holding belongings on his back

Stringy hair

dusted with white

like the donuts he devours

at the soup kitchen

He stalked the jungle once

like a leopard

hunted by the enemy

trained to kill

or be killed

the life he once knew

obliterated in napalm

exchanged for this nightmare

He walks in night terrors now

prefers the safety

of the enemy he knows

to those yet to materialize

His freedom allows no square box

with walls or doors

to hold him hostage

moving daily to avoid capture

He stalks the neighborhood

after dark in fatigues

face painted with mud

My Way/Or the Highway

If Jesus came today

would he be Christian

communing

once a week in house

misusing his words

excluding the different

Forgiveness and compassion

did they die on the cross

creating elitism

that snub

the street person

they glorified

Do I turn my back on God

or did the church do that

long ago

when they

took free will

from everyday man

July 7, 1999 10:32 AM

DOORS

WE SHUT THEM

WE LOCK THEM

THEY KEEP OUT THE BUGS

THEY KEEP OUT THE UNWANTED SALESMAN

THEY KEEP OUT THE BAD GUYS THAT COME

IN THE DARK OF NIGHT TO STEAL FROM US

I ALWAYS SHUT ALL OF MY DOORS

I ALWAYS MAKE SURE THEY ARE LOCKED UP TIGHT

TOO LATE, THE INTRUDERS WERE ALREADY INSIDE

Downtown Saturday Afternoon

A bronzed arm is flexed

Distracting some casual passersby

Stopping to gawk at the new tattoo

Finished earlier,

The ragged woman is wrapped in gauze

Like thick varnish on ageing pottery

An uninterested moth flutters from

Bulb to bulb

As the women on the street concur

On closer examination, smiling

That an annulment maybe in the works

February 28, 1998

Tattoo

Flex

Gauze

Distracted

Wrap

Concur

Moth

Annulment

Pottery

Varnish

Dominos

There are times

when all the dominoes

set up in neat lines

wait

readied for a nudge

or the right rush of movement

to begin the next phase

the inevitable slow-motion dance

that strikes the match

burns the rope

hangs your life

in the balance

it always begins

one domino

at a time

May 6, 2002 2:13pm

Agony of Jim Crow

I can’t comprehend

the mindset it must take

to hate on the cause of skin

tainted a shade too dark

in one’s mind eye

At what point

in the spectrum of color

does pigmentation bleed

over invisible line becoming a target

Hue casts shadows

that stalk then stain

an entire lifetime

Moment upon

mealy mouthed hatred

must pick away

while Crow feasts the soul

a constant reminder of crime

being born black

Given the Choice

Given the choice

I would have won that lottery

Cashed that check

Bought that mansion, fancy new car

Brought home all those clothes

Gone on all of those trips

Filled my library to the ceiling

Donated to worthiest of charities

And spent the rest of my life

Waiting for the day

When it would all go away

Gloaming

In the etch less seam

between day and dusk

we the lucky peasantry

stand in attendance

glorious last hurrah

Sun-beamed clouds unfurl

tangerine pink

of fading light

that slinks below sight

into royal purple sky

and in the hush

earth sighs

Duck and Cover

I live my life

as if each day

might be the last

alone

in my self-made

fallout shelter

ready to duck and cover

at the first sign

the bomb could fall

I believe this plan

has made all the difference

in a generation’s credo gone bad

February 13, 2000 9:32 AM

Drum…

speaks to me

quickens my heart

enters me there

tells me

of all the suffering

gone before

I answer

thump of feet

Earth Mother awakens

Gently she rocks me

in ecstasy

‘til all my tears are dry

January 18, 2001 7:02 PM

Drug Lord

His brittle nervous system

like fine crystal

waits for the right nudge

to send it over the edge

ablaze into a thousand shards of light

too soon grown dim

A broken place

where even the best mother

who housed the precious

away with care

Cannot alter the unforeseen

that mesmerizes

seals permanence of altered states

ends his temporary bind to earth

as the curtain comes down

on those left behind

January 30, 2002 11:21 am

Emote

Slain by beauty

as well as pain

An overwhelming

sense of wonder

sends me filling

then running over

in a gush of emotion

Pain is but marginally/

separated from joy

delivered all

from the same container

Yesterday I didn’t know that

July 15, 1997 9:53 a.m.

Fairytale

Do you remember a time

when the world was full of Giants

Kneecaps and hemlines

as far as the eye could see

When your happily ever after

depended on the benevolence

of the Mammoth race

Remember how it felt

raising up your arms to the Gods

Waiting to be lifted to the heavens

How you trusted that the descent back

to Earth would be slow and safe

Do you recall that every treasure

was out of your reach

Every dream demanded being the size

of one of those Giants

All you needed

was to be that big

Then all possibilities would be

set out like a fine banquet

With every imaginable choice

just waiting for you to choose

I can’t recall at what point

I quit coveting the lives of Giants

All at once I was one of the them

Wishing daily to be in the

Land of Small once more

July 29, 1997 1:42 p.m.

Ferris Wheel

First time up

Daddy and I buckle in

side by side

bar fastened over us

his hand holds mine

lost in its size

Seat sways back and forth

the ride clunks …whirrs

eyes squeeze shut

I lean closer

as we creep backward

Then … up up up

butterflies in belly

soar

whooosh … we come to a stop

eyes flutter open

S u s p e n d e d

at the top of the world

dollhouse city glitters below

another clunk … then whirr

we free fall over the top

into the carnival night

Gulls

Somber blue-gray skies

come alive

Graceful fluttering beings

Drawn to peopled shores

Eyeing pungent tidbits

carelessly dropped

Daring winged divers

D

I

P

Swooping up morsels with agility

Soaring salty scented

A

I

R

Aerobatics performed daily

For free

Early Training

I was trained at an early age

Without being aware

That being male

Meant being unscrupulous

Those incomprehensible forces drove men

To lose all control over behaviors

Where females were concerned

Wolf like in their pursuits

Snapping at our heals

Following the scent

Moreover, just like their namesakes

Nobody expected

Any restraint when prey was cornered

Unfaithfully mating for life

Needing a warm home-base

From which to recharge virility

With latest sacrifice caught

Romantic interest grown cold

Hiding out from reprisals

Happily in my maturing years

Without being aware

I found in the original lesson

An exception

January 30, 1998 10:17 A.M.

Easy Access

Bodies contorted into human Gumbys

Glistening scarlet in screen's light

Degradation completes with color glossies

Putrid perversion, lovemaking a spectator sport

Big business stripping raw our children's innocence

Children born into the 21st Century

Will have nothing left to take

Pornography flourishes on the Internet

Ode to Orange

Oh orange resplendent aum

Buddhist robes whisper above the path

Garfield with a Cheshire smile dry wit

Goldfish, pets for those not allowed dream

Monarch’s flit amongst marigolds

warming the day

Carrots pulled from mother earth

revealing vitality to serve

Peppers brighten a meal a party made

Marmalade a cheery hat on toasted bread

Jumpsuits revive an afterlife

to those who dwell

where black and white stripes once ruled

Safety vests command attention from the timid

Tangerine, apricot, yam, cantaloupe and amber

brighten a blank page of possibility

Autumn leaves and pumpkin lanterns salve

towards coming darkened days

The Perfect House

In the front yard of my childhood

sways a gentle weeping willow

surrounded by lush well manicured grass

Heavily scented yellow roses

line either side of the unfettered pathway

that leads to the closed door

Now—go around to the back

open the screen door slowly

this fine day on the sly

Slink your way in

don’t start to cry

Crying is not allowed

Watch in silence

while mother’s lessons are taught—

S M A C K

"I'll give you something to cry about!"

The family slogan driven home hard

“Children are to be seen, never heard”

Tinker Toys, teacups, Tiny Tears alike

left too long on their own

snatched up, tossed out with the trash

Toddlers thrown against walls with a thud

for beds unmade or pajamas on the floor

misdeeds worthy of corporal punishment

Lapses of bladder control reprimand

with unrestrained flow, the stench of urine

cascading payback over guilty child

Bare bottoms beaten crimson

with whatever is handy

angry welts on the rise

Rebellion washed out with soap

From grimacing mouths gagging

bubbles of sickening slime

Tiny arms tracked by weeping blisters

Small perfect circles seared into flesh

as attention getting device

Later that night

if your already queasy stomach allows

hide in some corner

Watch Daddy

as he sneaks into daughters rooms

taking

all the innocence he can hold

then tippy-toes back to sleep

snoring his way through untroubled dreams

While his clean well-fed children

beg God for Heaven's sake

to keep their souls

if they should die before they wake

Fade to Black

At first glance

The glossy black and white photograph

Depicts a flawless nuclear family of four—

Mother and father

Daughters, ages two and six.

Neatly coifed, dressed in Sunday finery

Gazing into poised camera, lights ablaze

With instructions,"Say Cheese."

Just before the camera sealed them

Frozen in time that way.

Never knowing that by month's end

Daddy's little understudy

The six-year-old soon to start school

Would be initiated into red-bloodied womanhood

Dad's nocturnal crimes acted out.

Searching the old photo for telltale signs;

With nothing visible to give away the truth,

My lips silently mouth the word:

"C h e e s e."

A new photograph needs to be taken.

Every Tear

Jody, my baby, my son—

The unbearable loss of you

Poignant and raw to a mother's heart

Glistening tears strung together

Crystallized despair in each droplet

Worn like fine iridescent pearls

Each precious memory joined to the next

Recounted silently like prayer beads

My Holy Communion

To the light that is you

As certainly as I knew

The nature of your selfless soul

As I carried you within my being

I know too—

You will be in every tear that I shed

For the rest of my life

March 24, 1998 6:41 P.M.

FAGGOT

Our boy came into this world

through joining of man and woman

grew up in a family

who value his many attributes

copper red hair

that flames even when he rests

a need to write stories

to further explore this world

unquenchable desire to make lists

to do battle for the underdog

collect mementos that hold history for him

act out skits to better get inside the skin

of others

Classmates have been calling my boy names

most of his life

using them like sticks and stones

to wound his soul

the one that was thrown

most often

the one that struck

then stuck FAGGOT

My grown boy is homosexual

and although he spent his early teens

in self-hatred

praying every day to be normal

to a mute God

his weather-beaten spirit risen

above clatter of the pack

He told me yesterday the term faggot

came from dark history

when homosexuals were gathered

tethered together

like wood

then lit on fire

10/28/2003 4:14pm

Fat is Shame

Fat is shame wrapped up in lard

Enough covering

To never have to see the shame again

Don’t look in the mirror

Or reflections in shop windows

As the lonely pass swiftly

Hoping to cover another layer

With such pretty outside trappings

No one will glance at the pain

Hidden within the clothes

Hoping to become invisible

Using distracting props

Hoping to disappear

By becoming bigger

And bigger

All the time

Feeling smaller

And smaller

As the shame becomes

The fat

No escape from the shame

Of fat

September 16, 1997 9:42 A.M.

Feet First

Removal of shoes

always the very first act

upon arrival at any destination

a chance to stretch unencumbered toes

wiggle them about

take in surroundings

through the soles of my feet

as they glide across untried surface

debate on settling in

or re-shoeing

for a quick get away

So much depends on ritual

3/11/2004 10:37am

Fibromyalgia Blues

Think of it

as the medicine

you take daily

a medicinal must

towards your health

A body

long held stagnant

in sedentary pamper

like a monarch housed in amber

glares back

as though attacked

by marauders

Steadfast

CRIMSON

INTRODUCTIONS I DESPAIR

ALL THE FEAR

MY ACHING HAIR

HELL ON EARTH

NO WORDs TO SAY

NOTHING TO TURN

THE JITTERS AWAY

KNEES ARE QUAKING

ALL IS LOST

SAID I’D BE HERE

NO MATTER THE COST

LOST IN SPACE

I AM TODAY

ALL MY RESOLVE

SEEMS FAR AWAY

AND SO IT GOES

BUT HERE I BE

HOPE THE AUDIENCE

WILL LIKE ME

MAY 15, 1997 4:31 PM

Final Solution

People say

children in Littleton

were snubbed

ostracized

rebuked

treated with disdain

People say

children in Littleton

found sanctuary

dressed in black

trendy trench coats

macabre gothic mystery

People say

children in Littleton

found a hero

angry young man

toothbrush mustached dictator

World War II monster

People say

children in Littleton

found release

murdered other children

then committed

their own souls to oblivion

Littleton’s all over the U.S.

are incubating

angst and rage

in sullen silence

waiting to explode

into their final solutions

April 21, 1999 4:09 PM

Finding My Way

Can’t pound no pillow

it makes no sound

to expel emotions

it let me down

I needed a drum

to pound some pain

so I used my words

right out of my brain

the pain she subsided

the rain did fall

flushed that swill

from that deep dark well

I still use words

to clean my soul

much as I used to

sing rock and roll

loud and louder

behind closed doors

the walls would rumble

though never fall

now I speak out poetry

much as I can

I’m good at it

I love it

It’s all I am

First Catch

When I first saw him

shimmering

in the afternoon sunlight

like a Vegas showgirl

flashing his scales

like a Central Park pervert

soon to be scraped

into yesterday’s newspaper

I caught the stench first

First Taste

I began

female creature

fruit of His creation

call me Eve

A hidden sweetness

among

dazzling emerald ferns

Pomegranate of life

split open

forbidden fruit tasted

Not by me

as word to word

told the tale

of rib and snake

transgression mine

The other creature

great in stature

overcome with ardor

loosened the snake

first temptation appeased

“The tragedy of life is not death

but what we let die inside of us while we live.”

Norman Cousins

Got a Feeling

Too much sweat equity

Yesterdays ground to dust

Taken on wing taken to wind

Mixed unto feral drops of space

Lost to others never to mine

Metamorphosis

A sadness has fallen

Like an escalator ride

Into madness

Cheap cotton masks

Disposal latex gloves

Worn with sweats

A seed has been

planted and another

And another

Day in Day in

Life resides deep

Inside, incubation

Earth Mother

cleansed, refreshed

In peopless spring

Thousands of dead

will be grieved, buried

in parks temporarily

Millions hang in

restless chrysalis of

their design, making

Will tomorrow

Find us broken spirits

Or reborn butterflies

Crow was so much blacker

Than the moon's shadow

He had stars.

Ted Hughes-Crow

Murder

Crow came to visit the other day

Boldly flew through an open door

That lead to the intrepid space

of the father

Loyal guard dog alert at the ruckus

Witness to the audacity of

a strange winged creature

in violation of honored space

Determined jowls clamped shut soundly

around feathers and wound

Offered up evidence to the mother

Who conveyed the lifeless one

To an outside porch with a tear and prayer

Felon crows lined the roof top

Fenced yard, backyard trees

followed the king in procession

Watched as he buried their own

Cawed grief at the untimely demise

Cawed grief at the burial,

cawed and cawed for days on end

as they surrounded the infamous home

decrying murder of crow

New Shoes

Mother’s search for the shoemaker shop

somewhere in Hong Kong

takes us off the beaten path

one of many alleys

where the downcast dwell

Fresh carcasses hang in windows

too gruesome to identify

The smell of fish oil invades senses

as we pass through private lives

that abide intruders on a mission

People squat at small cooking-fires

puff on long ceramic pipes

The click-clack cadence of mahjong tiles

mingles with giggles of children

as they chase wooden toys

Everywhere auspicious signs

with striking foreign characters

parade down the alley ahead of us

mysteriously they lead our way

to the man who makes shoes

Nice Work If You Can Get It

Summer days at Grandmothers’

pie baking days

when apron strings

wrapped twice around my middle

hands were washed

work begun early

Measuring cups & spoons carried

flour sugar salt lard

from the pantry

Fresh peaches skinned

sliced

simmering on the stove

swirling sumptuous goo

color of San Joaquin sunsets

hazy orange mottled reddish-brown

Grandmother

prepared the top crust

carefully cut away excess dough

formed into a ball

laid to one side

fingers pinched

sealed fluted edges to trap molten nectar

Pie readied for hot oven

her attention returned

to doughy ball

Floured then flattened

spread with warm butter cinnamon sugar

rolled

cut into sections

placed on cookie sheet

An amazing treat

for a morning’s work

Night Prayer

Ebony velvet skyline

Pin cushion to the stars

Purveyor of Earth,

Mercury, Mars

Hostess to the Gods

And all that they see

Timeless, mysterious

Like Mata Hari

Now I lay me down to sleep

February 10, 1998 2:52 A.M

No Place like Home

Each footfall quiet as the dead

I enter her room in imagination

cautious so as not to awaken the flying monkeys

of a much-mourned childhood

buried but never forgotten

She lies in a bed now

against the west wall

much past the time

when the whirling house should have landed

upon her nasty disposition

In curiosity I creep forward

alone in my quest

knowing the shrill tongue that mocked

anyone who dared question her

would be whetted and waiting

Instead I find a horrible joke

alone in the room swallowed by the bed

a shrunken body lies broken skin hung from bone

muted and uneven with thoughts of mortal demise

in terror of an afterlife when she must again face me

Not To Be-

A Grandmother's Lament

Somewhere in a guarded spot

overgrown with wildflowers

beneath a weeping willow

which causes light to dart

play hide and seek

among grasses tender and mild

lie the bodies

Lonely little ones

whose names were never uttered

except in dreams indulged by day

warm and reassuring

Never held in hungry arms

their sweet brows remain unkissed

Yet I hear the tittering sounds

never given voice to laugh out loud

echoed over and over

in this grieving heart

Not Yet a Fledgling

Covered in sporadic fuzzy down

more pink than feathers

peeks through

like one of those cats without hair

just wrinkled vulnerable skin

exposed to the elements

He lies prone

his profile a fine formed beak

and one huge eye glazed over

Nothing left to see

his sight turns inward

away from the cold wet sidewalk

leading up to my door

I pause to ponder if he jumped

or was pushed

NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR…

I have always felt prochoice in all ways

Perhaps because so many of my choices

were always made for me

I can’t imagine how aborting a fetus

can be any worse

than a child brought into the world

neglected, unwanted, abused, killed

abandoned with garbage

adopted out, always feeling discarded faulty

treated as non-entities all their lives

magically at eighteen expected to become

adults

Oasis

Old abandoned

slime covered hot springs pool

nestled in the hills

outside Taos city limits

Became a newfound bathing oasis

for the homeless and

wandering gypsy hippies

Surrounded on the rock rim

By red-neck townies

in search of quick thrills

Glance of thigh

white quivering breast

hit by cool air

Nipples tightening to raisins

The all male audience reduced to a slobbering howling pack

Small price to pay for the pleasure

of cleaning away

grimy dust of the road

September 24, 1997 11:26 A.M.

Fittin’ In

I used to go dreamin’ sometimes

Way down deep in my psyche

That someday, I would deliver

Some poor dejected soul

From the abyss

In my dreamin’

I alone would make the difference

With caution and concern

Guiding the way

Back to the living

I awoke the other day

From my dreamin’

And I realized that I had

A long hard journey ahead

As I came face to face with

The needy one

Because looking back at me

From the mirror—

Was the poor disheartened soul

June 6, 1997 9:42 a.m.

Disambiguation

bold brush strokes

swirl

across the broad canvas

in shades of charcoal to fog

to foamy whitecaps

sequestered among sullen scenario

like a storm at sea

thin scratches of scarlet

secreted beneath

chipped away darkness

painted over

to camouflage

serpent’s toothy jowls

spread wide

devouring her young

OBSESSION 9/11/94

I’M WALKING INTO THE STORE

I FEEL LIKE I’M AT DISNEYLAND

ALL THE CLOTHES ARE NEW

OH, LOOK AT THE BROWN STRETCH PANTS

I NEED SOME BROWN SLACKS

REMEMBER I RETURNED THE BROWN JEANS THAT WERE TOO BIG

SO, I NEED BROWN SLACKS

OH, LOOK THEY ARE TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE, SO I’LL GET ANOTHER PAIR ALSO

WHAT COLOR DO I LIKE?

LET’S SEE I LIKE THE RED ONES AND I CAN GET A TOP TO GO WITH THEM

OH, LOOK AT THE PLAID JUMPERS

I JUST LOVE THE PLAIDS THIS YEAR

OR MAYBE THE PLAIN MAROON COLORED ONE

I LIKE THEM BOTH

OH BOY LOOK AT THE BEAUTIFUL SWEATERS

I LOVE THE BLUE AND BEIGES

DO THEY HAVE THE BLACK CHECK SHIRT I SAW LAST TIME I WAS HERE?

YES, THEY DO

I REALLY LIKE THE FEEL OF THE MATERIAL

THE STREATCH JEANS LOOK REALLY COMFORTABLE

BUT I JUST BOUGHT JEANS

I’LL LOOK AT THE PLAID SKIRTS AND FIND THE SHIRTS THAT GO WITH THEM

NOW THAT I HAVE ALL THAT PLANNED

LET’S SEE I’LL DROP OFF MY SON AT THE BIRTHDAY PARTY AND THEN I’LL HEAD FOR THE MALL

I CAN SHOP FOR ABOUT 90 MINUTES BEFORE I HAVE TO PICK HIM UP

I CAN LEAVE THE BAGS IN THE CAR UNTIL MORNING SO MY HUSBAND WON’T GET ON MY CASE

AND I CAN USE MY CREDIT CARD BEAUSE, WE JUST PAID IT OFF

I AM GOING TO HAVE TO MAKE MORE ROOM IN MY CLOSET THOUGH

I DON’T BELIEVE IT WILL HOLD ONE MORE PIECE OF CLOTHING

(1994) Cynthia Lane Bryant

POOR OLD HARD LUCK

Even when he was still alive

I thought of Daddy in past tense

Daddy who made paper hats

out of Sunday’s news

who sang silly songs

that rhymed or near rhymed

sung to the tune of nursery songs

Fun at his homecoming

every time he returned from a mission

piloting B-52’s over places

we weren’t allowed to know about

Wearing the green nylon flight suit

adorned in zippered pockets

that held treats of gum or candy

put there to find

Summers climbing on his back

as he submerged swam the cool length of pool

Halloweens dressed in the same flight suit

rubber masked rubber handed

his other hand tucked inside his suit

children screaming parents complaining

of that big kid scaring theirs

as he lumbered down our street

He always rolled the programs

at school plays dance or piano recitals

into a telescope

calling “Sweetie” as he searched for me

He announced to neighbor kids

“Want to see my scar?”

to anyone who would stop to look

The year mom temporarily left him

after a letter

written by the other woman

with a snapshot found

folded away in Daddy’s wallet

like my memory of being Daddy’s other woman

waited to be discovered

He wandered the house

in that old terry robe covered in dragons

muttering under his breath

as though no one was there to hear

“Poor old hard luck”

Ethnic Cleansing

Sterile sanitary words—

Like tidying up refuse

moving inanimate debris

out of the living space

Torn burnt bodies

buried together

Master of the house

tending to family welfare

Making room for

expanding needs

“Nothing personal,” he says

“MY God rules here.”

Daily Demons

Heavens collide

As I search into eyes

that burn holes

clear to the soul

No sweet reflection shines

to know her image of me

No magic mirror

averts the direct glare

of Medusa’s wild eyes

hair of snakes

with their sinister hiss

Nothing there

to stop me

turning to stone

September 18, 1999 6:29 PM

A Funny thing Happened on the way to the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival

We had recently moved from California

To the Jayhawker state of Kansas

My attempt to wrestle my round hole head

Into the square peg place of my birth

Poetry the perfect gift

for acclimating the changes

Plans made Tickets bought

For what I had come to know

As poet’s, greatest show on earth

Needing a middle path

Flying higher than birds

In heavy-metal mobile home on wings

intertwined with preferred fantasy

drugged out as for surgery

Loaded aboard plane

Lifted back out on arrival

Taken to a waking room with music

Today’s flight began early

Before mother earth had waken

Standing in lines Remove the shoes

Please place all jewelry, change, phone and computer

In the white plastic boxes provided

I walk through the metal detector

Already my comfort zone level ajar

When the machine clangs alarm

Taken aside red-faced stricken upright

A hand wand is waved up and down my body

Emitting another rude sound

When out comes a barrel of a woman with the look

Of an annoyed pit-bull

Has me stand still arms out straight

She gets to 1st, 2nd and 3rd base with witnesses

As my PTSD alarm kicks in

And I disappear

Only my gem-studded blouse

To face the verdict

Portent

Raised high above the North American land mass

Waiting watching in earnest

Attention drawn to the bodies of water

Each filling, pouring over into the next

The line clearly drawn at the mighty Mississippi

From the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico

All land masses west of the river entrenched in flooding

The voices boom

“LOOK TO THE GULF OF MEXICO

SEE THE FISHES FLOATING TO THE TOP OF THE WATERS,

TOO WARM NOW TO SUPPORT LIFE

THIS IS THE CHURCH BELL THAT RINGS

BEHOLD THE EARTH RUMBLINGS INCREASE

AND DANGER IS NIGH”

I Believe in Love

When the time comes

A last memory of cool rain, long dried,

on once slick city streets

that sparkled of starlight

quiet now but for an occasional gust

of wind rustling litter along gutters

Folks barely bothering

to open their doors

knowing at once a world

better spent in recollection

Inside candles burn, splaying light

across four walls

a hum rises from inner sanctum

A memory of a song

how did it go again

I believe it - nobody sold me
Always knew it - nobody told me
I believe in someone to hold me
I believe in love

I believe in love…

Naming

At two days into this life given my slave name

Cynthia Lane Jones

Named after the mongrel pup Duchess of Cindy Lane

That trespassed an airfield of pilot instructors

Taking refuge in their hangar

Cindy formalized to Cynthia for legitimacy

Added Mister and Mistress surname Jones

Cynthia meaning moon personified

Sold to Jones who paid $10,000

Name jumped twice to gain freedom

First into the fire, second onto the ice

The third try a warm breeze

A sensory allure hypnotic soul savior

Bryant a Celtic name meaning strong

Strength to hold on gently

Love passionately

Bryant having attained perfection

Shall be retired with the lives

Of our progeny

Cynthia Lane Bryant

Dance Recital

Seven young ballerinas

seven shades of tutus

all satin and ruffles

mine, aquamarine

Rouge on chubby cheeks

lipstick covers tiny mouths

backstage waiting

to do The Baby Doll Dance

Curtains open to display

baby dolls lined up on stage

me, the baby doll in the center

only four-years-old

My eyes make contact

with a sea of parental faces

as the other baby dolls

perform their pliés

I stand transfixed

hand to mouth, pint-sized heart

drums with terror

the audience rises in laughter

then applause

As the stationary baby doll

steals the recital

Untold Legacy

Faint whispers echo through inner corridors

family lines absent but passed on

without ceremony or deliberation

at synchronized moments in time

Papa—Was your aroused mind awhirl with Scotch and water

Or filled with the dreamy reverie of lover's bliss

Was a hastily placed condom compromised

Or just the innocence of my young mother

Did you celebrate at the consummation

Promising all future endeavors

To the newly formed seedlings’ success

Never straying for an instant from goal

Intricate genetic groundwork laid

Original blueprint under secret construction

A clandestine legacy played out

In flesh, blood and tears

Daddy—Was creating a new life

The very last thought on your mind

not even recalling mother’s name

When searching fondly through memories

Of yesterday’s pleasures

Were you never enlightened

Of the joyous arrival of your child

While I was sold to a new father

And so give no small kind thought to me now

A lone fingerprint

Without any other physical evidence

Of loving hands ever joined

Leaving only a smudged mark

To speak for myself

By the time we got to Woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere was a song
And a celebration

-Crosby, Stills Nash and Young

Crossroads

Nightfall contained pitch-thick air of desert

though muted nightlights glistened above

no light made its way through the doorless opening

into the adobe pueblo with earthen floors

floors to sit, fitfully sleep upon

ample water from a nearby well

Daylight hours spent in town

daughter perched on hip

husband’s eyes hawk-like from a distance

as we pulled manna from the hearts of tourists

for formula, diapers, food

enough to gas the psychedelic painted van

bartered for in Colorado the month before

Barely into my seventeenth year

on the sly with Army-deserter husband

who hid beneath a dark-haired wig

tied with rawhide band at his forehead

Our hungry daughter

whose bottom prickled with rash

that year outside of Taos

Summer heat brought happy diversions

shared with brightly clad wanderers

whose long hair, beads, bandanas

colored my world

as they trickled eastward

toward rumors of days and nights

filled with free-love, music

We stayed on

unable to follow the dreamers

Our young family

pressed further into earth

that summer of ‘69

battling survival and dysentery

against colorless New Mexico backdrop

under shadow of fading youth

Touched

I thought I heard angels sing

ethereal voices

that tinkled like glass

restless to be heard

loud enough

to still our lover’s quarrel

peaked with power

to tune us down

I thought I heard an angel say

you have conceived

the only message

that could overcome

the horror of my child lost

when fire brought the curtain down

on the final act of marriage

that already hung by a thread

I thought I heard my lover say

did you hear what I heard

the sweetness of voice

eclipsed by words

spoken to mind

in the midst of sorrow

finding us here in anger

ready to give up

I thought I heard an angel say

like liquid sunshine

you are pregnant

heartaches washed away

in simultaneous reticence

left

with echoes of joyful noise

and a child on the way

Double Exposure

The ripping

is audible

in memory anyway

Twenty of us

seated on the ground

in symbolic circle

joined together in

serious soul search

Soles of my feet

press together

knees spread wide

like a butterfly

as pants give way

Sharing

more of me

than an encounter workshop

should

Age of Night

darkness that teased

stars to light

long before

God called forth

the heavens

serenity that quelled

a molten melting pot

cooling

hardening sphere

into the Rock of Ages

first to suck its breath

off the atmosphere

last to leave

its moss dark kiss

after He calls it quits

September 16, 1999 3:39 PM

"Build a Wall"

Build a wall.—you say:

Sure, your father raped you.

your mother belittled and tormented,

but that was long ago.

Build a wall.—you say:

Live your life from this moment on,

don't look back.

Your horrible past doesn't matter.

Build a wall.—you say:

Write about the pleasant things in life.

forsake your gruesome past,.

nobody wants to hear about it.

Build a wall.—you say:

We have no more sympathy to give,

besides, incest makes us uncomfortable,

how about a nice poem of flowers and trees.

Build a wall?— I say:

Keep the unspeakable and the profane,

safely contained in darkness,

on the inside.

Build a wall?— I say:

A wall that took forty-years of my life

to tear down, brick by memory brick,

pieces of a puzzle finally picturing sanity.

Build a wall?— I say:

Trade a moment for your illusionary safety.

Insure that the evil of incest and abuse

continue to plague future generations of children.

I will build no more walls!

Follow the Leader

1.

Twelve-, thirteen- and fourteen-year-old girls

Oprah brought them in front of America

to say

It isn’t really sex

it’s more like shaking hands

an idea that seems to have stuck

like crusted evidence

on Monica’s blue dress

since our former President

thought to use semantics

to burrow under intimacy of deeds

when he came out of his hole of addiction

to contemplate the meaning of IS

Hormone driven teenagers

looking for loopholes

in elder’s behavior

imbue lascivious pastimes

with youthful enthusiasm

of follow the leader

as pimply-faced males line up at parties

drop their skivvies

pubescent females bow low to serve

2.

Headlines read

Being Gay Means Being Harassed in Schools

School administrators

scurry to stop bullies

like newly hatched spiders

spinning a better theme

Attempt to plait tolerance

into individual moral fibers

where the weave

of close-knit fears anyone different

too arcane to be exposed to light

Meanwhile back at the ranch

like the praying mantis bites off

her mate’s head

after connubial bliss

our Commander and Big Chief

would sever homosexual’s rights

decree away

to love, honor and cherish

until death do part

Homage

Baby-faced pansies

fine like velvet carpet

cover the grounds

Walkways leading

from one birth

of beauty to another

Well-worn paths

leading through

bejeweled splendor

Homage to spring

God’s gift

to those

who remember to waken

when winter goes on sleeping

to its bittersweet end

July 7, 1999 3:46 PM

God Is Dead!

God languished dying in apathy

so very very long ago

an outdated useless tool

society wielded

with shame and control

His only begotten Son and Santa

wedded to a day

thought up to appease Pagans

turn them to

'The Way'

Now it’s late August

store aisles are fully stocked

holiday reds and greens abound

tinsel and golden angels

hung from trees chopped

Each year

Consumers’ push comes earlier

commercialism does offend

the mantra

"Finish your shopping early"

with no foreseeable end

Seduced into buying presents

spiritual futures sliced thin

Stepford Shoppers lined up dutifully

but why—

to glorify Him?

Every year, with renewed dread

bankruptcy comes to mind

sucking sweet joy out of life

with God already dead,

can Christmas be far behind?

GOD

GOD IS NOT A HE OR A SHE

GOD IS THE LIVING FORCE

GOD IS NOT POSITIVE OF NEGATIVE

GOD JUST IS

GOD IS NOT RELIGIOUS

GOD IS FOUND IN ALL RELIGIONS

GOD DOES NOT NEED TO BE WORSHIPED

GOD HAS NO EGO

GOD DOES NOT MAKE BAD THINGS HAPPEN

GOD DOES NOT GET INVOLVED

GOD DOES NOT DEMAND ANYTHING OF US

MAN HAS DONE THAT

GOD DOES NOT TAKE SIDES

GOD ALLOWS FREE WILL

GOD IS PERSONAL TO EACH AND EVERYONE

OF US AND CANNOT BE DICTATED BY OTHERS

2/11/1019 2:30 pm

Poseidon’s Daughter

Mom furnished the goggles

that summer I spent more time

underwater, dreaming

than on its surface, swimming

She had signed me up

for a swim team,

not understanding my true allure

to water

The terse moments of competition

splashing across water’s surface

correct strokes and kicks

overtaxed my lungs

brought on asthma’s ragged breathing

I longed for hours spent on pool’s bottom

living life as a mermaid

in my underwater kingdom

of quiet beauty

Today, I reclaim the goggles

in memory of when

my childish plans collided

with mother’s veracious need

to breathe in glory

and the green haired mermaid

needed her dreams

Going

When its time for going

blood all runs dry

bones too frail to stand

muscles sapped of strength

the body will lie down

while my mind still sharp

clear sighted

will carry on the journey

October 5, 1999 3:30 PM

Going Away

Every time you go away

I go spinning

spinning back

back to my childhood

Daddy

will you come back this time

will I be left alone to fend for myself

every time you go away

I face abandonment

the end of me

10/24/92

Going Home

In my dream

a funny little man

behind the wheel

of my 52’ Lincoln Continental

drives me down

the flat lands of Kansas

Although never really my home

it seems familiar

to be in the land of Dorothy

once more

Sign reads

Emerald City 2,000 miles ahead

Yellow Brick Road Restaurant

open 24/7

Why doesn’t that seem

a long way to travel

just to be fed?

May 13, 2000

Hong Kong 1968

First Look through Young Eyes

Traveling on a sampan

over pungent water

like open sewers

to a grand floating restaurant

where elegant feasts were served

to those that could afford the price

Returning to shore

bellies rotund with spiced cuisine

passing small fishing boats

filled with families casting for sustenance

from waters where they defecated

and later bathed

Back on the docks

preparing to return to our posh hotel

seeing lean-to homes of cardboard boxes

lining filthy water's edge

residents pulling rich men and women

around the city in rickshaws for a pence

Departing the British territory

Through fog and gloom

heart full with what my eyes had seen

leaving behind a few salted tears

as a wistful prayer for people of Hong Kong

Hologram

1.

In dreary daydream

sickly thin silhouettes

float faintly lit runways

strutting latest fashions

for high society

2.

Ghastly surreal images solidify

naked lines of living dead

heads hung low

shuffle to showers of no-return

for delousing

Upside Down

The world as we know it has tilted

Dangerously threatening to turn

Upside down

The stuff we were fed

On which our little hearts, souls

And ability to define our safely drawn

Perimeters of understanding

Sorely challenged

Things that were the bedrock of each

American…

How we are the land of all the huddled masses

Come together for freedom in religious worship

The humble shall inherit the earth

We the people created equally… by the people, for the people

Life liberty and the pursuit of happiness

Tule Fog

In wintertime,

vapors spread across the delta

obliterate objects

beyond one’s own feet and hands

That’s when I walk, head bowed low

catch a bit of wild grass on the periphery

right step left

On to Spruce Street over to Fourth

left at Broadway past the Foster Freeze

where in good weather, you can make out

the giant cone from blocks away

often, Janet, Faye and I stop after school

for a large fries, hot, right from their oil bath

served up with salt and catsup, cherry cokes

all around

right step left

Another left up at Fruitvale for a straight path

a quarter of a mile from here to the high school

for which I am late, hungry from running out

without a bite, I echo with the low inner rumble

no comfort to my unwavering trek

five times a week

right step left

Cynthia L. Bryant

Family Affair

The father of the free world

says love is for some

not for others

rules his realm

with steely eyes

that excise those Left

favors the Right

mandates no joint loving

Wrong is right

the rest a blight

best kept alone in the dark

so righteous unions

don’t lose sight

of what God intended

and what could lead

to the ruin of all

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are altogether.

Lennon/McCartney -I am the Walrus

Altogether

In dreams it is said we play all the parts

like having an egocentric conversation

as we listen in, make incredible insights

all the while projecting feelings into thoughts

Thoughts into words

Someone out there is hungry

out of work homeless or ill

Voices barely audible brush

over the fine hairs at the base

of necks

Perceived by some

a pesky insect to wave away

Others hear a low rumble

in disgust disregarded as not my problem

not caring to note unpleasantries

Now it is we who whimper whine

tangled in apathy’s anthem

altogether redundant

only another spark of light gone

dimly the conversation lingers

Badge of Honor

I wear the marks with honor
ghostly white-blue strikes
snake the vast landscape
of belly
where once my younger sister exclaimed,
“Oh look, your pants are too tight!”

May 10, 1999 12:42 AM

Circumvent

Brought bustling into the world
a male child
given ten on the Apgar score
winning mom’s and dad’s heart

Only one small tiny flaw
to alter, doctor says
really a natural healthy duty
left yet undone

We tie the tike down
like a bug to a board
snip the end off of the penis
the child wails in pain

As well-educated parents
wards of God’s greatest gift
wanting only the best for our son
we just said “No”

September 2, 1999 4:19 PM

“Sometimes an accident

can be

an unhappy woman’s

best friend.”

Delores Claiborne- Stephen King

Turpentine

I was eighteen months old

The day she walked into the den

Found me sitting on daddy’s lap

Green dragon robe open

My chubby hands closed around

His main concern

Mom was sure such hateful behavior

Was inherited from my young birth mother

Who could not keep her legs together

The bad-seed showing

Days later as the story goes

we visited some friends

an open Coca-Cola bottle on the floor

close to the house painting under way

I drank a big gulp, screaming in pain

That is how the accident happened

terror grew while masked men

crammed tubing down my throat

into a stomach on fire

Now tell the story true

roll it over in your minds

Who would put turpentine in a coke bottle

Leave a toddler alone to find it

Label a baby the other woman

End of Daze News Bites

Extremes in weather bring drought, floods

worst hurricane and rainy seasons ever

Bird flu has taken wing en route to Alaska and down the US mainland

closing the gap of the trail of Africanized bees

AIDS has a new stronger stranger big brother

And speaking of Big Brother, he watches with impunity

Situations in Iraq threaten to escalate into civil war

supersede our own war on terrorism while terrorizing their lands

Child pornography is rampant in the world

too many takers to end lucrative supply of demand

King George wears thorny crown of Messiah Complex

Hell-bent to add his name to the Armageddon who done it list

Just give me the that old time religion, just give me that old time religion

Just give me that old time denial, that’s good enough for me

This wasn’t what I had in mind

when I created this world

Fantasy Farewell

As I peek

into the well-worn photo album

the lithe body…. colored cocoa

shinning in moonlit waters

that cascade like happy children

down the rockslide

the musky smell of jasmine

or maybe honeysuckle

fill my senses

warm breezes

brush deep auburn tresses

against full breasts pout

I turn now

to part moist lips

show

perfect white teeth

blow a kiss

once more

to youth perfected

a dream

lost to yesterday

February 24, 2000 3:38 PM

Backward Gaze

I walk the long dark hallway
enter the bedroom of childhood
touch the blanket
that appears warm enough
pull it back
expose the tear-stained pillow
sheets with traces of blood
sacrifice to daddy

Strewn remnants of toys
broken too soon
share the brunt
of mama’s unleashed rage

In one far corner
where sunlight occasionally shone
in a forgotten box
crayons and imagination stir
I find my smile

Barren

Aging women
Maturing daughters
Childless sisters one and all
Facing monthly
The untenable truth

Cotton saddles strewn about
Discarded in silent rejection
Ridden to draw the moisture there
Keeping tidy the serene secret spot
All their own
Yet mirrored by millions

Unneeded fallow nourishment
River of life flowing
To a new home with other worthless refuse
Cotton clouds filled with unsung dreams
Of maidens left with empty arms
No babe to hold this spring

February 6, 1998 9:30 A.M.

Clear Thinking

I want the sun
to warm me
its rays to run me through
I want the sand
To fill spaces between toes
To wake hibernating senses
As I walk.

I want the ocean's waves
To clear my mind
Of dead wood
To install the flow of life
To gather the inertia of winter's fog
And roll it back, out to sea
So I may see
Anew.

Childish Thoughts

Today, a week before your birth date
I fall deep into the memory
Coming to terms with your father
The man married to give a father
To my first child, an only daughter
The spouse who already had spread his seed
Elsewhere, his infidelity forgiven
As I faced bringing you two up alone.

The labor was painful, but in a way
Unknown in my previous excursion
Into childbirth.
All contractions in my back
buttocks that were on fire
With no relief found

After hours of very little expanse to the goal
Sudden chaos broke out around me
Blood was flowing, people shouting
Me begging, what is wrong
‘Shut up, do you want to bleed to death?

I sunk back into myself
watched as a nurse climbed on top of me
pushed down hard on the mound that was you
You came out face first the color of eggplant
as they rushed you away
I lay still waiting to take my last breath
As others sewed my broken parts back together
Took hours for me to take it all in

You cried, I heard you cry
All 2 ounces short of ten pounds of you
Precious pink , breathing, all your fingers and toes
The fire put out, I held you close
Telling you that I would always
protect you from harm

It was 8 months later
when the fire began anew
Blazing there between you and I
Taking the final curtain down
Our home soon followed

Today a week before you would
Have turned forty-years old
On the anniversary
of your older sister’s birth
She turns away
from her 50th Year
she cannot face

Hot tears roll down my face
Remembering
it could have been different
I could have lost you both
I celebrate her 50 years

C)2019 CLB

Holy Water

Windshield wipers

beat time

to the downfall of rain

You used to tell me

God was watering flowers

keeping the Earth green

When I was young

I believed whatever

you said

Windshield wipers

beat time

holding back his tears

A superhuman sorrow

unable to stop the world

running red

July 7, 1999 11:20 AM

Venice Beach

All along Candle Café’s rain gutter

the committee lines up

wing feather to wing feather

Jesters come and go along the walkway of tattoo parlors,

tee-shirt palaces, piercing vendors and other assorted artists

who congregate along the path above the beach

An experiment of melanin pushed to its limit, where every race

of beings have become tawny brown to ebony sheen

the exception an occasional tourist with glare of alabaster skin

Some ride wheels on boards, on bikes, on roller blades

while others push strollers, meander, jog, panhandle

sit on benches, people watch

These plain gray birds eye those beneath

care nothing for what adorns people’s bodies or hue of their skin

only what is discarded, recycled or dropped

Up on Titanic’s rooftop a lone white seabird stretches majestic wings

quietly takes it all in, while I relax under harbored shade

lost in a thousand judgments behind polarized eyes

Falling

Dreams of falling,

sometimes begin

from dizzying heights

darkness of space

descending

in slow terrifying jolts

Bouncing off skyscrapers

mountaintops

Caught at the last moment

by tasseled carpet,

happening by on its journey

to faraway places

But the dreams

that stall my breath

start on solid ground

A high mountain cavern,

with a cliff overlooking

deep, dark tumultuous water

that draws me to the edge

and over, falling

landing hard,

with bitter cold impact

Darkness splinters,

Gasping awake

January 28, 1999 5:18 PM

Fashionable Feelings

Were random feelings accepted etiquette

Only the best people would wear them

On their sleeves, prim and proper

Catching the gaze of envious passersby

If emotions were meant for the aesthetically sensitive

Certainly, no sane artisan would be without them

Galleries would hold outrageous shows

Bragging attributes garishly, but with style

Musicians would hold up their instruments to heaven

Playing their hoorays to Gods and Goddesses

Searching for just the right notes

Brandishing melodic passions in wild abandon

Plain folks, the Mas and Pas, everyone else

Would surely sulk, holding inside mundane feelings

They alone would never be good enough, refined enough

To purge daily, dismal deeds designed for the upper crust

October 5, 1998 3:51 PM

Bad Blood

Daddy told me
bad blood soaked the cloth
when I
unwanted progeny
hung upside-down
between
this world and oblivion

Surmised
how my birth mother’s blood
flowed first
on the back seat of some car
making me
a cheap commodity
on the adoption Black Market

Never let me forget
the same bad blood
swam beneath
my thin skin
like a Great White
waiting to surface
hungry to feed

September 23, 1999 4:10 PM

Shelter from the Storm

TURN DOWN THAT MUSIC
T U R N D O W N T H A T M U S I C
We hear the chant
outside the door
The Rolling Stones latest
plays for my friend and me

I turn the volume down
as the gale wind
throws back the door
whipped into a fevered pitch
sputters thrashes
rips the new sacred vinyl
from the player

We take cover
behind nervous giggles
on the far side of the bed
watch in amazement
as the album
bangs across the dresser
smashes against a wall

It crashes down
in one piece
defiant to the end
when a final clash of lightening
hits the record
just right
it explodes into trash
The storm leaves as fast
as it came
slamming the door behind
Only shards of debris remain
to remind us of the cyclone
that raged

Next day
home from school
as I open my door
Enter the silence
after the storm
A new copy
Between the Buttons
lays on my bed
the faint smell of storm’s aftermath
lingers

April 15, 2001

Clouds

Many days
clouds have sullied light
with their downcast brooding
untried tears

Perhaps vision of the miniscule minion
slimy, slinking from every overturned rock
has burdened their sensibilities

You see greed and hatred has seized the day
It is the year of our Presidential election
All that is right with our world
becomes overlooked as grace dies

When this second deluge commences
the world covered with tears
will we survivors be content
with a dry spot to lay our heads as we watch
gentile giants in the sky pass over

Coats of Anger

Anger
curled in on itself
like an alley cat ready
to pounce on the next
unsuspecting soul
unlucky enough to come
across its path

Anger
tethered at an
unseen point in time
left blowing in the wind
like a deserted kite
caught in a mass of tree limbs

Anger
liquid hot
a bubbling stream
of lava unleashed without
mercy, destroying randomly
innocent passers-by

Anger
embittered cold stares
like winds from the north
Freezing with icy glares
that kills in silence

Anger
harnessed and worn
like a white billowing
parachute floating in air
ready to save my life

7-8-9-10
Pull the rip cord now!

COLLAGE

Lost genetics
come together
knit and stitched
over length
over breadth
internal clock set
then forgotten

But now
your eyes
knowing smile
shape of face
in the photo
waken familiar longing
for the mother
never known

July 23, 2000 7:20 PM

Collected

Books,
Never read

Clothing,
Never worn

Food,
Thrown out at weeks end
As it changes
to a new fuzzy species

People met,
Allowed to fade
Into silent distances
Never heard from again

Collected—
In hopes of filling
The vast bottomless vacuum
Hollowed out long ago
needs left unfulfilled

Bookcases, closets, refrigerator
Fair weather friends

Flash neon across my subconscious,

Full—No vacancy

Wait, what is that sucking sound?

July 18, 1997 10:14 a.m.

Coloring Lesson

Coloring book and crayons
that is how our day began
with an admonishment
to keep inside the lines
as you lay belly down
propped on one elbow
along side me

I pick the house
with tulips out front
leave the smiling baby
in its mother’s arms
for you to color

I watch your face
almost always stern
set now
in deep determination
checking out crayons
for just the right one
for the babe

Mother
I have always wondered why
you chose blue

June 30, 1999 4:37 PM

DAMNED IF I DO AND DAMNED IF I DON’T

ONE OF THE FIRST LESSONS I REMEMBER LEARNING WAS THAT I WAS BAD. COMING IN CLOSE SECOND WAS THAT I WAS AT THEIR MERCY.

AS I GREW AND STARTED KNOWING ABOUT AN OUTSIDE WORLD.I HEARD OF THIS FABULOUS LOVING FATHER, WHO LOVED ME SO MUCH THAT HE ALLOWED HIS ONLY SON TO DIE FOR ME. WITH JUST A SMALL CATCH SINCE I WAS A SINNER, I WOULD NEED TO BE BAPTISED AND AGREE TO LIVE ONLY FOR HIS NEEDS. IF I DIDN’T AGREE, THIS KIND AND GENEROUS FELLOW COULD HAVE ME SLAUGHTERED AND DAMN MY SOUL FOREVER.

SORRY, I ALREADY HAD PARENTS THAT WERE OFFERING ME THE SAME DEAL. MY MOTHER WOULDN’T ALLOW ME TO BE BAPTISED AND SO I WOULD BE PUNISHED BY MY HEAVENLY FATHER AFTER THE EARTHLY ONES WERE FINISHED.

MARCH 8, 1996

10:10 AM

Golden Gate

Unseen blood

d r i p s

From the Huge Orange Expansion

In sacrifice

In memoranda

of a high divers past

An apropos headstone

Marking discarded unresolved existence

Thrown into the tumultuous waters below

From whence all life came

Container’s Instructions

Contents under pressure
Shake only at your own peril
Don’t allow near an open flame
Handle with kid gloves
Best kept in the dark
Handled as little as possible
Beware contents fragile, this end up
Never mind just leave me alone

August 11, 1997 3:41 p.m.

The Red, White & Blue

At her inception—

Did Red reflect blood splattered
over lands foreign and domestic

White bones crushed
blown apart dust to dust

Blue haunted faces
drained of life

Throughout our history
from sea to shining seas
romanticism of war stain colorful
draped over coffins
of America's honored dead
the others left to rot

Long may she wave…

Cost of Living

Workingwomen always pay
in ways that men seldom do

They pay on the job
in self-respect
every time they except less money
than their male counterpart
for the same job done

They pay at home
with their freedom
where mounting household chores
await their arrival
crowding in on any down time
sorely needed

They pay pay again
with their children’s loss of family
the stranger
who spends most of the time
raising the children
instilling their own values

Workingwomen always pay
in ways that men seldom do

July 2, 2001 10:50 AM

County Fair Gold

Imaginary line
streaked with gold
admission paid
threshold crossed
staunchest adult turns
to giggling child

It begins with faint whispers:
popcorn, hot dogs, cotton candy,
the Ferris wheel
cartwheels across the skyline,
bumper cars bounce,
people squeal. . .

Livestock’s rich aromas
greet unaccustomed noses,
animals kept in corrals and cages
allow city dwellers
a glance
quick pat

Fun house barkers
shout welcome to the bizarre
Gamers beckon
“Take home a giant panda . . .”
“Goldfish— Only 1 dollar for three balls—
Step right up!”
“Let me guess your weight.”

Memories of gold
below layers of daily doldrums—
uncovered every year
in smells
sights and sounds
discovered at the Alameda County Fair!

©2000 Cynthia L. Bryant

Cowboy Fable

In my dreams
no care’s taken
to portray you
in the positive

Your stand-in’s
the rough rider
unshaven cowpoke
in the dark hat

Herds cattle all day
at twilight lazes around campfires
spins yarns
with other Marlboro men

Too busy to notice
your gal packed up
to catch the next stage
outta Dodge

© 2005 CLB

Crapshoot

Mere moments before,
seated in the comfy overstuffed chair
pouring over the astrology book,
the one that talks of transits
Planets that make aspects
favorable or otherwise
to the others frozen into place
at the event of my birth.
Like the star of Bethlehem
shone over the stable
where the young mother
had just given birth
among the sheep and cattle,
guiding those who paid heed
to the ordinary space
to serve as witness
to pay their respects

Rising as if in a dream
I leave the book askew
on the floor,
head for my children
calling to them as I come
We meet in the hallway
as I gather the toddler
his older brother close by my side
Squat on the floor
joined by heredity and fear
as the bedroom doors sway
open and then half-close, then open
the floor rises to the occasion
the windows rattle that late afternoon
while Mother Earth grumbles
takes other mothers and children under
she spares us

September 26, 2005 3:35pm

Creation

I entered then
Slowly, reverently
Into the soft inner chambers
Each petal lighter in hue
More untouched than those that came before
And finally the blast of dazzling color
And hairy pistils and stamens
Witness to creation

March 20 1998

Creativity: Taken As It Comes

When breasts swell with the pressure
of Mt. Vesuvius ready to erupt.

When I crave creamy milk chocolate
like Antony panting after Cleopatra.

When my aching head pounds
like a two-year-old on a drum

When I begin my search for abandoned
salt licks in quiet cow pastures.

When my personality becomes
more of the dragon and less so the lady.

When I bloat out to dimensions
mimicking the Good Year Blimp.

When my family screams “UNCLE”
under the white-flag of surrender.

That's when the creative juices start surging—
like newly thawed snow rushes down the falls
to feed the valley below.

Another moon has come and left its mark!

Critical

Defined by a world
Where all must measure up
Standards locked in place,
Like David trapped in stone
Waiting for drones and elite alike
To stand erect before committee
Found tainted or minutely flawed
By unwritten civil standards
Wrecking daily lives
Aghast to find the measuring stick
Fixed in our own hands

August 18, 1998 4:15 PM

CRY FOR HELP

I’M VERY AFRAID!
MY DADDY HURT ME.
HE LIED TO MY MOTHER.
HE TOLD HER THAT I HAD A BLOODY NOSE,
THAT IT BLED ALL OVER HER COUCH.
SHE BELIEVED HIM.
WHEN I SAID DADDY HURT ME.

THIS CAN’T BE RIGHT.
PLEASE SOMEONE,
TELL ME IT’S NOT ALL RIGHT
FOR DADDIES TO HURT THEIR
LITTLE GIRLS THAT WAY.

I HAVE A NICE TEACHER,
MAYBE I CAN TELL HER.
I RUSH UP TO MY TEACHER.
MRS. CALVERT, “MY DADDY HURT MY BOTTOM.”
I HOLD MY BREATH WAITING FOR HER REPLY.
“WHAT DID YOU DO WRONG?”

CYNTHIA L. BRYANT
OCTOBER 29, 1996 4:30 PM

Dancer

The photograph is a black and white

With shades of gray to blend

Her strawberry- blonde head crowned with white paper roses

Baby fat dressed in the child-size tutu once

The color of ocean breezes

No trip taken downtown to the huge hall

Where people paid to sit together

Witness the slight built women

As they would jump, twirl and pose

Hands held out so delicate they seemed

Like painted porcelain dolls.

No time set to transfix before the

big wooden box nestled in the den

across from the white Naugahyde sofa

adorned with gray tweed cushions as back drop,

searching for the allusive dancers

dressed in colorful tutus painted

black and white and gray

Nothing there to draw the line from child to ballet

Ballet to Dancer Dancer to dream

Dark Mother

So many

You said I said

You thrust I parry

over the years

did not brace me

against the cutting response

to happy news

A new baby on its way

Get an abortion--

Your words

splay my skin

take up residence

then bounce off the inside walls

like a puppy

popped into the microwave

Push Start

Jealously is a mother

who could bear no fruit

resents a daughter

who fell into pregnancy

as easily as you

wiped up

the microwave

March 23, 2001 1:44 pm

Gathering

Call together any number of poets

we come joyfully

Set us up with space

microphone or not

a stand to rest our words

So easily entertained

we create our own hospitable digs

gladly the exuberant audience

when few others venture

beyond comfort zones

for poets a rapture

nothing short

of the second coming

Afterward if synchronicity holds

a few carefree words

take license

burrow into unsuspecting listeners

where new poets hibernate

Daughter

“She’s so fat”

The first words out of my mouth

once I stopped crying

tears of relief and joy

Most beautiful child ever born

Big trusting blue eyes, contrasted

with the heavy fringe of dark bangs

on ivory skin

Quiet shy little girl

Always her mothers shadow

Growing and sharing

M & M’s and hugs

Angry black clothed teenager,

truant and failing school

Many secrets then, none shared

Ran to the benevolent grandmother

Her anger received though not understood

Flighty young adult, playing changing partners,

much like her mother before her, without

the lifelong commitment to complicate things

Finding her niche, painting beauty on the faces

of others, some of them male

None of them coming close to the simple

elegance and grace found in her own face

Getting married soon to a man

With her same caring big blue eyes

Who helped her find the way

Back to her loving heart

I am grateful at her newfound

joy, but I can’t help thinking

back to my sweet little girl, her small

hand in mine, looking to me for love

And wonder if I will ever feel that needed

again

July 27, 1997 10:24 a.m.

Ding Dong…

I jolt awake from fitful sleep

only the abandoned child of Medusa must dream

aware of a soft inner voice

and the many moments my children heard

“I love you”

I have always wanted to experience

a mother’s words that refused to fall

like cruel slashes on blackened sky

as thunderheads crack

Even in death her divisive voice

shrieks mockery

Dish Water Delight

I stand at the kitchen sink

up to forearms

in warm greasy suds

as jasmine scented air

seeps in through the screen

A peaceful moment hangs

with piqued awareness

common place activity

secretly shared with nameless

faceless others

As single-hearted harmony

registers contentment

then flows away

like soapy water down

the drain

May 3, 1999 5:15 PM

Daniel

The babe slumbered

over pinnacles of time

ripening

in etheric euphoria

unaware

with constancy of

nutrients and nurture

teamed to create

a hallowed hall

Then the pains came

twinges

made space

pulled then pushed

in momentum

then in urgency

with deep exhalation

into a world

cold and unexplored

Through tears

of pain and joy

I check for imperfection

any malformation

that would ill allow

survival on his own

Today

delivered a man-child

to college

Days of Madness

lose the light

where the difference between

up or down

becomes so slight

disappears into limbo

Numb

verging on the precipice

of reality

never materializes

rather dances wildly

under skin so thick

the secretly held hope of sanity

is lost

altogether

May 13, 1999 10:11 AM

When Death Comes a Calling

Death—

Are you quietly lurking?

Around darkened corner

Preened pretty and ready to pounce

Scythe sharpened to bright shining edge

Cutting two ways

Both fatal

Your harsh decisions never reversed

Once chosen for final analysis

Your last sojourn to my home came swiftly

Cloaked by dark of night

Foreboding banners a blazing

Stopping the rampage finally

With last ash extinguished

Tears dried up

Like a cracked creek bed

My beloved son reduced to tawny dust

Scattered on the wind

Death—

Are you quietly lurking?

I need to know,

Preparing like a Girl Scout

Making ready to earn merit badges

Reduced to faultless debate or pitiful begging

Filling darkened rooms with reassuring light

If you are coming this time

Prepare for a fight!

June 15, 1998 10:36 AM

Public Enemy

Fear those who would annihilate us

Evildoers with weapons of mass destruction

pressed to our heads

Polished words catchy phrases

assure untried memory

used to dehumanize

he whose face unflatteringly

fills the poster-

Wanted Dead or Alive

February 6, 2003, 2:30pm

DEALY

MY MOTHER HAD A COLORED MAID,

FOR ALL THE FOLKS TO SEE.

SHE HAD HER COME BY TWICE A WEEK,

THAT WAS AS IT SHOULD BE.

WE HAD TO CLEAN FIRST, BEFORE SHE CAME.

OH WHAT WOULD SHE THINK OF US?

MOM OFTEN HAD HER WATCH US KIDS,

FOR ME THAT WAS A PLUS.

MY MOTHER HAD A COLORED MAID,

UNTIL THAT FATEFUL DAY.

DEALY SAW AND CARED FOR ME,

THEN DADDY MADE HER GO AWAY.

CYNTHIA L. BRYANT

APRIL 9, 1996 10:40 AM

Decision

To love and be loved

the grist of many poetic lines

came to me unexpectedly

unwillingly

Plied with layers of lost childhood

Our lost child, small helpless to flame

unfathomable to any parent

with precious progeny

Loss too of partner piece

that did not fit the picture

nor understand

cathartic sound of weeping

Then BAM

I met him

BAM BAM

we were pregnant

Me, staid stung by love

not able to move, step forward

Me, terrified of any new child

knocking at the door of my womb

BAM BAM BAM

our fateful fetus like a stone statue

lifeless on monitor

Me, the Typhoid Mary of mothers

I love them, love them not

It was the hardest decision

I had to make

in my life

Gone Too Long

My eyes latch on

Drawing you in

With the homing beam of my heart

December 1, 1997 2:40 P.M.

Good Morning Heartache

The first time I heard

Good morning heartache I knew

I must have lived before, after

During the putting word to word

Sultry sound stickin’ to insides

Like a warning from grandmother despair

Most of my youth spent at that table

Invited heartache to sit down

With grandfather sorrow

Hutched over the place settings

Talking it through

Talking it out

Making the case

For getting’ up

Movin’ on

Gotcha

It’s funny how things we don’t want to hear

deal with

tend to waft past lazy ears

go right to the file that under sometime later

later like when the relationship crescendos

over a sore spot

a item of contention

filed away early on

then a moment arrives

and you think

I don’t know what I ever saw in this horses ass

in your head the file door

opens ever so slowly

alive video plays in surround sound

full techno-color

you realize you knew

knew from the very first time they opened their mouth

this moment would arrive

with flash of incite/ hindsight

you chose the adventure anyway

November 18, 2002 3:35pm

Gracious Water

The easy moving motion

as it flows down the hot

flushed cheeks of the face

that holds the hidden tortured

soul, cooling as it runs finding

its own pathway and always

graciously turning pain to a

grateful much needed release

July 24, 1997 10:55 a.m.

Grand Scheme

Hours spent under cover of night

mentally unwinding wonder

like a ball of string

gold ring

attached to the end

Womanhood

perceived by experience

Eleven Suns

miniscule moments

a grand scheme

repetitive lives

infinite wombs

many New Moons yet to come

Change of Pace

Once a month

I sidestep into Southeast Asia, its lyrical click-clack

of simple singsong sentences, a world of petite women,

dark silky hair, gentle smiles and nods

a smooth pecan arm held slightly out, hand open,

offers a comfortable place to rest

Instantly, warm water rushes around neglected feet

that are soaked, scrubbed, trimmed, rubbed

slathered with lotion pounded into submission

then the coup de grace, color of ripe raspberries applied to toes

that fans dry to touch, fees paid, another nod, warm smile

I am out the door into the hectic noise of my world

Daughters

Beautiful nubile woman

Neglected Left

to fend for herself

Finding footing

no education or kin

to trust

Organic training

to be attractive

fixture for male

relatives

Making a living

the only way she knew

for years

Too soon a baby born

passed

from one questionable relative

to another

Never finding enough love

for empty spaces

Husbands—

Count them

Seven

In the end

leaving another young woman

with no mothering skills

Handing over her first child

to strangers for raising

I am that child and though

I never met you Grandma Etta

I know you would be proud

Generations of motherless daughters

Has stopped with me

10/10/1997 1:28 pm

Grandmother’s African Man

In Grandmother’s house

lived an African Man

his girth and stature

Intimidated

In the finished attic

where the grandkids

slept— played

one of many beds rested

upon a raised stage in the corner

the place the African Man

took his stand

In daylight

he took our breath away

life-sized

carved of ebony

all but the sclera of his eyes

which were inlaid

with thin cuts of ivory

Eyes

that missed nothing

looked through you

brought the statue

an eerie sort of

soulless life

I remember

as all the grandchildren do

many a restless night

our heads hidden under covers

because we knew

even then

he watched

Stone Dance

Great secret stones make welcome

Sunrise on the dawn of Solstice

Come Druids one and all

Come chant in the holy day

Come dance to the endless sun

Dance and chant, chant and dance

Homage to the length of daylight

Bless the timeless way

Giving nature her due reward

Happy Solstice Day

6/22/1998 4:53 pm

Green Sweater

one

thin

endless

green

strand

without form

hard to believe

a simple

in and out

then

under and through

brings together

so much comfort

from

just one

thin

long

green

strand

3/14/2000 1:37 pm

Guarded…

Insecurities

I guess we all have them

stacked up like chips in the Pringles can

one on top of the other on the other

on the other

lying dormant

with a lid to keep them fresh

on the inside

As varied as the insecurity

is the particular lid used

some of my favorites

pushing enough carbs

to fuel a Boston Marathon

pasta my weapon of defense

chocolate the drug of choice

creamy milk chocolate

M&M’s, chocolate covered raisins

by the handfuls

barely tasted

enough to stuff the hole

rush endorphins to the feeling

until there is none

stuck in a world of giants

where no matter how old we become

we are little inside

I fed that insecurity for years

hoping to be adult like the rest

presumptive as it is to assume

the rest are adults either

the bigger my physical form

the more invisible I became

or what about not being good enough

smart enough

tall enough

thin enough

able

out came my shopping list

dressing stylish, faddish, with labels

that tells the world

I am good enough

the old sleight of hand

busy checking out the clothes

don’t see me

or look at the books I own

not at me

don’t look too closely or

you may notice

most have never been opened

let alone read, digested, memorized

how about the great entertainer

shelves of every DVD worthy of attention

CD’s of all musical genre and times

don’t notice I never invite you over

to enjoy them

because I am here

you might see me

where the hell did all these insecurities

come from

mother beat me bloody

daddy loved me until I screamed

divorce never occurred to them

born under a bad sign

7/30/2003 2:40 pm

GUESS WHO

I am IN A WORKSHOP

I THINK I’M NINE

THERE’S A NAKED BULB

I HAVE ON JEANS AND A RED PLAID SHIRT

I am seated ON A WORK BENCH

I SMELL SAW DUST

I feel BLACK TAPE ON MY MOUTH

I SEE HANDS STRETCHING ME OPEN, EXAMINING WHERE I GO PEE FROM

I FEEL FINGERS AND OBJECTS BEING PUT IN AND TAKEN OUT

HE IS BREATHING FAST AND HIS BREATH IS BAD AND STALE

GRAND FATHER ?

JANUARY 22, 1993

Hadn’t Counted on Being Loved

Used, abused and sometimes amused

Couldn’t count on being loved

Fun, done, then out in the sun

Wouldn’t count on being loved

Scared, dared, didn’t want to be shared

Shouldn’t count on being loved

Commitment, time and singing in rhyme

Hadn’t counted on being loved

Fifteen years today

I know you won’t go away, besides

I’ve grown accustomed to being loved

July 4, 1997 7:54 a.m.

Three Haiku

Once upon a time

Promises fairy tale dreams

Turning off today

Well-placed words wander

Taking engaged minds aloft

Altering their view

Youthful spark of living

Rekindles forgotten hope

Yesterday's lost cause

11/30/1998 4:46pm

Half- Hearted

Byways of discourse

Adventures tamed

Resolving my campaign

Half hearted

until you and me

form we

of one heart

March 7, 1999 11:04 PM

Halfway House

I must

hold them back

tintinnabulate visions

from the archaic past

bound in a body

that has no exit

from the horror

no sanctuary but itself

to halt the menace

where piles of flesh

feathered with fat

stretch

to console

the soul

hiding there

September 30, 1999 10:15 AM

Halted Introspection

Imprisoned emotions

bounce off interior walls

like hard rubber balls

rebound

from one area

then another

come to rest

long after interest wanes

inertia sets in

an uncommon quiet lingers

like the village idiot

left to his own design

August 11, 1999 3:38 PM

Happenstance

While traveling in a far-off land

Walking unescorted in the night

I came upon fate's sad hand

And through her regained inner sight

I happened upon a pitiful woman

She was crying out to me

I asked if she was mortally hurt

She said she was indeed

She said her tale was sad and sordid

Did I have some time my dear

I nodded that I had a moment

She beckoned me closer to hear

She leaned on me as I sat next to her

Believing this gesture her right

She sighed and wiped a tear

Telling her tale through the night

The meter of her trembling voice

The simplicity of poignant words

Caught me up emotionally

But I struggled with what I heard

The horror of the touching story

Filled my soul with strife

For the woman seated beside me

Told me all about my life

December 22, 1997 10:04 A.M.

Haunted House

A spirit inhabits this house

roams portrait-filled hallways

shamelessly shakes rusted chains

in the family attic

possesses the others like in lackluster days gone by

The malevolent ancestor revisits

takes on a modern persona

sets up housekeeping

goes about daily business

of life’s legion scenarios

all the while an aura of rancor

scents daily intercourse

no longer warm as the fireside hearth

in a Norman Rockwell painting

Momma sneaks a nip in the kitchen pantry

daddy nips at the neck of his secretary

baby John is wet nursed

let out to boarding schools university

returns to fulfill his turn at haunting

1/15/2005 3:14 pm

During World War II (1945)Japan

He Ain’t Heavy…

Having walked miles

His brother

Strapped

To back

Dutifully now

Standing at attention

Waiting before funeral pyre

A line of blood

Leaked from mouth

Lips clenched in strength

The guardian relieved

Small lifeless body

Services rendered

The man-boy

Honoring ancestors

turned away

Forever

11/29/2021 9:45 am

Heat

Cavern

gleams danger

silent as a tomb

No voices raised

at the final outrage

to their ultimate sacrifice

Up above

a steady chatter

of families

nestled around hearth

Whole towns lit in

garish Christmas delight

Another seam

of human waste

bone blood sinew

packed between layers

of black gold

lies beneath

12/24/2000

Heaven on Earth

It is summertime at twilight

crickets begin to strum

air is filled with jasmine's perfume

The old rocker swishes da-dum

Weary day has retreated

behind blushes of orange and pink

as old Sol is extinguished

in horizon of oceanic drink

Heavenly lights flicker

turning on one by one

Awe struck Earth prostrate

Mother Luna's reign begun

Blue moon is arising

large and golden as the sun

As crickets serenade eventide

the old man's ticker stops—da-dum

Held Breath

Bajau divers evolved larger spleens

to stay under water for 13 minutes

Spleens, when oxygen supplies lapse, contract,

squeezing more red blood cells to the body

A genetic mutation like my own

Only used daily to spear fish,

gather black coral

To fashion jewelry

Many childhood summers eclipsed by chlorinated water

Gliding under, doing handstands or resting on the bottom

For hours at a time, lost in imagination

A child of the sea

All year long, practicing by slowing breath

Behind the Mulberry bush on the side of our house

In bed at night preparing for sleep

Quelling any need to be heard

Everybody knows, you cannot be harmed

If you are not there, not even by

Mom or daddy

Helpless, Apathetic or Evil

If sentinel, there was

Over cradle rocking

In silent night

Deterring no harm

From striking home

Its name was helpless

If careful guard

Ever stood watch

When daylight appeared

Saving no anguish

In childhood home

Its name was apathy

If God's angel

With sacred charge

Over tortured life

Showed no mercy

When glancing down

Its name was evil

August 10, 1998 4:33 PM

Here— poems come to be born

just as surely as the Hawthorn returns

each Spring to spatter white stars

Hester Prynne Revamped

Faye comes from Middle English

meaning fairy

Faye meant best friend to me

First in brownies and school

Later by the steady boyfriend

That rotated between us weekly

Faye tall and slender

Like models in Seventeen magazine

I medium height and weight

With more curves and pudge

Faye was brown haired, olive skinned

With enormous brown eyes and ready smile

I was blonde with freckles

Blue eyes and shy upturned smile

And for one whole year we were

Bound in secrets, small-town adventures and boys

Friends through practicing kissing on our pillows

Taking in our jams and jeans to skintight

Applying lipstick and eye liner

Laughing through finishing school for young ladies

The time I sat on my legs in the shag carpet in Faye’s room

Breaking off a needle into my foot on rising

The two hours in surgery it took for the medic to find, then remove it

Never letting slip it was one of the needles Faye sewed her own skin with

When shopping for lipsticks led to Faye slipping the cherry-flavored in her purse

the grape in mine, we waited as the store owner called our parents to pick us up

Our final adventure, the sleepover with the new older girl in town

Whose parents were out of town, and we were invited to attend.

My boyfriend left early after he had passed out and woke up vomiting

I roamed the house with a beer in tow, not really liking it much

As the hours passed, many had gone home as I walked in the dark

Looking for a place to sleep, I stepped over the first pile of groaning couples

Susan, the girl having the party, going at it tongue and groove With John,

the boyfriend of the girl who lived across the street from me

The others unidentifiable in heaps of two lost to undulating sighs

Entering the hall I opened the first door, a much-needed bathroom

washing my face and hands I headed down the hall

The second door opened I saw bunk beds in front of me

Faye and Chuck in the top bunk, yelling “Shit. Get the hell out of here.”

Who is to say what is a sin in God’s eyes?

Hidden Away

Upstairs in mama’s old roll top desk is a locked drawer

I knew even as a child it held that which was important

needed to be sheltered from light of day

Precious photos of her parents of whom I knew little

The antique coins that were tarnished but held value

Passports to other lands which froze in time

each family members face

their birthdates and places of birth

Mom promised me often

that only on the occasion of her death

it would contain answers to my questions

about the adoption

about the woman who gave birth to me

and then left me with this family of wolves

Hidden Molesters

Where do they come from?

These molesters of children

From alleys and gutters

Places with no light

Degenerates and strangers

No jobs or futures to seek

Disgusting habits

Morals sharply missing from their lives

Dressed in trench coats

Tight fitting , stained pants

With broken zippers

Drinking their suppers from brown paper bags

Sleeping in their vomit at night

Stalking the school yards by day

That would make it easier to spot them

Steering our children clear

Keeping them safe

But unfortunately

They mostly hide out in homes

Where children call them

Mom and Dad

December 2, 1997 4:08 P.M.

Highfalutin Contraption

Confounded

I examine the white porcelain bowl

closely

the smooth moist sides

run hands along assorted nuts and bolts

shift focus to the

white fluffy clouds afloat in a pale canary sky

Unsolicited shoulders shrug

and as I turn in defeat

a whoosh of water

smirks its way out of sight

the pastoral scene

a mere passing thought

A piece of granite from Mauthausen, the most notorious Nazi concentration camp in Austria, marks the birth house of Hitler. It bears the inscription:

“For Peace, Freedom and Democracy. No more Fascism. Millions of dead exhort us.”

Hitler House

Do the walls still whisper your name

in the small corner flat

situated above the pub

where your papa spent evenings

raised a few with comrades

before he mounted stairs

to his weary wife

Did the walls watch in silence

as your mother screamed you

into the world of men

oblivious

to the countless unheard agonies

that would litter your resolve

of human suffering

Did the walls shudder

as German troops rallied

laden with demolitions

to expunge any trace of your birthplace

A despicable reminder

of their implication in the Holocaust

efforts stopped short

Do the walls still whisper your name

as each year

fewer and fewer neo-Nazis

make pilgrimages

to the building now marked

by a piece of granite from Mauthausen

where two-hundred-thousand souls

will stand erect on Judgment Day

with millions of others

to scratch out your name

February 5, 2001 4:47 PM

Hobos & Gypsies

Recollections

Of Halloweens past

Loom large in retrospect

Every year

Minus one shining reprieve

As a fairy princess

Costumed ragamuffin child

Playing either the downtrodden hobo

Or wandering out-cast gypsy girl

Saying so much more

About my sad existence

Than I ever could

October 28, 1998 10:43

Homage

Baby-faced pansies

fine like velvet carpet

cover the grounds

Walkways leading

from one birth

of beauty to another

Well-worn paths

leading through

bejeweled splendor

Homage to spring

God’s gift

to those

who remember to waken

when winter goes on sleeping

to its bittersweet end

July 7, 1999 3:46 PM

Horror Movie Revisited

I watched the old footage today

it looked like something out of Hollywood

a special affect

I remember thinking

how could a pilot be

so off kilter

as to hit a building

and then for it to happen a second time

My mind could not wrap around

the event

like King Kong’s arms

wrapped around the Empire State Building

This was done on purpose

with reason

from some twisted mind

House Fire

I wore mother’s old robe

to cover my flimsy negligee

at dawn’s murky light

as frantic friends and family

showed up to be by my side

I wore the acrid smell of smoke

like meat right off the grill

that lingered on skin and hair

held my countenance prisoner

until I found my way

to soap and hot water

I wore the merciful cloak of shock

around me like thick fog

days later recognizing

that when I was ready

to make my way outside

the safety of mother’s home

I had nothing else to wear

I wore hand-me-downs

blue jeans, a green plaid shirt

and old white gym shoes

borrowed from mom’s neighbor

on an excursion

to purchase my own clothes

I wore brand new clothes

that belonged to only me

that day

when a double rainbow blazoned

the troubled sky

after sun ran out of backdrop

I wore baby-blue slacks

with a silky blouse to match

to bury my son

who had never seen his mother

in a dress nor in black veils

I wanted to make sure

he would recognize me

The Lights

Some day on a stroll

through ordinary time

we come to an unfamiliar

place in the road

the way ahead dark

A time when we must lie down

still our now labored breath

of well lived days

that linger in memory

like summer sunsets

A time when the disquiet

of new feelings

about the path that looms

around the bend

is perceived

but cannot be seen

without the effort

only time can make

It is then they come to the call

offer their warm touch

their selfless compassion

to soothe the trail

and hold up the lantern

with a steady hand

to light the way

Huge and Airy

Warm westerly winds wandering

In and out

The hole you left is deep and wide

In and out

Best migrate before the winds change

February 11, 1998 4:23 P.M.

Hospice: Last Call

Short are the hours

Still, but for the ticking of the clock

Winding down to the end of day

The comforting voice reassures

Ice chips served by soothing hands

Gingerly a wisp of hair is smoothed off the brow

Potent drugs at the ready drip at the bidding of pain

All papers are penned

Secreted safely away

Until this dance is over

All the dancers gone home

With their memories

only the crying

Left to do

However Deep You Dig

Despondence drains resources

Out through eyes that leak toxins

Noses that run ruins

Muffled sighs stuck in the chest

Breathe exhales through the mouth

Like an off tune accordion

That performs where no one dances

To those who sit alone at tables

With nothing to say while dust

Collects around

This museum of mourning

Where light peers through

Unclean glass and casts

Shadow ghosts along the walls

And a sign over the bar reads

“All’s well that ends”

11/2/2011

Husband

Wish that you could see yourself

through the eyes of love

the way that I do

You would see all of your strengths

and possibilities, streaming out

before you as far as your eyes

could see

How smart and fortunate

you really are having so many

natural talents available to you

and working so hard to please

Always maintaining peace where

you can pull it off

And I know if you were reading this

right now, the first thing you would

say is, “thank-you dear wife, but I

wish you could see yourself through

the eyes of love, the way that I do”

August 2, 1997 10:18 a.m.

Hypo-chondrite’s Purge

Living in the era of snake oil salesman one rung up

Where every seating before the television is an adventure in

Carnival barkers telling a tale

Raising the hairs on necks

Beware of any errant sign you may need our Products

Feeling irregular

Trouble sleeping

Be ready when she

Depressed because your antidepressant leaves you still depressed

Our product will fix that

Can cause suicide in depressed people

Dead but cured of the disease that killed us

Is that we are looking for

I dreamed I was…

Soaring high above myself

Sitting in brutal judgment

From my lofty place above

My fellow man calling out

For survival, for hope

For peace within

I could not believe my ears

Why would you call up to me

Who am I to lighten your load

I feel as lost as you must

Looking down on me as I do

Wait a moment, help me now

to come down off this cloud

I think I know what to do

First I must be earthbound

If we are perfect creations

With wills that are so free

What if you look inside yourselves

I will look in me

December 14, 1998 10:26 AM

I live a haunted life...

Where portraits of "The Scream"

Intersperse with faded family photos

Just out of range of hearing

The baby bird's beak yawns wide

in perpetual hunger,

caught open in blank stare of need

Eating him up whole and thankless

I live in my head

Lived there most of my life

Except when I chose to go deeper

Still, enough of the time to throw time

Out, remix it with snapshots, family papers

Whatever else stuck as time spun its sticky

Finger, run along the surface like a snail

Leaving shiny slime trails behind unaware

Of the dish of salt waiting just ahead

July 21, 2010 (changing doses of Welbutrin)

Moving up the Yellow Brick Road

I remember moving to Kansas on a stormy day in March

The winds chilly and strong, the skies gray and full of unseen gremlins

Ready to call chaos into play in the blinking of time

I remember staying in the bleak hotel room all day, waiting to

Preview the rental house where we were to live.

The rental my husband had chosen on one of his many journeys

East to Kansas.

I remember approaching the house for the first time, cookie cutter cute

Surrounded by leafless trees, brown deadened grass, nothing alive

no green anywhere I looked

And I remember that I felt as though I had made a deal with the devil

traded paradise for hell, all in the name of the someday home ownership

and I cried.

I walk in a dream...

betray day in sweet repose

as others scuttle their way

I drift hallways

with cloud soft edges

shoulder the work

for after dark

when the muse awakens

Idealized

Much preparation had gone into this our first meeting

clothing carefully picked out, conservative though stylish

In cut.

Reservations at a classy French restaurant, chic in décor

And rich in cuisine

The day was perfect and much hinged on this quaint rendezvous

After all, the woman was a mouthpiece for God’s word and much

Esteemed by her congregation

I hadn’t exactly told her the truth when I set up our appointment

Needing time to win her over first, before getting around to the

Truth

She walked into the room and I recognized her immediately even

Though I had never laid eyes on her before

She was shorter than I had expected, portly with a somber piercing look

On her soft rounded face.

She was cleaned and polished, dressed simply and held her self with

Dignity to her demeanor

I introduced myself telling her a little about the article and myself

That I was writing on women’s role in the church

When I finished she started to tell me of how the church had

Turned her life around and that she had come from hard beginnings

Having had a mother who was a bar maid and had been married

Six different times. she had been passed from family member to

Family member and on her own at just fifteen years of age

It was god’s love and guidance that had seen her through and she

Felt it was up to women in the church to give leadership to other poor

Lambs who may have temporarily gone astray.

I Pledge Allegiance…

1.

Something bordered on fanatical

raised voices debate

the right to swear oaths in rote

words children sometimes substitute

with others

that sound the same

with no meaning found

2.

Flags erupt everywhere

We see this swell of pride

often preceding our fall

Pictures of rosy-cheeked children

erect with nationalism

eyes covered over with blind justice

led so easily to role of executioner

3.

Faded stickers, tattered flags fly

attached to car antennas

rage has ripened then rotted

on the vine of revenge

Rights sacrificed for the cause

taste bitter as our sons and daughters

return to disturbed ground

I Was Here 1999

A plethora of paths

etch scars

through untamed forests

towering

lost in the ecstasy

of their climb

Oblivious to humans

on the move

armed

with shiny weapons

slicing personal logos

into nature’s silver arms

several rings of time deep

My eyes capture

then discard in disgust

the image

of primordial forest

reduced to billboard

as graffiti marks time

Idolatry

American woman

leading the way

loosely laden shoulder bag

at the ready

shiny plastic hope

her magic key

housed within

one or legion

propels her into the bright future

Sparkling do-dads to adorn

life and limbs

Myriad comfort materialism

fashioned into stylish window dressings

colors of queenly rainbows

Her fancy French toilet water

fillets the air like a knife through fog

Dark garage glistens

with late model sedan or maybe

a recreational vehicle

Woman are you any less lonely

now

Ila

You stand a simple majesty

magnificent to behold

like a peek at Shasta

rounding the next corner

An inner light

graceful glow

greeted me

at first meeting

Your agile mind

spans eons

effortlessly twines

wit with wisdom

holds shared memory

of once upon a time

Although we have just met

the goose flesh on my arms

Peace in my heart

tells me I am home

Cynthia L. Bryant

Impaired

I live in a family

completely surrounded

by males

and each

and every one of them

lives with the tragedy

of being handicapped

All the poor fellows

are totally unable

to close a cabinet door

put a toilet seat down

throw it away when it’s empty

fill it if it needs filling

replace it if it’s all used up

or ask for assistance of any kind

unless by mannerism or grunt

Sadly all the latest research shows

that these deficiencies

are passed along genetically

Carried mysteriously in the Y chromosome

handed down generation after generation

father to son

In Circulation

This house is a giant sieve

Original windows

with seals that show their age

Some of the windows

open to the outside

some slide along aluminum tracks

some refuse to open at all

all of them stick

though mysteriously somehow

even when closed

warmed air of summer

crawls in to cuddle up close

like a puppy looking to nap

Nippy air of winter

creeps icy fingers

that leave trails of gooseflesh

wherever they touch

With that in mind

you might want to plan a visit

in the autumn or spring

unless you like to bundle up

to your eyebrows

or strip down to your drawers

be in circulation

like me

July 2, 2001 11:42 AM

In Search Of…

Sounding deep resonant tones

Lifting from dark molten places

Ringing through physical matter

Tossing off sleep

Opening once again to the circumstance

Of being

ARUHHHH—

ARUHHHHHHHHH

Sweet lyrical poetry

Where are you?

February 16, 1998 12:11 P.M.

In the Big Pink

Pepto Bismol looms large

in the big pink swirl of illusion

societies get out of jail free card

to sumptuous gastronomical nightmares

Binge city

here we come

9/7/1999

In The Zone

Electricity

at the moment of

impulse

to author send

one final beseech

to the keeper of secrets

key holder to the map

of my genetics

Hairs on neck

prickle

to the sound

of my own voice

talking back

On the other end

of the phone

a stranger

Gooseflesh

covered

once again

I follow the lead

basal instincts jump aboard

the train going somewhere

Finger of Fate

on the controls

February 27, 2001 10:21 am

View to an Incarnation

I come from

bronzed people

bathed in lapis sky

seated along benches

in midday Roman sun

Passions rise

spread with the crowds

Great columns

tower over

the rabble of rich

desperate faithful

housed as one

Bloodlust sport

springs free

in savage delight

Half-naked heroes

fight for their lives

for gold

for the glory of Rome

Great lions tear at

devour zealot fools

to the roar of the crowd

I stand among spectators

in the packed coliseum

my righteous superiority stirs

as Christian blood soaks

the mighty arena

never guessing the violence

mine eyes will see

when I suck my own last breath

April 14, 2001 2:00 PM

Indigo

Spaciousness

whether afloat in outer space

or

tucked deep in the inner recesses

of my mind

Mysterious color

caught between dreams

under

midnight sky’s

tranquil hue

hums . . .

April 9, 1999 5:27 PM

Infidelity

Where do ill-gotten lovers meet?

once the burn is on, libidos red hot

migrate away from established homes

paradise lost, in search of sensuous bloom

Imaginative lies spun in clandestine corners

like thick sticky cobwebs

distract weary spouses

from painful truths

Who wake one morning

to a contrite note

placed on the empty pillow

next to their own

Then stand alone mutter aloud

address the thankless letter

or anyone who will hear

Where do abandoned lovers go?

Inner Journey

Weary, wasted—

We come marching home

In cadence, almost predictably

Veterans of polluted pasts

Sifting piles of debris

For snatches of legacy

Salvaged, deposited into

Deep darkened recesses

The Alchemists bowl

Transforming dispirited heredity

Societies last hope

July 31, 1998 9:58AM

INSEQUENTIAL LOVE

BY CYNTHIA L. BRYANT

Allen and I are alone, sitting in the darkness on the big green couch in my living room. We are silent. Both of us wondering how it is that we ever came together at all and to this, our first fight.

Allen and I had both come hungry into this relationship, just two short weeks before. Allen from a 3 year relationship, that had milked his good guy persona for all it was worth. And I, from a 4 year marriage, my second. It was the loneliest 4years that I had ever experienced in my 30 short years of life. In the beginning, It was rocky at best and with the advent of our house fire and losing our precious infant son, Jody, it was more than the marriage could endure. In the end, the pain of losing a child was all that we shared and even that wasn’t shared together.

Allen and I had met several years earlier, through his brother, Neil He and I had been friends for years, but I had never thought about his little brother, Allen one way or another. He was after all ten years younger than myself and I didn’t see him very often. Mean while Allen had grown into quite a good looking man, with his long blonde hair and big brown eyes, but most of all he is the kindest and most generous man that I have ever met.

We had begun commiserating several months ago about our past relationships and why they hadn’t worked out the way we planned. One evening I decided to call Allen and see if he wanted to come over the next afternoon for a pot luck. We were celebrating the end of another “Psychic Healing Class”. I had been teaching them for the last year and a half, and I always had pot luck at the end so the students could come and talk to people that were actually working in the field of alternative medicine. Allen had been a guinea pig at several of the classes and seemed to show an interest in the subject.

“Hello Allen . This is Cindy. I thought that if you are free tomorrow, you might want to come over. I’m having a pot luck for the class”.

“ I wish that I could, Cindy. I’ve already made plans. Actually I’ve have a date to make dinner for a girl that I dated in high school.”

“A date, that’s wonderful. I hope all goes well.” I was surprised to hear that Allen was dating and not really as thrilled about it as I sounded. I really couldn’t understand my feelings.

Allen broke my thoughts, “ Maybe I could come over tonight and help you get the house ready for tomorrow. I remember you saying what an ordeal it was last time , moving furniture and all. Besides I could use some good company and you my friend are the best I know.”

5/7/1997

Inside Allen

Voice of soft melodic swirls

Intense, carefully calculated

Words of manipulation

Passive aggressive all the way

One fine family trait

Used daily in survival

No clearer path available

Your execution effortless

Small sensitive boy

Grown now to man

Born older than time

Time finally caught up

Desperate attempt at

A frivolous, free boyhood

Lost long ago

To a family that refused

To do anger

September 27, 1997 9:04 A.M.

Inside Out

You keep on laughing—

Every time you tell your story

When you get to the part

That is gut wrenching,

Where tears rush down our cheeks

You are grinning

Horrific, painful childhood

That mimics my own

Nevertheless, you find humor

Among the sewage

Of vivisected innocence

Tales of daily torment

Introduced matter-of-factly

Without blinking

Your smile intact looking grotesque

In contrast with reality

When your masked facial expressions

Matches your true inner emotions

I imagine a cataclysmic explosion

Your pain registered on Richter scales

While felt all over the world

7/8/1998

Intercepted Morning

I look forward to alternate weekends

special daddy-time with my six-year-old

daughter with dimples

clear blue eyes of her mother,

without the accusations

A ready-made smile breaking way

to belly laughs at my slightest provocation

She’s up early this morning

begging her daddy for pancakes

poured into the shape of animals

I stroke her hair, kiss her forehead gently

wearily rub sleep from my eyes,

disappear to relieve myself of last night’s beer

A quick glance in the mirror at a hairline

that retreats further every year

I dip my head into the basin of water

shake loose like a dog

comb hair straight back

walk into an empty kitchen

where the hollow feeling begins banging my gut

up against the inside of my back

I call her name

hear the echo bounce off

the inside of my morning head

irritated, I search through empty rooms

call her mother who hasn’t seen her and

Why don’t I know where our daughter is?

The hours the police and neighbors search

are white-knuckled timeless flecks

when my mind travels

the nightmarish unmapped territory

of a child gone missing

We never had time

to put her face on milk cartons

or alert other fathers across America

not to let their children

out of sight

Someone said they saw a little girl this morning,

heard her laughing

as she rode on the shoulders

of a homeless man

heading toward the woods

1/16/2011

Into Now

Chill air

moves arms

of great green giants

outside window view

Today they do not dance

Unable to sing…

Voiceless a prayer

Help these simple humans

So busy doing

they have forgotten

Look up from gadgets

See your path spread out

Folks allowed to meander into treachery

Many animals fade into extinction

Days bake in blazes or frosted in ice

Winds swirl like genetic markers

Changing blueprints of landscape

Great migrations swarm from rising salt water

As much as in peril of receding fresh

Holes open up Lands shake Air turned caustic

Outside chaos mirrors inside madness

Mother Earth may have to rid herself

Invisible

As a body slowly pushes its way

Further into physical domain

Adding layer upon new layer

Of protective pounds

The small inner-child digs deeper

Into interior regions

Further away from the scary world

Finding a place all her own

Surrounded by rings of massive flesh

She becomes invisible

Leaving an overgrown armored form

Alert standing guard

April 16, 1998 6:31 P.M.

It Could Have Been …

Death she comes to us all

in her time her way

Seldom are we asked to prepare

given the opportunity

to make ready

for this our final act of humanity

Had my husband been away

September 11th on business

catching the early United flight #93

to come home

instead of being safe in his office

ten short miles away

I imagine he would have snuck a moment

from Death’s hasty preparations

removed the cell phone on his belt

pressed h o m e

reached through his terror my surprise

to say one last time

“I love you baby”

September 23, 2001 1:36 PM

It’s Time

It’s time again—

White tee shirt with magical words donned

Precious crown of black felt ears

placed on head with adoration

Small red throne made of straw and wood

placed in front of the screen

As the black and white television booms

M-I-C K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E

A four-year-olds freckled face

lights up with wonderment

as she takes her special seat

For this short span of time

All is right with her world

September 20, 1997 11:22 A.M.

Ivy

Ivy grows green and wild

Curling along forming attachments

With all that he comes in contact

Binding his irrepressible personality

As part of inanimate objects

Creating a basis for decorating

The formerly unadorned

January 2, 1998 5:24 P.M.

Jacob

Little Jacob

Nephew unknown

You made it through so

many barriers

to risk life

Too little time

Too many chromosomes

Fate played against you

Born into a world

you never lived to see

And still you give

hope to others

Born like you

Chances to live

in health

Met up too soon

with your cousin

Jody Lee

There to welcome another

little angel

Who woke in God’s arms

Written by Cynthia L. Bryant August 30, 1997 11:58 A.M.

Jody Lee

You’d be eighteen years old now

Though I’ll always remember you

At eight months—

Gurgling and cooing

With shear delight,

Just being alive

You’d be fine and tall

A handsome young man

Eager to find your way

And make a difference

You’d have good friends, and

Young ladies vying for your

Affection

Things to do and places to see

You’d be eighteen years old now

Graduating from high school this year

Except

Angels don’t get any older in heaven

June 12, 1997 9:51 a.m.

Joint Effort

Still dark separate waters

Sullen and deep

Struggling against the man-made dam

Loosened now and set to flow

Surrendered to the current

Wild and uninhibited in its exhalation

Movement of passionate desire

Quickened riding the music of love

Crescendos as mind and body ignite

And fall in warm brilliant water

Shimmering cascades into one remaining pool

Of ecstasy’s reward

November 2, 1997 12:08 P.M.

Journey

My benefactor previews the maze

all the way to the bridge

exhausted my mind caught in days events

I lose my way soon after crossing

Directionally challenged I turn around

just because it feels wrong

backtrack the orphaned road

it looked unfriendly the other way

Come once more to the toll taker

where I have already paid my due

she turns me with a tsk tsk

shakes her head in a language I know

Ahead the stars go out

alone I wail to an abysmal sky

up over another hill and another

a faraway city twinkles hello

A city with no name

I move ahead drawn by the light

attempt to gather my bearings

a false sense of control steers me wrong

Renewed panic takes the lead

deeply I breathe into final surrender

As I slow my decent

familiar landmarks come into view

The stars slowly flicker back on

one by one

I give silent thanks as Joni sings

“Oh California, I’m coming home”

Jungle Warfare

Sweet sixteen and never been missed

Parental aim taken, with one swift kick

Out into a world without mercy

Finding shelter with weary soldiers

Resting up from war

Languishing in a sparse Quonset hut abode

Snuggled in heat of jungle overgrowth

Hidden away sanctuary from related unfriendlies

A momentary truce from homestead skirmishes

Veteran comrades waiting to return to war

Resting up, seeking balance, numbing senses

Illegal fighting of battles still ahead

Desperate days —No favors granted

No prisoners taken

No surrender accepted

Everyone changed, irrevocably

Cynthia L. Bryant

June 28, 1998 2:01 PM

Jupiter Rules the 8th House Cusp

Mere moments before,

seated in the comfy overstuffed chair

scouring the astrology book,

the one that talks of transits

for my upcoming fates

Planets that make aspects

favorable or otherwise

to others frozen into place

at the event of my birth.

Like the star of Bethlehem

shone over the stable

where the young mother

had just given birth

among the sheep and cattle,

guiding those who paid heed

to the ordinary space

to serve as witness

to pay their respects

Rising as if in a dream

I leave the book askew

head for my children

calling to them as I come

We meet in the hallway

as I gather them both

into my arms

Huddled together on the floor

joined by heredity and fear

as the bedroom doors sway

open and then half-close

then open

the floor rises to the occasion

Windows rattle

knick-knacks fall off shelves

that late afternoon

while Mother Earth grumbles

under her breath

Not far away

she takes mothers and children

spares us

September 26, 2005 3:35pm

Mother of the 60’s

Before he was born

only a mound

where a small fish swam

in guileless bliss

as cells knit and grew

Even then did a persona

of soul seeking to know all

make its self evident

to the host mother

Mothers know

there must come a time

when he will trudge the trail

that none may turn from

not even our precious one

We know this

like we knew him then though

silently we pray to arrive ahead

But no noble cause conjured by man

is great enough

to which a mother would willingly

sacrifice her child

No promise of cold polished medallions

nor a folded flag stained by spilt blood

presented

could mop away a mother’s agony

Just the Sprite Words

Often I sit down to write

in sunny morning’s magic

filled with honey, toast and tea

Wait as poetry flits in shadow and light

hides in the ivy of my mind

crawls the smoothly rounded hollow

of my head

Camouflaged words lurk

cling to the surface of inspiration

curl around the felicity of self

in the shade of overgrown imagination

left too long in its fey ways

Then almost always

just before I give up the quest

as light quickens shadows move

the muse takes her seat

as the poem is revealed

Kansas

I was born in Kansas

I was there about fifteen seconds

before being spirited off to my new life

in Tampa Bay, and even though

I never got to know Kansas

I remember seeing it on

“The Wizard of Oz” every year as

I was growing up

On some of the especially bad days back then

I would find myself saying out loud to no one

in particular

“Toto I don’t think we’re in Kansas

anymore!”

June 26, 1997 1:19 p.m.

The Tender Places

kind words

echo

ripple across

the tender places

where formerly

cruel words

grated

cut short

a child’s reverie

hurling

her

into the oncoming traffic

of grow up

searching

for kind word

2001

Last Childhood Home

A far away tropical island

last sanctuary of a child

Built on the backs

of creatures long deceased

Surrounded by salty moat

of darkest waters

Swimming with scavengers

deadly to nubile skin

of one

almost a woman

Lacey Curtains

The place I imagine sometimes,

Has white lacey curtains with

Lots of sunshine streaming

Through the multiple of windows

Pretty pinkish hues cascade over the walls

Like a beautiful summer sunset

After a day of sun and greenery

The doors are large, white and arched like

In one of my favorite childhoods

Fairytales, the front one open and inviting

To passers-by, peek in and say hello

The environment in the rooms

Always comfortable and changing

Casually as the need arises, being

Filled with the music of birds and

Waterfalls

There are comfy colorful couches to find

Your ease and an afghan made of the softest

Yarns that soothe as they wrap around

A place where you find the book

You’ve always said you’d read, sometime

The smell of something wonderful baking

Fills you up and nourishes you deeply as

You enter the kitchen full of all the antiques

And knick knacks you love

In this my safe spot, there is no history

Of abuses to live with or share.

Only safety and sanity live here

I wish I could squeeze the world down into

A small enough ball and everyone could live

Here with me and my white lacey curtains

July 1997

Trees

Lacey green arms gently reaching

Holding the soft warm breezes tenderly

Dancing and swaying in rhythm

To the universal language of creation

LARGESSE

YOU CAME THE DAY MY SON WAS LOST

I CHOSE TO HEAR YOU NOT

ALTHOUGH YOU THOUGHT TO HONOR

I SELDOM HEARD THE PLOT

YOU CAME SO SILENT, SO SUBTLY

I HARDLY FELT THE NEED

TO QUESTION AND I OFTEN,

WITNESS TO THE DEED

I HAD OF COURSE HEARD OF IT

MOSTLY TIMES IN JEST

THAT INNER VOICE WAS HAUNTING

AND STILL NOT HANDLED YET

I AM HUMBLED BY THE MAGNITUDE

AWESOME IN IT’S SCOPE

I ONLY WISH FOR WISDOM

IN GIVING OTHERS HOPE

I’VE ACCEPTED IT IN DOSES SMALL

AS THE YEARS FLEW IDLY BY

AND NOW I GLADLY EXCEPT THE GIFT

MY THANKS TO THOSE ON HIGH

MAY 25, 1997 8:19 PM

Late Honeymoon in a Barn’s Loft

What I have learned

in twenty years of marriage

can fit inside a PEZ© dispenser

sweet fruit piled neatly

waiting for a push

to be consumed

When you marry in a hurry in June

barefooted comfort is a good thing

When your husband to be

in the middle of the ceremony

stops to tell say “you are so beautiful”

he is a keeper

Twenty years to the day

we lay half asleep

in one another’s arms

still joined

yet separate

into private thoughts

Life Savior

Walled off by a storm of tears

Drowning in the sadness

No hopes of rescue

All my loving

Came conditionally

“Do as I say or else”

Too many or else’s

To deal with

Losing touch with life

You always arrived

Just at the most

Desolate of moments

Sat by my side patiently

Watching for an entrance

Licking my hand

Love came unconditionally

As I hugged you tightly

Confessing my pain

You stayed until

I fell safely asleep

Thank-you Skippy Roo

September 13, 1997 1:58 P.M.

Literary Luncheon

Boasting one day

Under weeping willow's tears

All the bugs assembled

I wondered which had ears

Verbose and somewhat conceited

I continued through early day

Only the very curious

Could I persuade to look up or stay

The ants were just too busy

To glance up from their work

The snails slimed around me

Thinking the human rather berserk

Then the strangest thing did happened

As I had a sudden hunch

I stopped my heated lecture

Taking out my lunch

Bugs from assorted families

All clamored to get there

I held them captive—hypnotized

And continuing I did dare

I learned a well taught lesson

That glorious day in the sun

If you want folks to listen

Serve a tasty luncheon first

Then let them eat and run

March 30, 1998 11:21 A.M.

Living Book

You know how the story begins

Swapped for Mucho Denerio

in some middle-town America

Bought and paid for, wishes to fulfill

Warned don’t look back

You can’t look back

TURN THE PAGE…

Indoctrination began in earnest on arrival

You must eat on schedules

You must not be held or coddled when crying

You must learn the correct procedures for your needs

You have only needs deemed appropriate, and we say when

TURN THE PAGE…

November 10, 1997 11:29 A.M.

Lizard Lips

You know the kind

Pulled back taut

Against unseen teeth

Unsympathetic

Passionate intentions withheld

Taken prisoner by the

Thin line of expressionless flesh

January 2, 1998 1:50 P.M.

Losing You

I wasn’t prepared to lose you

or deal with the hollow

where once you rooted to my heart

I dealt with the ravenous disease

that stalked inside under shadow

threatened to devour you whole

I came to terms with the cure

that waged great war

on your battle fatigued frame

Witnessed salt and pepper tresses

lift out by the handfuls

leaving nothing but tufts of fuzz

When you wore shingles

like the roof of a worn out fire house

head to toe on your left side

When your mouth and gums

swollen with pus

withered your pride

Stood by after every session

as they shot you full of pain

to heighten your white cell count

All through the cancer

its cure

the fix from the cure

and the side effects from that

loss of you loomed large

but not once did I imagine

you would move away

Lost

I wander alone

in this intolerable darkness

so lost I can’t find the way

Inside I search

feeling my way along

unrecognizable landmarks

Finding the small me

huddled knees to chest

moistened face in open hands

Knowing this is where I was

last time I looked

July 24, 1999

“We were born with an enormous need for affection,

and a terrible need to give it...”

Radhanath Swami

Love Deconstructed

No matter how thoughtful the moment

when sperm crashes into egg

kneads and splits cell into cells

It will be murmurs, caressing

careful nurturing along the way

that feeds our soul

I am a mother four times over

I know these things to be true

all our beginnings are unique

If the mother was abandoned

the womb can be inhospitable

When the child unwanted

she is thrust into a loveless world

I wanted to know what love is

we learn of it every moment

it pulls together our very psyche

made up of words and deeds

blocks of understanding

determines how and who

we finally become

Along the way as mother swiped

Daddy adored his personal touchstone

Found use of a tiny vagina so warm

to his fingers, there to be taught

Is love my openings, scapegoat my duty?

Healing balm applied along the twisted road

of who I was, what I could accomplish

came in the unconditional love of dogs:

Boxers, Scotch and Soda

the first two guardian angels of joy

a respite from loneliness

Hours spent coloring pictures

reds and blues and greens and yellows

drawing pictures of happy families

Dogs in their yards, sun shining, flowers blooming

trees spreading their leaves

I have always loved being read out loud to

although besides teachers, I cannot be sure

if it were my great need or made up fantasy

that included any of the stories being read

by mom or dad, but rather piece and parcel

of nursery rhymes and cliché quotes favored

used as shoulds to know

All genres of song

melodic prose that piqued pain or

gave wings to fly above

Whispered soft absolutions

to uncountable sins

wallow in grief and tales

of love lost and found

By the time puberty came to body

I held deep confusion of what love was

I started coming out of my lonely shell

beyond happy with attention from others

Not caring it was to blossoming breasts

The curve in my hips, I was noticed

Training bras, sanitary napkins, raging hormones

Mother forcing me to grow up too fast

or so Daddy said, my experiences with him

began to be pushed farther inside

hidden from daily knowledge

Mother continued shaming my body

In all it’s filthy functions

Skippy-dog gave licks of love, eyes of understanding

Nothing was my own not even my body

No doors were allowed locked, mom graphed

my periods, followed me to movies

hid up in the balcony with my little sister.

Listened in on conversations, picked my clothes

All could be taken away at her displeasure

I learned to hold love and hate in one hand

Pregnant at fourteen

the only sex I had experienced

kissing, touching above the waist

with a boyfriend shared weekly to another girl

Only when pressed about the father, by mom

did I shout to ask her husband

No young woman deserves

the Scarlet A Hester Prynne received

from horny boys in high school

A one month stint in Juvenile Hall

For being incorrigible to unstable parents

A back alley abortion to cover a father’s sin

These moments trapped forever in amber

set off an explosion of events

that ended adolescence experiment with love

The dark night of the soul had commenced

Sacrificial emblems of love

A best friend who easily bore false witness

to cover her own sexual exploitations

Shunned and shamed by small town minds

whose whispering campaign vexed legion

No allusions of love held by a father

Who strolled away from his crimes

Forced by a mother into murder

of the fetus that left me in fear

of a baron womb

What was not segmented as love

remained locked in past offerings

Places where needs were many

Trust torn apart, unread like letters

left undelivered in dead mail

Some say love is lust

Feral biologicals yowling

Demands genitalia perform

seek self satisfaction

Love the one you’re with

Back pages through time hidden from love

15 thrown out of the house

No where to go

16 child-bride, out of purgatory

Into hell

17 child-mother to a baby girl

18 divorced, back at home with mom

Then on my own, on welfare and ashamed

Finding allusive power in an innate ability

to draw in the opposite sex

I said when, I said how

an addiction to sex fed me

No more female friends, all faceless fucks

I began to disappear

I searched for footholds, things to keep me

out of reach of inner demons

Read books; psychology, astrology, metaphysics

and spiritual healing

Volunteered at a drug abuse awareness center

Began my own way to serve community

at my favorite radio station

Looking for a sane place to find love of self

At 25, married for the second time

safety for me, daddy for my daughter

While he began fucking elsewhere

I found a child growing in my womb

Making a promise to make it work

for my daughter and the new baby

Our son was hard born, a natural process

that threatened my life and his

He came into the world chin first

healthy, and much loved

at least by me

Husband went to work, I did all the rest

Time wore on in our mountain home

owned by my parents

I learned through my children

love does not come without pain

the most enduring came in a rainy January

before sun rise, after many inner warnings

The fire alarm sounded at 4:35am

My baby son taken up in God’s arms

while I was sleeping

Proclaiming another dark night of the soul.

the ashes of my marriage soon followed

My inner mind and heart cracked in the void

the opening allowed my intuitive self to stretch

I tuned into others as easily as breathing

For a time I found meaning in the loss

as a time to serve

mixed with feelings of deep remorse

longing for love

Out of this mood opened a renewed contact

with an old friend

We had always enjoyed each other’s company

more so than the folks who introduced us

As we commiserated over unfaithful loves

how it caused caution and regret in our lives

Then in one conversation it all changed

how we saw one another, how we came to be

We had skipped over like, to attraction, to love

Today I know what love is

Thirty-six years ago

I stood next to him barefooted,

six months pregnant

Vowing to love him always

As he told me, “You are so beautiful”

a whole room of friends faded away

After two gingered sons, who share my heart

Two Boston fur babies who daily

slake their mom with wet kisses

He still, every day holds me in his arms

wishes sweet dreams or takes my hand

Tells me he loves me

But on occasion, I can’t help but ask, why?

4/2019

Mad Hatter’s Party

For B.C.

We all wore the same hat

although I swear

his seemed finer

it might have been the jewels

sewn into the rim

the fact that his head was enormous

even for a giant

and it sent an enormous shadow

over the rest of the party

I am not sure how it happened

perhaps when I looked away

his ardent attention

focused the other direction

on the enchantress from abroad

but when I turned back

realizing his words were meant for me

“Don’t you feel with so many of us

wearing the same hat

it somehow makes us less special?”

It was then I noticed the wineglass

marked “Drink me” in his hand

the faint smell of sweet marmalade on his lips

and that now

he was so much smaller

almost the size of the rest of us

except his head

was still a size larger

at least in the reflection

on the other side of the looking glass

9/2021

Made in Heaven

Pregnant—

The very last thing in the world I wanted.

Only two short years had past since my baby

son had been taken in that storm of fire, that also

consumed my second marriage

Brand new relationship

It seemed that he had barely looked at me

and the next thing I knew the angels in heaven

were celebrating the conception of our union

I wanted to run in the opposite direction as far and

fast as my legs would take me. but I had these

mixed feelings

I love him, I can’t trust love

I want a baby, I’m scared to death to have another

Frightened of pregnancy and after, things that can happen,

The things that you can’t plan for or protect against

When the phone rang, I wasn’t prepared for what

the doctor had to say. “The child you are carrying

is dead, the sonogram shows a calcified three month

fetus. We will wait for a week and see if you abort

it on your own, if not we will schedule a D&C.”

That week was filled with inconsolable sadness,

feeling like I was the “Typhoid Mary” of babies

A dear friend, came over and prayed with me and

filled me with what she termed the “Holy Spirit”

I don’t know much about religious matters, but I

felt the warmth and joy start at my feet and rush

towards my chest and head as laughter and tears

burst out of my once sad soul, a truly amazing

experience.

I arrived at my doctors’ appointment, depressed

once more, but eager to get the painful ordeal

behind me. The doctor did a preliminary exam

and then decided to listen for a heartbeat one

last time before scheduling the D&C.

I wanted to be out of there so bad, when all at once

I heard a small sound. The doctor turned up the

sound on the monitor and the beep..beep..beep

of a tiny little healthy heart filled the room.

All of my doubts about having this child magically

disappeared instantly. Overwhelmed with love and joy,

the doctor and I danced around the room, laughing

with tears streaming down our faces.

My little Lazarus baby was alive once again

August 1, 1997 4:20 p.m.

Maim

Before he was born

only a mound

where a small fish swam

in guileless bliss

as cells knit and grew

Even then did a persona of soul

soaking in experience

make its self

evident to the host-mother

Mothers know

there must come a time

when he will trudge that trail

that none may turn from

not even our precious one

We know this

like we knew him then

though privately

we hope to clear the way

But no noble cause conjured by man

is great enough

to which a mother would willingly

sacrifice her child

No promise of polished medallions

nor folded flag tainted in bitter blood

could honor a mother’s agony

Monterey Barbies

Right up in front

bob two blonde heads

Platinum ponytail and big Farah Fawcett curls

One wears sterling silver with rhinestones,

one gold plated with rhinestones

Form fitting tanks mold unnatural breasts

tight gold and silver studded jeans

stiletto heels,

bronzed, forty plus skin

with foreheads that don’t move

when they laugh

and puffy pouted lips sparkle in gloss

One Barbie nudges the other

winks at a virile young black man

that simmers with it as he reads poetry

the it that gets you noticed, gets you laid

giggles irrupt from the invisible laugh track

they both hang on his every word

Fawned shock alternates with cutesy nods and grins

of perfect capped teeth bleached to a white

that any hospital would be proud of

The poetry reading has taken on a whole new dimension

and even though they didn’t come to read poetry

I am sure Mattel™ would be pleased.

Mammogram with P.T.S.D

Forty-five years old

routine Mammogram

same as last year’s

and the one before

Remove all clothing

to the waist

put on gown

leave open at the back

Pulls open gown

exposes right breast

up until that moment

a beautiful part of

being a woman

A stranger’s hands grabs

pushes, prods and pulls

breast and muscle into a meatloaf

squashed without mercy

Hold still

Do not breath

as pictures are taken,

not pornographic

yet sadomasochistic just the same

Pain racks my imprisoned chest

my jaw instantly locks tight

remembering another time

in pain, unable to move

or scream

Daddy whispers

Don’t move.

Do not make a sound

or I will really hurt you

pain melts easily into terror

Triggered—

suddenly six-years-old once more

filled with the shameful pain

of forcible entry

crying uncontrollably

Routine mammogram

same as last year’s

and the year before

instead became

an old nightmare revisited

Mañana

Tomorrow

a destination

that may never arrive

Like a drifter ridin’ the train

goin’ no where

even when he finally comes chugging

‘round that bend

he will surely be changed

by today

Zappa Meets Manson

Many satisfying moments of adolescence

spent behind pounding walls

closed doors

lost in the lyric

of he who disturbed my parents

just by the slang of his band’s name

T H E M O T H E R S

my delight in direct parallel to their disgust

Frank’s long black hair

dark as their fear

I might turn to drugs

Topped by annoyance

at the loud pounding beat

Irreverent words putting down

a whole Plastic People generation

in one fell swoop

This memory rushes to mind

as I am inundated

by a familiar voice from the living room

where my fifteen-year old son grunts along

as Marilyn Manson dressed to the hilt

in gothic-drag

growls sacrilegious nonsense

onto our television screen

When I remember just at his age

I heard a rumor

Frank Zappa during a live show

defecated

then turned and ate it

Never could I admit revulsion

in case my parents might think

I had surrendered joined the other side

Market Day

Meandering alone on a Saturday night

Through endless mazes

Another meat market

On every corner

Searching once more

for just the right cut of beefcake,

understanding—a knock at libido’s door

hoping for the right 'Someone'

to answer

Hungry eyes meet

consent, smiled across

smoke filled room.

“What sign are you?

Would you like to come home with me?”

“Sure, why not?

I have no other plans,

And you are an attractive man.”

“A Scorpio, how interesting!”

Hung over morning

Offered coffee, then abrupt

“You’ll have to leave now, I’m late.

Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

The door closes on another night

Mutual masturbation and head-trips

Self-esteem just a little lower

Than the night before

Better luck next time

Another Saturday night

When it’s market day once more

Martyr

Arms straight out tethered

martyred

on a cross

sweat drips off brow

I wonder what sacrifice

will be mine

Mercifully numb

from mid gut down

stem to stern

tubes come and go

machines alive with lights

whirr in my ears

A canopy set up

over my lower half

festive like a Jewish wedding

my husband’s face grim

above my own

as his eyes wander the floor

onto crimson splatter

Men and women in masks

all on the side of festivities

mouth muffled words

meant to

sooth jangled nerves

some quieter still a mystery

peer occasional nods in my direction

“It’s a redhead”

nine pound plus son

that shrieks loudly

his plan to present backside first

to the world

foiled

A masked woman

hands our small clown

to his father

who in turn

holds the sweet ruddy face

close to my own

Arms still bound

ache to hold him close

a tear betrays my need

as husband and son

are wheeled

out of the room

April 2, 2000 1:36 PM

Maybe

Insecure?

The way I twirl my hair

Crimson now though fair

Avoiding your intruding stare

Proclaiming I don’t care

Name me if you dare

Insecure?

Maybe

October 27, 1997 10:16 A.M

Melancholy

Sometimes that old familiar mood

Creeps up, all gray and thick

Like fog on a summer morning

A comforting well worn shawl

To outlying chill

Sometimes that old familiar mood

comes on suddenly

like a virus in the dark of night fevered

causing furrowed brow, wringing hands

Posture slumped in apathy

Sometimes that old familiar mood

Like the bite of freshly cut onions

Squeezing out non-stop tears

Attempting to wash away

Sewage, after the storm

It is a stark outline of self

Reflected on the tomb wall

Encased underground in dank darkness

Waiting for changing cycles of the moon

To walk among the living once more

September 30, 1998 3:22 PM

Memories

My memory is a butterfly

she flits from flower to flower

no matter the names

The busy work

the fragrant dusting

coloring of air

are the thing

All scenarios float free

randomly bump against

memory on memory

The transformative process

to retrieval

wrapped in dreamy reverie

worth the wait

Memory in 45 rpm

At one time

so many 45s were stacked on the phonograph

the Supremes began

to slide over the top

of the Chiffons, Four Tops, Chubby Checker,

The Coasters, Bobby Vinton and Four Seasons

spinning at the wrong speed.

Even the dime,

placed carefully

on the tone arm above the needle

to “Stop in the name of

Stop in the name of

Stop in the name of love before you…”

Did nothing to discourage

thick vinyl

from halting

the swing in my hips,

fluid arm movements,

fancy steps,

voice raised in melodic bliss.

Turned the records over

switched my mood

to the B side.

Mendocino

We snake the road to Mendocino

like a sidewinder slithers first one direction

then the other

darts through the kaleidoscope of redwoods

light redwoods light

preliminary roustabout of senses

in preparation of entry to an ether world

of mist and marvel

explodes rainbow of color

flowers of every hue against the backdrop

of blue on blues

June 25, 2002 11:13am

Message from the Heart

Attention screams

Feel this

Know the bounding

Pounding in my chest

What is it now?

Remembering

an earlier moment

Feeling unsafe

Always unsafe

I devoured that pasta

Ate until it was gone

Filled the gap full

Oh but the pressure

Maybe it’s indigestion

All those noodles fighting

To be the first ones

Down the chutes

Never mind

who got where first

The pain is moving

The beat sputters, slows

Jumps in my chest

Is it my heart?

broken

Attempting to jump

From such a height

Disgusted with abuse

Had it up to there

With plaque, sluggish

With sedentary apology

Are you attacking?

Not today, but soon

And suddenly!

March 16, 1999 6:56 PM

Mother and Child

For God's sake,

What is it you want now?

I am thirsty

You always seem to want something,

Don't you?

I am wrong

Do you think I have nothing better to do

But wait on you?

I am not important enough

You are always thinking of yourself,

How about what I need?

I am selfish

I wish you were never born !

I wish I was never born

August 4, 1998 12:54 PM

Midnight Sky

Black tarry sky—

Small bits of broken glass

Stuck and glistening

Long ago cast free

Mirrored worlds blown apart

Seen as living art objects

Acting out

Breathless entertainment

Of cosmos weightless debris

September 27, 1997 11:33 A.M.

Millennium

In the minds of surveyors

the scribes of Man

as another century slams full speed

into the wall of time

The millennium

teeters on the edge of abyss

the black hole of future

unexplored

Common eyes poised

in a backward gaze

fearful to let go of the familiar

The Midas touch of nostalgia

apportioned to faded past

All thought turns now

to the hands of time

swiftly reaching for each other at midnight

For that is how it will come upon us

in the black of night

people struggling to focus in the darkness

only to be greeted by dawn

2019

Mind Farts

Juice czars gobble political bars

Disbanded gypsy's dance,

single

Nobody is alone

Everybody has gone home

Leaving with no more than

They brought

Eating their fill

Taking up space

Going away in their heads

Running the world from there

As crumbling pieces scatter

To Four Corners

Where bad children sit

In repentance to a world

Without salvation

August 13, 1998 7:11 PM

Miracle #1

Barely seventeen and very pregnant

All that I had ever wished in life

To have a baby to love

going into labor while my

husband was away at Army

Boot Camp

Terrified as the contractions

grew stronger and closer together

Pleading with my mother,

"I changed my mind, I want to go home now."

Wheeled quickly into delivery

and helped into the stirrups

as my baby's head was crowning

In terror I grabbed the gas mask

that a doctor held next to me

I inhaled deeply, coughed and passed

out cold

As I came to—I gasped in fear, seeing

crying student nurses surrounding me

Then I heard the doctor say,

"What are you going to call your

beautiful little girl"

Overwhelmed by my joy,

I joined the student nurses like an old comrade

in arms, all of us now in tears, this

miracle of birth being the first for us all

June 27, 1997 11:31 a.m.

Miracle #4

We gave up

Sold all the baby furniture

And then the happy news

A baby due in January

Blood tests confirmed

An RH subgroup incompatibility

A high risk pregnancy

Six solid weeks of amniocentesis

One a week, ultra sound and then

Deep punctures testing the waters

Checking for any signs of a war

Between mother and son

Peace and harmony reined supreme

But it was decided to make your debut

Five days early, always the contradiction

Bottom side down, doctor cut a new exit

Having some residual effects from the

Antibodies, you turned a nice shade of

Daffodil, spending time under special

Lights, mom was sent home without

Her treasured baby boy

You were always

Part of the unexpected

And so when it was deemed

Time for you to come home

And meet your new family

You were wheeled out of the

Hospital in a wheel chair

in the proud arms of your daddy

August 4, 1997 11:46 a.m.

Miracle #2

Labor had started early that afternoon,

surrounded by husband, ten year old

daughter and my mother.

Watched closely, every move I made

all that afternoon well into evening

I began to pace the floor wearing a pathway

to the bathroom and back to the king sized

bed in which we all were in various stages of

reclining

Time to go to the hospital

contractions five minutes apart

This last part of the laboring

was different than my first experience

All the pain being centered in my lower back

and my buttocks felt as if they were on

fire with each contraction

Wheeled into the delivery room around

four in the morning, actually it was five,

it was the first night of daylight savings

time so one hour of my laboring was lost.

Wait—

A problem in delivery, the baby’s head

was in the birth canal, but instead of its

chin being down into his chest, he decided

to come into this world with chin up and out.

Which positioned his already big head coming

out at a wider angle, needing a bigger passageway.

He was stuck and the corded connection to me

was unplugging early and leaving him with no

oxygen, the blood flowing freely.

I could sense panic in the air, but didn’t know

what was going on, frightened now I asked.

The busy callused doctor confirmed my fears,

“Shut up, do you want to bleed to death?”

As I pondered my impending death, never getting to

see my new baby, or say good-bye to my husband

and daughter. The nurse stood on a stool next to me

and as the next contraction started she pushed down with all

her might on the mountain that was my abdomen.

My little boy was born dark violet in color and not so

small in size as he weighed almost 10 pounds, but by a

miracle he was alive and healthy and crying his indignation

loudly to all in the relieved exhausted audience.

August 1, 1997 3:16 p.m.

Mirror Image

I can hardly stand

upright naked

staring at the distorted image

refracted in the mirror

swollen defeated frame

sad scared eyes

nothing of the person

whose sharp mind

kind heart

loving soul

stand barely erect

mouth gasping

in anguish

at the sight

October 1, 1999 10:11 AM

Miss Norma Bates Finishing School for Young Ladies

I don’t recall her real name

the woman whose capable hands

my parents put such high hopes into

then beaucoup bucks

all towards the illusion

of making me a lady

It was 1965 and I was fourteen going on thirty

the summer before high school began

November 18, 2002 4:10pm

Mistress of Sorrow

Mistress of sorrow

Droplets of wetness

Free flowing

Sweet soothing balm

Slowly debriding inner scars

Saline water filling up wounds

Tracing dried rivulets

Pathways of pain

Plainly marked like trails

From heavy trafficking

Mistress of sorrow

Glistening on flushed flesh

Extinguishing fiery fury

Like the lost, crawling desert floors

Finding the oasis

July 31, 1998 10:30 AM

Moment in Time

Candles burn brightly

Sun setting low

Flowers all around

Preparations are a go

Voices suddenly hush

as I walk ever closer to you

The company here to witness

the simple “yes, I do”

The minister drones

in the background

As our eyes lock, I hear

“You are so beautiful”

And down drops a tear

Cynthia l. Bryant

April 15,1997 3:01 pm

Moment of Renewal

Blackened skeleton still reaching

as dead these many months

Beautiful in sleek silhouette

against frosted gray sky

Caught at the moment

between

death of night

renewal of day

At the dawn of resurrection

a promise to cover

bony limbs

with cloak of green

Awakened

Your wintry sleep over

May 2, 2000 4:50 PM

Monkey Bite

In the back seat

of his 64 Chevy

parked out

by the irrigation ditch

the back of my legs

sticking to the seat

Breathing heavy

lips swollen

his full mouth

intent on my neck

I pull away

from the suction

swaaaaaak

Nothing to do now

but gloat to his friends

Proudly he smiles

Put toothpaste

on the mark,

it will fade!

Never owned a scarf

wore an old turtleneck

smelled of Crest

for weeks

that July

April 25, 2000 6:55 PM

Monkey House

Brought up by

the missing links

caught between human and beast

parents with animal passions

out of control

monkey saw, monkey did

I railed against

hear no evil

see no evil

speak no evil

rules meant to control

for one

Fought hard

for social niceties

bit and clawed with the rest

grabbing dominance

followed my own rules

not those of the jungle

Forgetting the goal

leaving behind

the charm, the peace

fought for

ending up

an internal scrapper

caged alone

June 12, 1999 4:03 PM

Mood Shift

Fingers of dust curls

waltz across the floor

dishes piled willy-nilly

along every surface

television drones

the picture

flickers off then on

with my mood

I rattle around the rooms

wait for the house

to fall out of the sky

separating my ruby slippers

from the wicked witch

February 3, 2000 10:45 AM

Moon Time

As my moods swing

To and fro with the cycles

Ebbs and flowing like the tides

I often think of men

The unchanging emotional

Structure of human species

What purpose?

Woman

Fluid and ever changing

Feeling powerfully and then

On to the next feeling

Rolling with life’s punches

Man

Sure footed and solid, the rocks

Wavering only to taskmaster time

That which can’t be withstood

Is broken

Religiously maintaining rigid

Emotional boundaries,

Like chalices attempting to

Catch and hold the ocean

One woman at a time

Women forever emoting

Men why ever not?

June 17, 1997

For my Jody Lee

Morning Angel

Every morning—

first thing

as sleep falls from half-opened eyes

I reach out stiffened arms

lift my rested head from soft cradle

then glance through lace curtains

determine angle, glare of light

as my mind wanders higher

searching clouds

for one small angel

that flew away that early morn

long ago

leaving me bereft

pondering

in whose arms he nestles

soundly now

May 19, 1999 10:20 AM

Mother

Blanketed, not by snow

but a deep pervading chill

A frost that kept you walled off

from the rest of us

Hoping to melt your igloo fortress,

my small arms reached out to you

But no amount of love penetrated—

Love wasn’t allowed

I always wondered

who or what had caught you

in an unguarded moment

and plunged the magic ice wand so deeply

that your heart remained cold,

unresponsive all my childhood

But then how many children can claim

their mother was the Ice Queen?

July 18, 1997 10:39 a.m.

In and Out

OUT

fiery dragon’s

gaping ma

uninviting black hollow

threatens to swallow

me

whole

IN

scarlet with promise

mother’s secret flower

yawns open

in anticipation

to expel me

whole

Mother of Sons

Maybe it’s because I have boys

Destined to ripen into men

that I wax thoughtful

poetically

given the topic of war

It defies me

no matter how many times

seated in darkness

while men of the screen

line up

face to face

rattling their sabers of choice

The sudden war whoops

slow motion run

Each to his destiny

a distant vista of utopia

reunion with bloodlines

Those left to bury or

cast a morbid bit upon a pole

the victors

Maybe it’s because I have boys

men someday

I feel as though

I am to be skinned

a sliver at a time

Mother— In Red

I stand in front of the painting

that is you

Bold brush strokes

swirl across the broad canvas

shades of black to gray

like a storm at sea

I search for whitecaps

hidden among sullen scenario

find instead

a patch of red beneath

chipped away darkness

fashioned

to camouflage murderous rage

a serpent

jaws spread wide

devouring her young

July 28, 1999 4:11 PM

Motherless

Sprang free one morning

whole yet unformed

leapt from volcanic rock

before it cooled

The soft outer covering

left unprotected, pliable

Marvel of masterpiece

life began with me

Inanimate object of motherless earth

taking on human traits inherently

As time screeched nails

down the blackboard of life

Female form without direction

The jaded mirror was broken

before creation

So too, no hand to hold it

Motherless reflection

left on its own

to girl woman mother

in a world

where none are revered

all are vulnerable

especially the motherless

October 2, 1997 10:52 a.m.

Mother Mines

Once

could be seen as mistake

Twice

a conscious decision

The first time

a childish blunder

The second

declaration of war

Given up for adoption

my longing

slow to live with

Denial I am yours

a betrayal

unforgivable

February 16, 2000 7:12 PM

MOTHERS DAY

SUCH A BIG PART OF ME STILL IS SEARCHING

FOR THE MOTHER TO HONOR ON THIS SPECIAL DAY.

I SEE ALL THE SCHMALTZY CARDS IN THE STORES,

AND IN MY MIND

I'M LOOKING TO SCRIBBLE

'NOT'

ON THE INSIDE OF EVERYONE OF THEM.

THE YOUNG ME HAS SUCH AN OPTIMISTIC NATURE,

EVEN WITH ALL OF THE RAGE AND SAD DISAPPOINTMENTS,

I STILL HOPE SOMETHING WILL CHANGE THEM.

AND THEY WILL BE KIND, INSTEAD OF COLD.

CARING, INSTEAD OF REJECTING.

LOVING, INSTEAD OF ABSENT FROM MY LIFE.

WELL, HERE'S TO THE LOVE, AND JOY, AND A JOB WELL DONE.

TO THE ONLY MOTHER IN MY LIFE WHO DESERVES IT.

HERE'S TO ME!

MAY 8, 1996 9:32 AM

Mother's Lullaby

Lullaby and …

"Boys don't make passes at girls that wear glasses"

Lullaby and …

"Who do you think you are speaking to young lady"

Lullaby and …

"You will never amount to anything, never have never will"

Lullaby and …

"I had better never catch you drinking and smoking like I do"

Lullaby and …

"What's wrong are you stupid or something? That isn't how to do that"

Lullaby and …

"It is just as easy to love a rich man as a poor one, so why not marry money"

Lullaby and …

"You are the most selfish child that has ever lived, you never think of my needs"

Lullaby and …

“I wish you were never born.”

Lullaby and good night …

February 7, 1998, 10:14 A.M.

Music Man

The orchestra rises out of respect

As he enters silently

Musicians quietly seating themselves

Once his sacred place is occupied

Heavenly music begins at once

Softly at first tingling along the spine

Plucking at the strings of an ancient, softened heart

Followed then with soul shattering crescendo

Holding stale breathe on the inhale

Letting loose CO2 in a sigh

Releasing long held demon dwarves

Clearing out space

Sucking new dreams deep within

The old man smiles to himself

Knowing now the newest zygote of sound

Is tucked safely away, locked inside

The music man

June 12, 1998 9:55 am

Mourning

The garish morning lights

blew in too early to deal with

Bright and rude in its intrusion

Destroying the ecstasy and escape

Of a dreamer’s reprieve

As light glared its way

into unconscious sight

Thoughts turned too soon

back to the convex center

of unalterable reality

The pain seeping out

and hiding among the smell

of freshly brewed coffee

come to greet me

August 30, 1997, 11:01 A.M.

Music Box

The old mahogany box

German crafted

before World War II

fitted with fine works

polished to high sheen

lovingly positioned

just inside

Grandparent’s front door

A hand crank on the side

brought it to life

The drawer at the bottom

housed huge metal discs

Cutouts determine

which notes

the box will play

Outside morning frost

dusted barren limbs

Grandchildren waken early

spirits bright

like the star

atop Grandmother’s tree

Soft murmurs of joy

behind attic door

Every Christmas morning

Grandchildren snuggled away in beds

Grandfather would place a disc

gingerly into box

cranked the handle several revolutions

Filled our Christmas morning

with sweet melodic sound

that told us to come downstairs

For Santa

had come and gone

Cynthia L Bryant 11/5/2004

Movie Night

No one cared what was playing

not really

Another Friday night here at last

for small town teens

the secret hope

of what was to come

ran through us

like a trumpet’s trill

Guys gathered early

at street’s corner

gleam of orange dot

hung from their hands

the congregation of hormonal altos

looking girls over

as we arrived in pairs

Then slowly

over the course of an evening

seats were exchanged

couples emerged

with the backdrop

of B-rated movie stars flashing

on silver screen

The other girls

freely out of the nest

me transfixed in first attempts

Up in the balcony

mother’s eyes

shone in the dark

10/27/2014

My Box

Much padded added

Sprinkled with hair

Slippery and slimy

Original home to the stars

Kim

Jody Lee

Daniel

Jeremiah

Holy sacred shrine

At which Allen

Worships

Old friend

Good friend

My box

October 4, 1997 (slumber party)

My Time

Mystical paisley patterns

parade across my vision

like a lithe mime

strata of yesterday’s hip fashion

today’s Bohemian fanfare

belie younger years

when freaky stretch of adolescence

alluded possibility

Lost and lonely times

filled with knee-jerk survival

revved up maturation

Over in the next county

mom is dying

while I learn to dance barefoot

in my peasant blouse calf-length skirt

the one covered in bangles

strung across like jewels

Narcissistic

I feel your clammy corpse

Clinging to me still

Refusing to let go

Ruined little girl, at your will

In your heart, did you know

The damage that you contracted

Sealed with my blood

In your mind, did you even care?

October 28, 1998 10:25 AM

Never Enough

In recollection

those gray days of childhood

when every small endeavor

was measured

by the reflection

in your eyes

Though the stick

you held

was tall indeed

I never came close

to any significant point

on your clearly marked hopes

Just the other day

not so long after

a much-sought prize

was earned, then won

I found your stick

held in my hands

still trying

to measure up

June 22, 2000 5:04 PM

Society’s Nadir

Clumsy children

left

in the inescapable

noonday sun

wave away insects

like priests blessing the Host

unconscious

driven from within

Swollen tummies

mimic ripe maidens

nearing fruition

in reality

empty

like gourds

dried up

hollow

without seed

Vacant eyes

large

drawn deep into skulls

too small

to find their way

though they walk

through the valley

of the shadow. . .

Nebula

My past spins in front of me

Lost in a haze of questions

Pictures that must have been taken

Negatives lost

Even then forgetting to turn

Record button to on

Right hand never knowing

The left existed

Nor caring

Too busy hiding

Not being there

Only now sending out a

Search party

Tossing aside clouds

Looking for me

April 18, 1998 2:19 P.M.

New Horizons

I understood

when my young shapeless body

grew a woman’s curves

inheriting all its promises

but what about this dirty trick

as hair sprouts from my chin

wrinkles appear on my face

and still the young girl peeks out

November 9, 1999 11:42 AM

New Moon

Just like Mother Moon

I too have a dark side

Turned away

from public scrutiny

left to ponder

emotional tides

that rise and fall

in tumultuous upheaval

Private tirades

dispensed by personal tribunal

No witness to the devastating judgment

Mistaken imperfection eclipsed

hidden from the truth

Like a dimly lit New Moon

Snapping coyotes temporarily silenced

Nothing left for howling

Never Knowing

My sympathies lie with the amnesiac

Forgotten to himself

No intimate questions of past known

At the mercy of others

To restore blank spaces

All children come into the world so

Ignorant of their histories

Slowly turning pages

Filling in past

While rushing headlong into future

What then of an adopted child

Brought into a new family

Given an adopted family's history

Leaving the past of bloodline

Who he looks like, far behind

My jealousy swells with the amnesiac

Restored to himself

Intimate questions of past answered

With loving patient attention

His kin filling in lonely blank spaces

May 4, 1998 10:26 A.M.

Name Calling

Strolling nostalgic origins

of Cindy Lane. . .my name

with my parents one afternoon

they misty-eyed

mine wide with wonder

The story starts naturally

with the story of my namesake

the Duchess of Cindy Lane

The tale began

at the hangar

where Dad taught flying

the night rainy. . .

flights cancelled

The mangy mongrel

that wandered in

searching for a dry spot

food to beg

people to pet her

The Duchess of Cindy Lane

A dog. . .

I was named after

A Dog

Nesting

Two newlyweds

stroll down the street

side by side

towards their new home

being built

A twig firmly held

in each beak

proud clip to their step

A twinkle in their eyes

April 15, 2000 8:12 P.M.

New Day Born

A woman-child lies alone

In an austere motel room

wailing

As moments lengthen

Under darkness of night

Naïve, unforeseen pain

attacking

raging

Fear tightens its spectral noose

Slim young fingers wring moist bedclothes

Over-extended nubile flesh

ripples

In effort, then waits

For hours now

Tightens, then waits

Gasping breath, spontaneous grunts

silenced finally

Tired eyes seize new day's light

now focused on the beauty,

Tiny treasure with raven hair

Azure eyes

New Toy

Yesterday my daddy brought me a new toy

It was extraordinary

Of course when you are eighteen months old

every experience seems that way

This toy was special

It did everything

I could push and pull it

It changed shape and grew bigger

Its taste was very different

and even cried real tears

The door burst open

Mother took away daddy's new toy

and his seductress

News Goes Hollywood-America Goes Home, Sleeps Late

walking has never been a friend

rather an ideal that works on paper

yet here I am strolling along a path,

the scenery, striking green foliage

against turquoise cloudless sky, the

sun warm enough for comfort

the edge of stony stillness spreads

a feeling of being stalked spins me,

in the distance the incandescent

column of cloud climbs skyward

flashes

as the face of God blinds

oh shit…disappointed that these

are my last words,

honest in desolate time

I know to run

is futile, no place to go now

that could matter

hungry heat billows

closer, licking the land

inane with devastation

a stink rises to the heavens

the earth falls prone against me

I awaken to cable news blasting away

at the starlet caught on tape

as she freefalls back to ground

CNN follows like a paper fallen angel

ignoring sirens

of the Emergency Broadcast System

Night Prayer

Ebony velvet skyline

Pin cushion to the stars

Purveyor of Earth,

Mercury, Mars

Hostess to the Gods

And all that they see

Timeless, mysterious

Like Mata Hari

Now I lay me down to sleep

February 10, 1998 2:52 A.M.

No Hesitation

Alone in the library

words and words

run on

one quick step ahead

of any punctuation

that intends

to stop or maybe just slow down

the rich stream

of ever-increasing words

dropped in decorative lines

across the reflective page

of the poet’s psyche

April 15, 2001 6:42 PM

No Place like Home

Each footfall quiet as the dead

I enter her room in imagination

cautious so as not to awaken the flying monkeys

of a much-mourned childhood

buried but never forgotten

She lies in a bed now

against the west wall

much past the time

when the whirling house should have landed

upon her nasty disposition

In curiosity I creep forward

alone in my quest

knowing the shrill tongue that mocked

anyone who dared question her

would be whetted and waiting

Instead, I find a horrible joke

alone in the room swallowed by the bed

a shrunken body lies broken skin hung from bone

muted and uneven with thoughts of mortal demise

in terror of an afterlife when she must again face me

No Time to Shoot the Poets

The western world

is caught in a constant malleable spin

obsessed in its bloody trail of stigmata

Like a confidence-man

pats you on the back

while he rapes your sister

Reminds you of his money in the poor box

after he sets fire to your home

Among the maligned

stand welter-weight citizens

that resist, swing against the strain

of folks without imagination or forethought

that old parental credo

“just cuz I say so”

One by one they pull back the curtain

on the ‘great and powerful Oz’

Like the little boy in another story

who shouted

“The emperor has on no clothes”

All too soon

the world sees its own nakedness

filtered through the chill of omission

deplete of Golden Rule

For in their hurry

to either sanctify, villainize, or hypnotize

there was no time to shoot the poets

No Way Back

CHILLING

TO THE BONE

BONE

NO WAY HOME

HOME

YET HOME IS WHERE I AM

September 5,1997 9:24 A.M.

Mother Nature’s Palette

The skyline frosted gray

smattered

with brown skeletal strokes

Only the month before

a patchwork vibrant with greens

yellows oranges reds

She sleeps

her paints put away

for a season

or so I thought

Out of the corner of my eye

I spot five poppies

a welcome orange burst

strangely out of place

in the midst

of winter

NOT REMEMBERING/

REMEMBERING RAPE

I want it

it’s mine

give my teddy back

I don’t want to

I want to sleep

It hurts me

go away

I’m dead

it’s quiet here

in this small box

there are no loud sounds

no hurting me

It doesn’t hurt

please make it stop

I must not be dead yet

It doesn’t stop

When will it stop

If I can make it

a little while longer

It will be over or

I’ll be dead

It won’t hurt then

maybe it will

I don’t know

It’s going away

I want to sleep

Please now can I sleeeeeeeep…

Mentor

Not unlike the newly departed

pulled along the tunnel

coming upon that gifted friendship

hardly recognizable

in the blur of afterlife hurrah

a near perfect parallel

parodies the moment we met

I in adrenaline shock

of first public speech

you a stranger

extending your hand

leaving me with the seed

of writing groups in the area

for when I might

emerge from the bright light

that held me motionless

almost a year afterward

and how you were there

teacher

when the student was ready

Not Yet a Fledgling

Covered in sporadic fuzzy down

more pink than feathers

peeks through

like one of those cats without hair

just wrinkled vulnerable skin

exposed to the elements

He lies prone

his profile a fine formed beak

and one huge eye glazed over

Nothing left to see

his sight turns inward

away from the cold wet sidewalk

leading up to my door

I pause to ponder if he jumped

or was pushed

Nothing Learned

Golden Rule abandoned

Backs turned

Man's inhumanity to man

Eager to chastise,

Crucify

Them that thinks different

Their threat, terror

Palatable

Scurrying, lifting naysayers,

Their new ideas,

Hoist them high

Hurriedly driving home nails

Then piercing their side,

Putting to death

Unsettling interlopers beliefs

Tightly bound minds kill

September 9, 1998 11:28 AM

November Day

Pearls of precipitation

glisten

settle quietly

among somber limbs

dying leaves

In unexpected welcome

warm strands of light

peek from behind a cloud

pour liquid light

through autumn leaves

Sets ablaze

brilliant reds to gold

Brightens the usual

drab of a November day

in Oregon

1999

Obsidian

Held in my adoring hand wondrous volcanic glass

Beautiful ebony scrying stone of days gone by

Bring forth your secrets

Her-story concealed in your murky molten

mystery waiting to be released

Returned to one who can see

Let it be me

Please, let it be me

October 2, 1997 11:18 A.M.

Off

I am the basketball

being dribbled

by the universe

leaving little time

before the lay-up

and final slam dunk

September 21, 2000 12:14 PM

Old Friend

Pink and gray

fur all worn away

from loving

Head held on

by safety pin

to body

Slept with faithfully

all through the nights

while hoping for

nothing more than to sleep

unmolested and alone

Just me and my

Teddy Bear

7/6/2017 10:21 am

On Further Examination

With deep abiding fear of being seen

I spent birth

upwards

thirty some seasons

under narrowed eyes

of Medusa’s daily searches

for any tiny imperfection

to be splayed wide

examined and measured

held up

to an impossible stick of shame

I turned to stone under her gaze

zinged with hissing comments

to further reduce

in size

impudent budding ego

I stand before you

chiseled to brilliance

with only a vague awareness

of toothless serpents

as they slither past

these solidly planted feet

On Waking

When early light paws the edges of conscious thought

Taking in varied colors chosen here to live among

Toes reach out to rumpled sheets, legs soon follow

As do arms, fingers wave away the cobwebs of sleep

Wonder creeps forward in this state of comfort

Extreme effort needed to leave the safety of bliss

8/11/2018 2:22pm

Once Before Now

When I gaze

into the green of his eyes

allow my attention to linger

Sometimes—

Vivid images, stirred emotions

A different place… a harsher time

Cloaked in darkness

Contrasting emerald lushness

of unfamiliar landscape

Feel warmth of breath

caressing chill

of starkly exposed breast

where our arching forms

flesh to flesh enmeshed

I drink in this unknown face

in its state of bliss

Knowing this moment lasts forever

Stored in the green of his eyes

April 8, 1998 9:03 P.M.

Once More--

As we lean forward

After anger's aimless way

Our lips come in contact

With the wetted sheets of our souls

Clinging in the warming breeze

The headstrong me and you

Restored in the one

One kiss

One lover's caress

One gentle look

Once more…

January 2, 1998 2:12 P.M.

Splintered Choice

For twenty-eight years, days of dance replay

a time when you were held in loving arms

how we spun freely around the wooden floor

rolling dust curls aside as we glided

humming along with Journey…as the lights

go down in the city…

Alone in the shuttered room

with rocking chair’s monotonous stir

of half-remembered song, Raggedy Andy

clutched to cleaved heart

the tattered doll a mother’s makeshift remedy,

one solution to the broken rhythm

of the loss of a child

One Man's Salvation…

Jagged stained glass hangs from windows

in hallowed halls replete with light

Airy roofless rafters release sparkling dust

onto webs of silk

Birds add helter skeltered debris

land silently, leaving little impressions

to the sanctity of the place

In times gone by

footsteps traced formal pathways

leading to salvation

Folks lined pews

genuflecting away stiffness of pride

along with heaviness of purse

The once holy house belies convention

known on the streets

as “Crack Haven South”

Last stop of society’s castaways

hidden from the face of God

June 1,1998 6;15 PM

Only if

you believe you are The Chosen

would you start a war in the Middle East

hacking off an arm of The Axis of Evil

Go ahead

send in young men and women

looking for money for college

seeking their fortunes

in a game plan where no one wins

Send their families a flag

that they can hold when they

are missing them

Make half the world angry

at your audacity and brass

bomb an ancient civilization

into oblivion

No one dare have weapons

of mass destruction

That is of course

except US

Opossum

I will always remember

The night we came

Face to face

Heart to heart

In the beam of my headlights

I saw you fully

Wisdom on your face

Eyes full of compassion

Startled at the sight

Aware you were seeing me

At the same

Stayed moment in time

Time speeded up—

Terror filled your eyes

As you headed straight

For the front tire

Of my traveling van

Just like that

It was over

Your connection

With life

Overwhelmed

By the grief I felt

The strength of our connection

Forever sealed

When I sometimes think

Of that

Haunting night

I still wish you had

Only been playing

Possum

August 15, 1997 3:29 p.m.

Opposites Attract

One boy

one girl

once alone

bearings true north

to polar opposite

Libra to Aries

male to female

positive to negative

blonde to brunette

brown eyes to blue

Irresistible force

defies logic

in an urgent need

to unite

air with fire

One man

one woman

once alone

come together

full circle

August 9, 1999 3:33 PM

Origin

Sold at birth in the flatlands of Kansas

where it rubs up against Oklahoma

like a cousin once removed

Socio-economic bridges were jumped

landscape changed in the first 1,200 miles

transferred from fatherless bastard to legal name

One copy typed up nice signed then filed away

for me to follow the clues

forty years later

Orphan

what’s gonna become of baby girl

the result of rape

unwanted by her mama

a blot of seamless soul

who sold her

to the highest bidder

slate cleaned

what’s gonna become of baby girl

product of original sin

secondary sin

identified with

the mark on her thigh

she was birthed with

what’s gonna become of baby girl

whose new daddy

the only one she has ever known

takes notice

proposes a special love

transfixed into their relationship

what’s gonna become of baby girl

her new mother walks in

on one of many sessions

of daddy’s special love

meant only for two

the tangle begins

what’s gonna become of baby girl

only eighteen-months old

deduced to ‘the other woman’

in daddy’s busy hands

in mother’s jealous eyes

orphaned

2006

Outburst

I lay hidden

under layers

of years

Mountains

of flesh

camouflaged

to the world

at large

Poetry

peering out

at eclectic

moments of ecstasy

Exposing

the me

underneath

July 7, 1999 11:03 AM

Over the top...

Hormones cascade

churn and foam

like white-water swells

pitch any vessel

brave enough

to cast its lot

Somewhere over the rainbow

Blue birds fly

Birds fly over the rainbow

Why then, oh why, can't I?

- The Wizard of Oz (1939, MGM)

Over the Rainbow

Unhappy years without number

Relentless traumas unmentionable

smear the endless length

of a young brutally cracked psyche

Another invisible molested female form

Spread arms open to precious few

Beneath the frail hyper vigilant surface

of a neo-transparent covering

lives a faintly camouflaged waif

Always eager to please

Her survival consciously requires

to give up fairy princess dreams

Replace them with the grisly nightmares

of yesterday's reality

Enter straight into the eye of the storm

Just to regain

peace and serenity

Just to find

sanity

Overcast

Clouds hung together

Sky all one color of gray

Cloak the green trees

Brightly colored flower gardens

Alive with flutter and fly

Oversee the dark blue ocean

Her playful mammals

Sailboats, kayaks, fishing vessels

Waving to shore

Many days here start as such

Some remain the same all day

While others allow sun

To peak through and warm

The ground below

Bring forth tourists to feed birds

Replenish their souls

Postcard from the Zoo

Though not one of the usual suspects

your alluring profile draws us in

like hearing drums, the first time

pound in rhythms familiar

under the skin

Eyes survey your majesty

Tactile sensors reach to touch

your gorgeous skin

Patchy pattern of cinnamon squares

smooth over white background

spread down lengths of legs

over body sleek

reaches all the way up your neck

that goes on a while

to cover trendy face

Huge, serene eyes

reflect comfort in this world

Black tongue stuck out

to gather tender leaves

or maybe as a gesture

of one who need not effort

to be unique

Parting Thought

When the final curtain

comes down

you on one side

me on the other

Will you recite my name

as a mantra

or curse

recall the days

I fell short

found fault

wrapped myself

in insulation

in sanctity

hung from a cross

of self indulgence

Or break through my humanity

remember my spirit

set free my soul

October 21, 2000 3:26 PM

Patchouli

Senses swoon

under spell of opened amulet

scent of patchouli oil heavy on the air

I climb aboard the moment’s magic carpet

transport to an earlier time

full of kisses that turned knees to warm butter

virtue to a forgotten memento

held onto so long all reason faded

into steamy wanton need

Left to simmer all that long summer

when first love‘s tactile tattoo

marked me woman

Pay Day

It’s taken time

to move into

the age of electronics

To this day

the use of the microwave

seems a magical thing

dinner at a moments notice

without heating up the kitchen

Warmed up slowly

to the wide world of the web

having it all at my fingertips

if only patient enough

to search

A computer for writing

a heaven sent device

of cut paste delete insert

once I learned

to save the work

Became dependent

on communication en masse

at one push of a key

My daily grind begins

ends each day

with e-mail check

deleting ads

keeping up with friends

DVD’s CD’s MP3’s

bring superstars

into routine lives

with sight and sound

the clarity of which

parallels movie houses

concert halls

without the crowds

inconvenience

or high-priced refreshments

In menacing mirth

the power company raises costs

every month in healthy increments

Only now does the true price

for falling under the spell

of modern machine madness

come due

I stand watch like the rest

in disbelief

as the black-outs

come rolling in

Oz

I see you still

as the camera snapped

dressed in Easter finery

silken baby hair recently cut

handsome little man

I hear musical inflections

in precocious words

feel hugs feathery kisses

on Grandma’s cheek

They found your mama first

laid out among broken lamps tables

knickknacks shattered into trash

her body beaten unrecognizable

even to me her mama

Identified by the small heart tattoo

on her left hip

Under the front porch

at the close of day

they found you

where you were left to die

little bag of broken bones

beneath black and blue badges

clinging to life without sight

you no longer utter a sound

Paper Dolls

Tonight, I dream in sepia

Beautiful brown and beige peoples against backdrops

Ellis island, our Statue of Liberty are teemed with them

Hungry for new, better lives

The safety given in the land of the free

As the newcomers stand before officials

Knives cut across foreheads, crimson streams, raise metallic smell

merges with tears, slides down faces

skin peeled back to ascertain countries of origin,

shithole or W.A.S.P.,

like the Nazi’s used phrenology

to divine the us from them

rating all accordingly

My rational mind argues, put away your knives,

No need to cause further pain,

we are all the same under skin,

The slicing, blood-letting, peeling of skin continues

As I watch

young ones ripped from parent’s arms

Crescendoed wailings of “Mama” echo the corridor

Like paper dolls with no pretty clothes to wear

They are snatched, ripped, torn and taken away

to shiver in heaps along cold floors in cages

with only foil blankets for comfort

they must await their final solution

The light has gone out on Lady Liberty’s lamp

Passing it On

I read somewhere that Gazelles

can run 50 miles in an hour

Where as a human in good shape

runs a mile in seven minutes

I could never run at all without

Bronchial spasms, one time passing out

Swimming left me breathless

Walking less torturous, but winding

Smoking began in Wichita

At the unwed mother’s home

Where new parents picked me out

Studebaker drove us all the way to Tampa Bay

Continuous smoking helped bring about

My first bad cold at 6 and again at 11 months

Through measles, mumps and chicken pox

Interlaced with asthmatic-bronchitis twice a year

The first bout of pneumonia at ten years of age

Sweet respite from smoke

While tubes and tent helped

Repetitious every few years

I smoked daily while eating, playing, sleeping

Until at thirteen, my older wild cousin showed

Me how, added the extra sexy trick

Exhale smoke out of the mouth into the nose

When I reached the fourteenth year

Having been caught smoking at school

I was gifted a whole pack of Chesterfield Kings

To smoke one after another until vomiting

Even so I proceeded with my habit

Setting up patterns of when and why

That were not already clear in my early years

Winstons, Tareytons, Marlboros, the feel of cool

I came to hate the raw throat, the smell

The cost of habit that ruled my need

To inhale, to hold something in hand

Momentarily soothing nerves

Finally, in my thirtieth year on April 1st

My six-month-old baby son quit smoking

As I learned to inhale life

Exhale all the rest

1/10/2018

Peasant Girl’s Dowry

I have nothing left to give you

I told her, sadly looking away

I have never saved a penny

Or learned to kneel and pray

I have been proud all my lifetime

Seldom have I wasted time looking back,

But I wonder now, what was I thinking

Would always fill the slack

I wanted so much to give to you

All that you ever needed and more

Finding I fall short once again

I have no excuse

I am poor

I am sorry to disappoint you my dear

My shame is great to bear

“What are you saying mother,

without you I wouldn’t be here!”

June 17, 1997 1:02 p.m.

Page Turner

How does the story go

as once upon a time begins

turning the first crisp page

umbilical blood

on careless thumb

leaves a stain on the corner

Many pages in a row

distressed

scribbled

in childish scrawl

or merely left blank

like the stare

of those condemned

forced to meet their maker

Winds of time

blow

pages past

the ghetto years

emotions in obscure poverty

slather morose mood

over pages stuck together

in self effacement

Spattered color

covers pages

well thought out words

emote loss

chronicle the painful past

breathe vivid solidarity

into the now

exhale quiet prayer

facing the future

pen in hand . . . .

May 5, 1999 6:55 PM

Parade

No one is immune to death

picked off by a gun

like sweet berries ripened to fruition

plucked then popped into the maw

of The Grim Reaper

as the nameless faceless drive by

And suppose it is us

our number up

in those final moments

when the whole of our life

is said to pass before us

like a grand parade come out

for the closing procession

Each revered and reviled moment

marching behind the other in orderly fashion

with only ourselves aloft in the review stand

Will we say then honestly

without hesitation

like others whose parade marches on ahead

I lived my life not in quiet resignation

but rather with a joyful flutter

at the trill of the trombone

the beat of the big bass drum

June 5, 2002 12:43 pm

Passing Thought

You brush skin

ever so lightly

as you pass

warmth spreads

words catch in throat

suspended

thoughts dart off

in one direction

then the next

Did the touch

come intentionally

carried out

to carry on

or has imagination

lead me

down this nightmarish hall

where fire burns

off in the distance

May 1, 2002 1:27pm

Birth Mother

Agreeably I search

the familiar face in the mirror

Pondering the tattered photo

comparing round sad face

my pouty mouth to yours

Dear birth mother

I speculate then surmise

my half sister

your precious daughter

wears the face of her father

Leaving no one in the world

to bear your familiar features

But I do mother

I do!

7/20/1999

Peek-a-boo

You enter

turn your back to me

The towel drops in delayed motion

water glistens diamonds

at nape of neck

downy white shoulders

along dangerous curves of waist

to hip

Your body stiffens

you turn your expectant face

to mine

perfect rose mouth opens

hairs rise in greeting

on subtle arms

My mind scrolls in fleeting regret

of recently watered lawn

adding to my chore

scrapping mud

off shiny black boots

that leave a trail

in plush carpet

to your body

June 8, 2001

Perilous Times

To live in perilous times

does not come about

like first soft drift of winter’s snow

but as those many

huddled in together

devouring flesh of friend family

all but lost in winter’s blizzard

where only the few

the lucky

are courageous enough to survive

December 31, 2001 1:45 pm

Perpetual Dining

Bottomless grief

Scooped out with ladle

Served up as gravy over wounds

Table ever set for perpetual dining,

Souring stomach in its wake

What of dessert?

August 10, 1998 4:08 PM

Perfect Mistake

Cookie cutter cut outs

All in a row

Identical in every smooth outline

Perfect clones everyone

Fitting in

Belonging with all the others

What is to be done

One is a little off

A little ragged around the surface

Misshapen

Hearing the other drummer

Perhaps beginning a new trend, a fad

Like fancy coffee cafes

Like hula hoops and white bread

Something that will rock the world

Like nesting birds rocked by the breeze

Like San Francisco rocked in 1906

Or a messy mistake

That must be dealt with accordingly

SQUISH…

March 19, 1998 10:10 A.M.

Mining

Repressed yesterday

Piled high upon trace memory

Left unsorted

Like a post office on strike

Previously recorded times unfettered

By logical digress

Forty years of mystery

Lay deep beneath

Waiting for signs of courage,

Maybe curiosity to start sifting

Slowly spinning the pan

Throwing off debris

Leaving behind GOLD

August 18, 1998 3:42 PM

Photograph

It had survived intact

Ravaged by fire and water

Weathered by years,

packed and moved

so many times.

I look more closely now.

Recite the statistics

over in my mind.

Realize with remorse,

I was never alone in my shame.

Many school chums

silently joined in pathos.

Hidden violations

not shown in black and white,

unless you inspect the numbers.

December 3, 1998 9:15 AM

In memory of

-Lovina Graves Cyrus-

born 1833 - died July 27, 1906

Lovina was one of forty-four brave souls who in 1847, during her fourteenth year, survived the infamous Donner Party’s tragic crossing of the California Sierra Nevada's.

PLAY THERAPY

From Grandfather’s house

we descend the steep hill in halted gait

arms outstretched as we race the final yards

to see who makes it first to the bottom

Where the rugged landscape evens

stand markers of bodies that lay buried

off to one side of the road

All summer after we return home

my sister and I take turns

trying on the persona of Lovina and her sibling

Fill pretend saddlebags with sweet raisins

to stave off starvation

bundle in fabricated quilts

under a cardboard lean-to for warmth

forever wandering farther

into the wilderness of our own back yard

At the end of day

long shadows race us home

where no shelter keeps out bone-chilling words

nor halts being consumed by anger’s wrath

No last-minute rescuer saves us

from being beaten down

by elements that reside within

Permanent Vacation

Someday soon

I’m gonna pick myself up

out of this rut I have fashioned

from tawdry bits of life

leave the baggage home

camp out on white sandy beaches

where warm aqua water laps gently

along the shoreline

sweet subtle scent of flowers float on the breeze

and everything you eat

is eaten with hands

savored to last succulent morsel

and I know

if I ever do make

that first step towards the door

I will never look back

May 14, 2002 3:56pm

Pickaninny

Late 1950’s Louisiana

back when I was seven

colored was the term

Dealy’s skin

semi-sweet chocolate

with sheen of perspiration

over a serious brow around kind eyes

Daddy called her five small children

pickaninnies

because “their funny fuzzy hair stuck out”

Momma said she was there to clean

but always before she would come

we had to scrub the house

Days heavy with mother’s

tongue lashings

Nights of daddy’s secret visits

paralyzed fear

Most of that summer spent

pleading with god

to make me a pickaninny

let me go home

live with Dealy

Half-Hearted Poem Building

Tired of waiting

for proper words

to fall

on open page

Fingers merrily

prance across

softly curved keyboard

allowing

random thoughts

flow and fall

into poem

March 3, 1999 3:26 PM

The Love Affair

It is hard to know
When the love affair began,
Certainly not in the beginning

At the start
I shunned you like a man
Avoiding a tax audit

Initially I had to be coaxed
By interested bystanders
To pay you any attention at all

Giving in reluctantly
I agreed to court you
To quell the matchmakers appeals

That first year, I saw you seldom
Though, I admit now you gave me a peculiar
Sense of comfort
All the while struggling to keep my distance

By the second year
I'd become accustomed to your company
Allowing some intimacy in our encounters
While still maintaining my own counsel

Despite my constant vigil
As the years waxed on
You subtly and relentlessly seduced me
Whispering your promises
Working your charms

Until one day, to my bewilderment
I found facing each morning
Changed-
Charged with an influx of adrenaline
And breathless anticipation

I can no longer exist without you,
My beloved-
Writing...

June 11, 1997 8:55 a.m.

Waiting for the Stars to Align

I could not bear to look at him-
The wasted yellowed skeleton
I used to call Daddy

I felt, a guinea pig
In God's sardonic attempts
At a balancing act

Me,
Big as a house
Ripe with the restless
Promise of new life
Looking like I would burst
Any second

My father,
Eaten alive by cancer
Not long for this world
Looking more like the pictures
I had seen of the starving,
Dying people of Bangladesh
Minus the flies

Sitting in the waiting room
Of the VA Hospital
Begging God-

Take what is left of my father
Show him mercy,
Spare him pain

Beseeching God-

Blot out my view
Take the slow morbid deterioration
From my sight
End my constant, agonizing,
Helplessness

Try as I might
God could not be coerced
I could not shorten the term
Of my pregnancy
Nor rush the much-needed release
Of my father's soul

As I had to wait for the stars to align.

June 12, 1997 12:06 p.m.

Truth or Dare

Thanksgiving, 1978
Father's family
Gathered in my Aunt's living room
Sated and bloated from feasting

Mom and Dad left early
As the chemotherapy and radiation
Was taking its toll on Dad's already
Frugal allotment of strength

Sitting and chatting-
Sharing the usual family small talk

Suddenly, the air in the room stood still
As Grandfather,
His eyes boring straight into my soul
Began to speak

His once powerful voice,
Sounding more like
A scared school boy's inquiry,
"Do you believe your father is dying?"

His words seemed to hang in midair
I couldn't turn away
As desperately as I wanted to
All the time wondering-
Is he really asking for the truth?

As I inhaled deeply, the movement
Of the air was freed

"Yes Grandfather, I do."

In that moment
Grandfather, maybe for the first time
Allowed that abominable possibility
To be tasted fully
Swirling it on his tongue and
Finding it bitter to swallow
He spat it out

June 12, 1997 2:01 p.m.

The Castle Walls

Tall and sleek at first glance
And easy on the eye
Only on closer inspection
Finding places actually rough
And weathered with deep holes
Worn and chipped away
From nesting birds beaks
Perhaps burrowing beasts
Small fierce creatures finding shelter
From the dampness of night

The walls-

Facing the constant barrage from without
Defending the meek and maligned within
The castle remains safe, and oh so very
Isolated.

June 30, 1997 11:03 a.m.

Poems-Where You Find Them

I could write here

homey abode of poet friend

I could stand at his bay window

looking out on the water

waiting for words to come

floating by like pirates

sneaking up on a bounty

I could write here

homey abode of poet friend

I could stand out on his deck

looking down on the vegetation

waiting for words to ripen

like red plump tomatoes

coming to fruition

Yes, here I could write

Poems are like giving birth

Until the process is over

You have no idea what it’s going

To look like or the sounds it will make

June 11, 1997 12:59

Poems are like making love

Although it can be stimulating

Alone. It’s much more satisfying when

Shared

June 11, 1997 1:03

Poetic Constipation

It’s been days now

long dry days and nights

without one hint

of serious series of words

fed to paper

words that oftentimes came easily

almost like an unabridged dictionary

but that was when

I sat down regularly

same time every morning

emotions flowing

mental pictures of experience

at the ready

When mother potty trained me

first thing every day after breakfast

she strapped me

onto the small seat

equipped with a catching jar

placed it high up

on the kitchen counter

seat flush to edge

legs left to dangle mid-air

suspended

over the hardwood kitchen floor

helpless to do little else

I waited for the inevitable

Poetic Justice

It starts oozing up slowly

Interior whispers from the past

But soon comes a'roaring

What an ego blast!

"Who are you really?

What have you achieved?

Another hideous public display

Has brought you to your knees."

When the courageous stand alone

Weakened legs and hands that shake

Their vibrato voices grow quieter

With every stanza and word break

When the printed word before them

Loses something from page to voice

And only with passive resistance,

Does the audience endure the noise

Few and the truest of poets

Will rise up to the test

And show their faces next time

Reading their newest and best!

March 12, 1998 10:25 A.M.

Poetry at the County Fair

Sycamore trees spread

broad lacy screens

filter light in visual arpeggio

A fixed sheltered retreat

from the calamity of community

with push-shove of carnival

at both gates

Crowds flow through

like currents of water

look for banks to hold them

Siphon over the dam

through the archway

with its iron-work gates

into this sanctuary of calm

Words hang here along with art

awaiting their time

when eyes will glide along them

stroking minds as they go

along the letters

the feelings

a pleasing ending

It is Sunday

the words

a gift of sharing

from one heart to one mind

for anyone who bothers

to stop and read

as they pass through

Poetry Reading

The warm wind whispers

sonnets on the breeze

through the open cathedral in the woods

silence filtered through souls

sounding out the heart tones

of the loved, the beloved poets

of yesterday’s choir

harmonizing discourse

every day’s sermon

in lofty summarized sentences

preciously laid precise words

softly stroked exhalted voice

floats past the alter

daintily laid out

in reverence

for the heart

May 5, 1999 6:27 PM

Cynthia L. Bryant

Poet's Delight

On the occasion

Of those precious few days

When all the I's get dotted

Every word follows the other

In syncopated sympathy

Perfect elocution eclipsing

Barren other days

When no whimsical words

Sprang free

September 1, 1998

Point Of Entry

In the beginning

I did not use words

with music

rhythmic as spring rain

coaxing petals

from wintry pout

Rather I chose

words with thunder

that rumbled

lightning’s etch

of rage

across the page

2001

Police Action

War is Hell

This one was no different

Never officially declared

Still war in every true sense

War being nonspecifically defined

Knows no bounds

Certainly never reaching these

Or wanting in direction

October 1, 1997 midnight

PORTRAIT

BORN FIRST OF THREE SONS

SON OF A MILITARY MAN

LOVED ACTING

EXCELLED IN MUSIC

ABLE TO PLAY ANYTHING, JUST FROM HEARING IT ONCE

PLAYED SEVERAL INSTRUMENTS

LOVED TO SING

WAS AN INSTRUCTOR PILOT, VERY YOUNG

LOVED DOGS

WAS A PICKY EATER

DIDN'T TOLERATE SICKNESS IN HIMSELF OR OTHERS

MARRIED TWICE

HAD A SON, HE WAS ESTRANGED FROM WHEN HIS SON WAS STILL A BABY

COULDN'T STAND THE THOUGHT OF RUNNING OUT OF SOME FOODS HE LIKED

LIKED TO DRINK, OFTEN

ADOPTED TWO GIRL BABIES IN HIS SECOND MARRIAGE

FLEW B52 BOMBERS FOR A LIVING

BELONGED TO SHRINER AND LIONS CLUB ORGANIZATIONS

GAVE HIS OLDEST DAUGHTER PERMISSION TO MARRY AT AGE 16 YEARS, NEGLECTED TO TELL HIS WIFE

LIKED TO BE THE CENTER OF ATTENTION

LOVED CHRISTMAS AND HALLOWEEN

WORKED AS A REAL ESTATE AGENT AND BROKER WHEN HE RETIRED FROM THE AIR FORCE

DIED AT AGE 57 YEARS OF PROSTATE CANCER

JUST A PICTURE OF AN UPSTANDING CITIZEN AND FAMILY MAN?

YES, AND A PORTRAIT OF A CHILD MOLESTER!

MAY 13, 1996

POWERLESS

I am angry because I’m not sure when or where I was born. I presume both women (mothers) know the truth in this matter.

No wonder I’ve spent my life using Astrology, Psychology, Tarot, Numberology and Metaphysics to find out about me.

I’m so tired of this pursuit that I would gladly rip and burn all of these books. That is if I weren’t sure I would probably start the quest all over again fresh, perhaps next week or tomorrow.

It seems to me that others don’t care about me, maybe only because I want not to care.

I feel like I’m fighting a virulent disease, and It’s winning.

I hate them, those big people with all the power. Unless I don’t need them. Then and only then are they powerless.

FEBRUARY 28, 1996

Prairie Winds

The air here is uncertain

unrestrained by mountain barriers

not the same as in the place

where I grew to tempest maturity

In this rough and tumble land of my birth

where shrill wind raises hairs on native skin

unwritten history circulates

through expiration of ancestors

who whisper to one another

outside of hearing

I turn inward

tucked away in a newly purchased ivory tower

its wooden pathways worn from insufferable pacing

like a monk with no prayer beads

or hope of God ever finding me here

I have sold my soul for the price of a fine house

trapped by the signature of blood

abandoned by a husband

who must travel to pay the price

I live cloistered in this foreign land

When tornadic winds change direction

west winds blow familiar in my late memory

warm with possibility of life

as I knew it

I gladly turn towards the goal

let go of the material weight

that traps me here

head for the lights of home

Prelude to a Tarot Reading

I show up early avoid pitfalls

finding the place

during the void-of-course moon

Walk the inner maze of office suites

three complete turns

until I come face to face with

The Double Dragon

The room is a box

with one door blinded window

at the center

a table holds the cards

housed in a velvet bag

decorated in cycles of energy

Two chairs oppose one another

a massage table off to the right

broken chairs off to the left

assorted crystals esoteric symbols

aroma the music a candle lit

the dye is cast

“These are the boys”

She introduces me to three tiny statuettes

a jazz trio that held

the last three cards

that see the unseen

tell her things to say

as she waves her henna energy tattoo

at my chakras and goddess knows what

I am thinking GAWD

I am too old for this

2005

Premature Burial

The underground cavern

silent as the dumb

nothing left to say

of safety precautions

no voices raised

in unison

at the outrage

their ultimate sacrifice

Up above

families wail

in chaotic precisian

Muffling thoughts

too painful to think

the siren sounds

Unheard by souls of miners

wasted flesh and bone

packed forever

between layers

of dark shiny death

@003

Present Tense

We seem to fit into each other’s lives

like silken threads interwoven

your colors then mine

patterned in pictures

into an intricate tapestry

Paralleled lives

joining then separating

in increments of years

the joys and sorrows

bind us at soul level

lived out this time around

as friends

Pretend

Caterpillar crawls

Along spring green sapling

Trudging up branch, then limb

Climbing to the farthest edge

Attaching body to living tree

Spinning yarns, she dreams of being

While isolated in perfect chrysalis

Pretending to transform

Changing from that to this

Sprouting appropriate wings

Every day closer, captive no more

Believing, wishing would make it so

Her still wet transparent wings

Spread slowly, opening wide

Posturing, fluttering faintly, then faster

Knowing she will never fly

Like the rest

August 5, 1998 3:13 AM

Primordial Forest

A plethora of paths

etch scars

Through untamed forests

towering

Lost in the ecstasy

Of their climb

Oblivious to humans

On the move

armed

With shiny weapons

Slicing personal logos

Into nature’s silver arms

Several rings of time deep

Eyes capture then discard

the image

Of primordial forest with dismay

Stomachs recoil bitterly

in autonomic gasp

As graffiti keeps time

2004

Private Caller

Caller I.D. reads private caller

even the ringer on the telephone agrees

three normal tones

I answer hello with a lyrical lilt

expectant ear listens for a familiar friend

Hello ma’am

we want your son

this is the army calling

his college army recruiter

ma’am could you tell me the best time to call

He works full time, goes to college full time too

has a life yet to live now

Never, that’s when, don’t call again

go away and

take that vulture circling our house with you

Prodigy

The artwork is incredible

modern abstract

a surreal quality

with rich earthy overtones

Individual distinction

of my daughter

up early from her nap

contentedly finger painting

covering her crib

with what is handy

A distinct odious vapor

hangs in the air

detracts from this

her first grand showing

April 15, 2001 7:06 PM

Promenade

I still envision my missed prom

the dress

a silky floor-length number

probably pink

the color that best complements

my peaches and cream complexion

He is young handsome

a great dancer

who can’t keep his eyes

off me

Someone I must stand on tippy-toes

to kiss goodnight

This picture

peaks in daydream

day of my youngest son’s prom

Rented lipstick-red jacket

trimmed in black velvet

lapels and buttons

with tails

Purchased red silk bowtie

a grand top hot

to crown tousled head of red storm

frame animated eyebrows

that stands watch

over the slate gray kindness in his eyes

He attends without a date tonight

No one special in his life

to share this ritual of dance

He like so many others

ostracized for their sexual proclivity

celebrate at this

his first gay prom

Promises

Storm clouds

Like black sheep in heavenly domain

Billows dark portent

Swept along by northeast winds

Hit great warm pockets

Clap loud Hoorays

in mid-air

Sends arrows

light flashing

Through torrents of angelic tears

Catches at light streams

Spills prisms

One faint hue at a time

A magnificent arched palette

watercolor strokes across the sky

paints hope

on human hearts

who have lost their way

6/20/2022

Propaganda

I remember seeing pictures as a child

taken after the Enola Gay dropped

Little Boy and Fat Man on Japan,

how it blasted everything in sight,

even the children

Often leaving only eerie shadows

burnt into the stones of history

I remember thinking how sad

that the children of Nagasaki, Hiroshima

were not taught

what all American children in 50’s and 60’s

knew by heart

At the sound of the warning bell

to crawl under the safety of our school desks

cover our heads with our hands and arms

duck our heads to our knees

2022

Psychic Surgery

Under other circumstances

I might have noticed

this step outside normalcy

lush greenery

exotic foliage

unfamiliar birdsong

of this Philippine village

But today

my eyes cannot leave

the slender brown fingers

of the woman whose hands reach

into father’s cancer riddled abdomen

pull sticky strings of disharmony

discarding them as she goes

into a nearby tray

Will you be able to get it all?

I hear myself say as in a dream

She moves her head in my direction

murmurs Much negative scar live here father

My moist eyes move up father’s face

turned ancient almost overnight

racked by his bout with the recent common cure

his inner light burned out

from playing rag doll

as body retched all form of nourishment

clean down to layers of the man himself

I note the change in his patient resignation

on this today’s mask

bolt upright I take a step back

as the rip of our reality

becomes audible

severed before the curtain comes down

1997 in the Philippines

Published

Each of them lousy at spelling

They have no need now of that

One with the flushing red face

The other who dons the black hat

Rules bend gently before them

Creativity rules carefree days

The mundane is but a past memory

Published poets have their way

1998

Puppy Love

Short black and white fur

shiny, fancy like a tuxedo

donned for dancing

Dark curious eyes

peering into my heart

seeing only the good

Soft warm tongue

quick to lick affection

wipe away sadness

Small razor teeth

carving designs into furniture

shredding shoes and socks

Contradictory bundle

of energy and lethargy

curled into a ball

Unconditional love

in such a small package

God’s gift

Warm yellow puddle

stop toes in mid step

hazards in puppydom

April 23, 1999 10:51 AM

Pursuit of Nirvana

Worldly whetted whining

Coming to a stop

Homeless? Jobless?

Joyless ?

Teach a child to hop

Between urban schooling

Violence and the rest

Who's to say

Which kid is ready

And going to pass the test

Frenzied fallowed families

Working to compete

Those with the biggest toys

Always the other guy

You know the one up the street

Deadly serious children

Suffering from succeeding success

Abandoned by workaholic parents

Clamoring over the bodies

For only in death do we rest

March 3, 1998 5:18 P.M.

Quagmire

Maybe it’s because I have boys

men really

as deemed by law

that I wax thoughtful

poetically

given the topic of war

It defies me

no matter how many times

seated in darkness

while men of the screen

line up

face to face

rattling their sabers of choice

The sudden war whoop

slow motion run

Each to his destiny

a distant vista of utopia

reunion with bloodlines

Those left to bury the dead or

cast a morbid bit upon a pole

the victors

Maybe it’s because I have boys

men really

as deemed by law

that I sink feet into mud

politically

given the topic of war

Questioning Life

What are you going to do when they come for you?

Will you have bags packed ready to go?

Will you have loved well and often?

Will you have filled your life

with living enough to hold you?

Will the waste land of your life hold you hostage?

Will your fears bring them all the sooner,

allotment of living used up?

Will you have expressed creativity

enough to mark living?

What are you going to do when they come for you?

Fight, Fly or lay down and die?

April 18, 1998 2:54 P.M

Questioning Mother

Oh mother

why have you been weeping?

Seemingly senseless mourning

has flooded the earth

with your need for self-comfort

Should I purchase a boat

fill it with my friends the animals

two by two

food to feed on

until we bump up against

solid land

a place to begin over

after your sorrow subsides?

Cynthia L. Bryant

9.0 Two Hours Later

Viewed from above

beaches littered with little semblance

of what must have been cycled lives

that rose then fell

with thirty-foot waves

that crashed into reality

faster than Japan’s bullet trains travel

arriving at the speed of tourist carrying jets

to ring the gong of tragedy

so clearly

the whole world shivered

and cried out as one

Quiet Dilemma

Did you ever catch a glimpse

of yourself—silently seated

knees tucked under chin,

arms rapped around calves

hesitant for life to begin?

Your inner urge is to spring forward

like old man time ticking…

but fearful of every beat of heart,

perhaps the last. Suspended

on the sidelines, waiting to be

called into the game.

December 7, 1998 3:55 PM

Quiet Reflection

In new eyes

I see life reflected

like clear mountain runoff

pooled in a lake

suspended sky in water

tired bird meets bird

skims the surface

causing ripples

momentary disruption

while the scene changes

every so slightly

the serene sky yawns

then rests in light

on the water

till nigh

July 29, 1999 3:39 PM

Rainmaker

The voice came from the shadow of the porch

engulfed me like a sunbeam warming,

leaving safety and peace in its trace—

So you want to make rain

The process is simple

Listen closely now

with open mind and heart

Walk into this day

closing your physical eyes

to the world

Visualize in your mind

the rain

as it falls gently to Earth

See the size and shape

of each wondrous drop

as it glistens in the sun

Train your ears

on every dripping

as it finds its target

noting the pit-pat

pit-pit-pat rhythm

speed of descent

Lift your nose

smell the heavenly scent

of moisture

as it beckons plants

to burst forth from the ground

Taste the sweetness

on your tongue

as rain spills down your face

dripping ever so slightly

into waiting mouth

Open your hands

reach toward the heavens

feel the small cool droplets

dancing on warm bare skin

Speak the word as a prayer

R A I N

Let it resonate

from deep within your soul

Let the word replenish the clouds

fill the air with R..A…I….NNNN

Know you are the joyful rain

wetting all that lay before you

Full of life force

r e v I t a l i z e

n o u r i s h

all that you touch

BEHOLD THE RAIN DOES FALL…

7/3/1999

Random Acts Of

Death….

How is it accomplished?

Does death get up each morning

Compiling a list and then out the door?

Things to do today (names added at moment of impact)

1. First the bloody accidents

2. The elderly and tired sent to their rest

3. Violence breaks out sporadically

in pre-selected spots

The young and sickly find an untimely end

5. Depressed and hopeless pushed to breaking point

In special circumstances

Are there ever reprieves granted

One last chance, as acted out on stages

Where death seems cheated for a time?

Or is death a malicious, careless taskmaster

Knocking down whomever gets in his path

And all of it is just random acts of

Death—

May 30, 1997

Razor Strop

I listen

as you and your eldest sister

who is now bedridden

sing the many praises

of the razor strop

of your youths

How your mother wielded it

methodically

to stop any arguments

about who was in charge

who had the final say

who was even allowed to speak

You had hit your grandson

with an open hand

hard across his three-year-old face

for some infringement

you set

to put right quickly

I listen

as you and your eldest sister

reminisce time under the strap

the lessons of wrong or right

shining in your eyes

like the welt on my baby’s cheek

August 29, 2001 9:40 AM

Magical Waters

Reaching down

Tenderly touching serene waters

Sending ripples, multiple movements

Dancing against bare skin

Bouncing off

Dividing again and again

Infinite in its way

Vibrating soothing solutions

June 4, 1998

READING SIGNS ON A HIGHWAY GOING SOUTH

HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS

BLINK IF YOU'RE STILL ALIVE

BAR-BE-QUE IF DOESN'T RAIN

DON'T DRINK AND THEN TRY TO DRIVE

BELIEVE IN AN AFTERLIFE

60 MILLION CHINA MEN CAN'T BE WRONG

HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS

FINISH YOUR WISHING BEFORE THE GONG

CLOSED GONE FISHING

YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK HERE

MAN NEEDS A MAID FULL TIME

I AM COMING HOME PUT ON A POT DEAR

HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS

HAZARDOUS ROAD AHEAD

HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS

AND THAT IS ALL THEY SAID

March 30, 1998 5:39 P.M.

RECORD BUTTON

I’VE SPENT A LOT OF TIME LATELY WORRING ABOUT MY RECORD BUTTON AND WHY IT DOSEN’T IT WORK PROPERLY.

THE PROVERBEL “THEY” SAY THAT OUR MINDS TAKE IN AND RECORD ALL DATA THAT WE HEAR, SEE, FEEL ETC.

WELL, WHY DOESN’T MINE SEEM TO WORK? OR SHOULD I SAY IT SELCTIVELY WORKS. UNFORTUNATELY, I AM NOT IN CHARGE OF THE SELECTION. I FORGET NAMES AS SOON AS THEY ARE SHARED. I FORGET CONVERSATIONS OR THINGS IV’E TOLD PEOPLE. I FORGET THINGS I WAS TOLD TO DO . WHEN I DO REMEMBER, I DO SO VIVIDLY AND WITH DETAIL AND EMOTION.

FREEZE FRAME

THERE ARE TIMES IN OUT LIVES THAT ARE IMPORTANT, THAT STAND OUT, SLOW DOWN AND SEEM TO FREEZE IN PLACE. I CALL THESE MOMENTS, FREEZE FRAME. THEY COME WITH LARGE LETTERS THAT SAY, ARE YOU PAYING ATTENTION TO THIS NOW. MY LIFE HAS BEEN FULL OF THESE EXPERIENCES. MOST OF WHICH I IGNORED OR PUSHED WAY DOWN INSIDE ME TO BE DEALT WITH AT A LATER TIME.

1992

Red Bird

It must have been the seduction

of an unseasonably warm breeze

backdoor left open

to allow my restless pacing

From the wooden porch I heard the mischief

syncopated knocks enmeshed in flutter flux

A cardinal wearing its black mask

led by some inner bravado

had snuck into the house

But when he turned toward home

gleaned through a picture window

in terror he hit glass

landed on the sill

frantic pecking and pawing

We met

two stranded creatures

admitted into sacred space

Accepted by cupped hands

our hearts beat as one

For the seconds

we took to trespass beyond threshold

the red bird flew away

it took me longer

6/18/201

Red Rules

Luscious

heart pounding

palpitating sinuous heat

flirts with danger

anger on the rise

sudden

with or without

provocation

strong willed

talks back

never regrets yesterday

red rules

April 6, 1999

Reflection

I have taken on Buddha’s belly

slumped asleep under the banyan tree

dreaming many years of time thick

roundness, stretched self-image

beyond past belief, body yawns

longing this shapelessness

under cool shadow of disavowed life

1/7/2007

Rehash Therapy

Chasing the miserable monsters

The ones that continue creeping up

Round every transition's corner

Jumping out at each jagged turn

Along lifes' winding roads

Just as you make it to the top

Of one more mania made hill

Resolute in your heart

The monsters will not, ever again

Be chasing you

October 15, 1998 10:59 AM

Remains

His days no longer preoccupied

in search of prey

he hunches over chin to chest

bony elbows rest atop arms

of the iron chair

while wormy tubes

feed body’s memory

of a life spent

The man

once ambitious with testosterone

finds muscle broken down

impotent

His skin waxy

almost translucent

wraps fragile purple veins

like white cellophane

clogged with low-life living

The thorny weapon

formally brandished to demean

control

hangs limp

uncocked

in full retirement

drains yellow waste

into a bag

between deadweight thighs

His once scheming leer

imprisoned behind a catatonic trance

of drug induced slow dance

and unseeing eyes

that still refuse

to blink

memory guardians

to those fallen too far

to find their way home

10/27/2014

Revelation During Sinusitis

This day dawned

a simple truth housed

between ears

in dulled pressure

an ah ha moment sounds

Every well-placed blow

whether catchy phrase

or fisted swish

knocks me down another rung

on that slippery ladder of life

Just as surely

as if the attack

was aimed in my direction

instead of yours

in the first place

August 2, 2001 9:13 AM

Roll Call

They sit in beige Naugahyde chairs

like ladies under dryers

at a neighborhood beauty salon

Cancer patients all in a row

with their backs

against floor-to-ceiling windows

on third floor Oncology

Each individual hope silently cleaves

to the brightly colored poison

inserted into purple vein

that promises for some

their best chance

at a few more years

He lurks, a scary two-feet high,

outside the window

wrapped in his dark feathered shroud

The turkey vulture

intent darting eyes

encased in giddy red flesh

He worries the ledge back and forth

his bone-white beak

taps a beat on the glass

shopping for lunch

Comes to rest behind my friend

2004

Reincarnate

When I gaze

into the green of his eyes

allow my attention to linger

Sometimes—

Vivid images, stirred emotions

A different place… a harsher time

Cloaked in darkness

Contrasting emerald lushness

of unfamiliar landscape

Feel warmth of breath

caressing chill

of starkly exposed breast

where our arching forms

flesh to flesh enmeshed

I drink in this unknown face

in its state of bliss

Knowing this moment lasts forever

Stored in the green of his eyes

April 8, 1998 9:03 P.M.

REPRESSED ANGER

I HAD A HARD TIME LAST NIGHT. I KEPT HAVING JUMPING AND FLUTTERING IN MY CHEST, AND THEN OF COURSE FEELING UNSAFE IN MY OWN BODY.

I TRIED TO TALK TO MY HUSBAND. HE WAS LISTENING. I WAS HAVING A HARD TIME TALKING OR FEELING THINGS. I WOULD FEEL SOME FEELING FOR A SECOND AND CRY FOR A SECOND, AND THEN I DIDN'T FEEL ANYTHING, BUT TOO FULL AND ABOUT TO BURST.

I BELIEVE THIS IS RAGE, REPRESSED ANGER THAT IS FIGHTING TO GET OUT.

I ENDED UP TALKING ABOUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE. I FEEL TOO AFRAID TO DO ANYTHING, SO I FREEZE UP. I KNOW THAT IS AN OLD PATTERN.

I WOKE THIS MORNING WITH A REALIZATION OF PAIN INSIDE ME AND I HAD TO WAKE SLOWLY TO DISSIPATE SOME OF IT BEFORE ATTEMPTING TO START MY DAY.

OCTOBER 10, 1993

RETROSPECTIVE

It took one-hundred years

from Lincoln’s proclamation

to free the slaves

to arrive at the Civil Rights Act of 1964

Yet another righteous reminder

of “inalienable rights”

guaranteed to “all men created equal”

almost two-hundred years before

by the Declaration of Independence

when the willingness to kidnap

buy and sell human beings

was already tightly woven

into the weave of America’s cloth

Listen as the disembodied voices

of my forefathers preach,

“Slavery has been millennia

before biblical times:

A biproduct of the spoils of war

necessary evil to progress

as nations grew from conquests

soiled in the blood thirstiness

that made them strong

That is the way and shall always be”

Even as a small child

living in 1958 Louisiana

when I witnessed the sign

marked COLORED

over a white porcelain water fountain

Even then I knew

something was very wrong

Room Without Air

Soundlessly

I rock

hold the cuddly

black and white pup

a childhood reminder

of unconditional love

Quietly

I cry

so as not to wake him

from puppy dreams

warm

safe in my arms

Silently

I ache

every single cell

alive

with pain

caught in this childish ritual

Together

time spent with mourning

satiates the emptiness

with liquid sorrow

a knowing look

and a big sloppy kiss

February 23, 2001 12:17 pm

Sabbatical

Summertime's here again

Golden gladioluses droop in the heat

No cool drink hidden near the surface

Unattended crabgrass and dandelions

Have taken over the yellowing yard

The caretakers away in pursuit of relaxation

Sun and water, exercise and recuperation

With nary a thought turned homeward

Where nature awaits, at the mercy of man

Left praying for rain

March 4, 1998 10:39 A.M.

Sacrificial Moment

Sweat drips off my brow

trussed like the condemned

on the cross

arms straight out tethered

I wonder what sacrifice

will be mine

mercifully numb

from mid gut down

stem to stern

tubes come and go

hooked to machines alive with lights

whirr in my ears

a canopy set up

over my lower half

festive like a Jewish wedding

my husband’s face grim

above my own

as his eyes wander the floor

onto crimson splatter

men and women in masks

all on the side of festivities

mouth muffled words

meant to

sooth jangled nerves

some quieter still a mystery

peer occasional nods in my direction

“it’s a redhead”

head masked man holds up

a nine plus pound son

shrieking loudly

because

his plan to present backside first

to the world was foiled

woman in mask

hands our small clown

to his father

who in turn

holds the ruddy sweet face

close to my own

my arms still bound tightly to the cross

ache to hold him close

a tear betrays my need

as they wheel my husband

out of the room

present in his arms

April 2, 2000 1:36 PM

Scars

Visible linear accounting

of inner trespasses

for and against homeostasis

Requiring mediation

by committee

for deeper concerns

January 24, 1999 2:30AM

Safety Net

Born in a perfect home

With parents, that were the best

How is it you found yourself

Into crank, up to your neck

Were you minimizing

Past pain, and numbing memories

Of a childhood, where big brother

Found an opening to relieve himself

September 16, 1998 9:15 AM

Saturn Return

Life has many beginnings and ends

rolling all the time towards

someone authentic

something closer to the savored self

Under the guise of Saturn

he tromps through unannounced

tossing people precious possessions

held closely the longest time

His last sweep took familiarity away

in boxes of friends landscape and weather

tucked beyond reach on the western coast

the slate scraped clean age too advanced

yet here I am starting over

Scary Dream

Naaaaaaaaa

The sound is distant

Naaaaaaaaa

Haunting

Naaaaaaaaa

It draws closer

Naaaaaaaaa

Piercing

Naaaaaaaaa

The poor animal cries out in pain

Naaaaaaaaa

I can't quite make out the species

Naaaaaaaaa

A cold sweat pour over me

Naaaaaaaaa

I'm awake now

Naaaaaaaaa

Safe in my own bed

Naaaaaaaaa

My husband by my side

Naaaaaaaaa

Struggling

Naaaaaaaaa

Through his head cold

Naaaaaaaaa

To breathe

7/3/1999

Religious Nightmare

One small child

Going to church with kind neighbors

One southern Baptist church in Louisiana

God forming in young fertile mind

The girl child hears “YOU’RE A SINNER”

The girl child hears “FEMALES CAUSED ORIGINAL SIN”

The girl child hears “REPENT YOUR SINS”

“YOU MUST BE BAPTIZED TO SAVE YOUR SOUL”

“THOSE NEVER BAPTIZED WILL LIVE FOREVER IN THE FIERY

PITS OF HELL AND BE TORMENTED BY SATAN WITH

SHARP PITCHFORKS DAY AND NIGHT”

“GOD SEES AND KNOWS ALL, YOU CAN’T HIDE YOUR SINS

FROM HIM”

Haughty mother refuses the child’s urgent request to be baptized

The girl child must live with her sins for eternity

Damned…

October 17, 1997 7:39 P.M.

Respite

Sunlight has grown dim

tree limbs gone stark

then bare

The air is chilled

erratic in its transition

yesterday's unbridled feasting

but a body's dreamy memory

Great scruffy well-padded coats

top soft underbellies tucked away

under massive weary limbs

curled in protective postures

the tic of inner clocks

slowed way down

They rest deeply in sheltered caves

underground seclusions

awaiting Mother Nature's friendly noise

the chirp of returning birds

buzz of insects around yellow-green buds

New life raising its sleepy head

Out of barren winter's retreat

Why doesn't Man hibernate?

Revelation

Going through changes in the 60’s

as the war came home every evening

on black and white news

Relationships became casual,

identities less relevant

as native sons marched off to Viet Nam

Everyone knew

that a good hippie had no last name,

great sex sometimes had no name at all

Rotation Song

I hear a sound

at first light

it comes in a hush

then quiet rumble

unburdens sprouts

exposes tiny buds

sets free animal progeny

just as

when earth

first yawned

replicate

replenish

replay

each year

chimes Spring

3/3/2006

S Song

slithering snake

smoldering shaft

sinks silently

sweet sheath swallows

saturates

succumbs slowly

songs are sung

Tiny Tears

twice torn

tiny tears

tear at terrible truths

torment tender hearts

torn to testify

tarry

tell the truth

to take time

tread water

turn off tiny tears

Sailing

why did I climb aboard

the boat

tossing on the open sea

knowing as I did

nothing of sailing’s nature

July 21, 1999 12:19 PM

Satellite Night

Floating alone

Through star-studded sky

Velvet darkness envelops

Like a cozy blanket

Circling father planet

that has exploded

Into millions

Of fiery chunks

My world forever changed

Left to circle

View devastation

Whirling around pieces

Of unresolved life

September 17, 1997 11:15 A.M.

Scapegoat

A goat set free

Into the wilderness

Anointed with the sins of a town

A kid turned out

Into the world

Carrying the sins of a family

Scapegoat you

Scapegoat me

Such a system

Set up to redeem

To serve the cowards

Wrongs worn on the shoulders

Of the strong

Out of sight

Out of mind

Comfort found in lifting

Their burdens

With no thought of

The chosen one

Blameless you

The sacred scapegoat

Held in such contempt

As to earn the dubious

Honor

1999

Scene from a Utah Fire

In the distance

smoke rises In the cobalt summer sky

the soft green hills blurred

like a Monet painting

In each direction, as far as I can see

no houses or buildings

Humans not in danger, my mind moves

to the creatures

who must now slither, hop, scurry

and run like hell to escape fire

rushing up behind to fuel its fury

As we travel I-80 to the intersect point

no charred earth no smoke or flame

only hills dotted with red earth and sage

alive with hundreds of spring lambs

painting the sky with their dust

6/12/2012

Secret Hideaway

As I think on it today

I thank God

the leaves

weren’t poisonous

The ones at our house

located outside of Castle Air Force Base

the year

of my eighth summer

My needs were many

that summer

The hollowed-out space

behind the mulberry bush

that seemingly hugged the house

provided for

the most immediate of these

Friendly shelter

from pounding heat

of central California’s

relentless summer sun

Shiny leaves

I fanaticized poisonous

then chewed

to kill my sadness

The only hiding place available

for an unhappy child in braids

Her private sanctuary

until Mama’s anger cooled

12/26/2004

Settling

When I voted for,

"Yes, but I never inhaled"

Instead of some other,

Less appealing.

When I accepted societal hum

"All politicians lie,

By their very natures

Pursers of power."

When I hear

"Perjury doesn't count,

Not regarding consentual sex,

Not when it was the other party's hunt."

I know I am no longer

Discerning citizen seeking the best,

But part of the problem

Bleating citizen, getting what I deserve.

October 26, 1998 10:13 AM

Shadow Talks

I want to play

unfettered

dressed in winsome white

adorned by flowers

of many colors

my favorites

velvet pansies with tiny faces

my tiny face framed in a flower

neither being

good nor bad

no worries

joyous bare feet

that

skip and jump

my hair

in long rivulets

of copper curls

I hear humming

on the breeze

it is me

and I sing out in delight

seated under the weeping willow

my toes play in the grass

I am alive

April 14, 2001

Shit

I suppose if we were to fill a platter with shit

have it slowly revolving in the center

of community

at a table

there would be those who

could not rise above the smell

those who’d admire the color and form

still others who would wish to examine the contents

make scientific investigation

those who would give thanksgiving

for the fertilizer to grow crops

or say, “so what, its natural!”

some who would want to smear it on their bodies

until they reach climax

and who’s to say which view is correct

accepted by society or not

eventually every single one of us

would need to excuse ourselves

create some shit of our own

July 28, 2002 5:27 pm

Shortcut to Bedlam

Never console yourself

into believing that the

terror has passed, for it

looms large and evil

today as it did in the

despicable era of

Bedlam.

Frances Farmer-American Actress

Silent Scream

I act at my life

Yesterday’s scenarios

projected on a blank screen

Images of "the Scream" flash

interspersed

among family photos

just out of range of hearing

Like a silent horror flick

organ player calls in sick

the players portrayed

in shadow and light

victimize without fanfare

Credits run in silence

Light fades to black . . .

January 25, 1999 12:36 PM

Slipping into Darkness

I dwell in suspended animation

Unable to focus my view

In a country I no longer recognize

Ever since the beginning of the last

Presidential election we have been

Adding to the swamp filling it up

A cesspool with the lowest wastage

Of man

As I watch the last goodbyes

To an American hero

A tear runs down my face

Not so much for the loss of our hero

But rather the loss of our country

Slipping under dashed aspirations

our weathered pride of self-annihilation

Waiting for the darkness to pass

2018

Small Joy

High above

Nestled in gnarled arms

Bent fingers of wood

The red-headed rascal

Awaits intent

Large clear blue eyes watching

Waiting for the gay bed

Oranges, reds and browns

To mount to perfect height

Rush of giggles

Small blur of ecstasy

Flies through crisp air

Making contact with the colors

Crackling, rustling

Rolling with sheer delight

Beloved little boy

On a beautiful autumn afternoon

9/27/2005

Smoke and Mirrors

In the Otherworldly

Known as poetry

An invisible giant plug does float

But once you have a firm grasp on it

When you connect to the receptacle core

All the soul bled words

Literally surge through you

Onto paper without thought or care

The universal muse unleashed

At your disposal

Up until then

It's pretty much all done

With smoke and mirrors

February 2, 1998 10:15 A.M.

So much depends on weather…

clouds circled like wagons

on the old frontier

then dusted with grays

hoping to learn the ambition

of their holds

set loose the wild roar thunder

to grasses wildly undulating

the prairie plains

darkened skies weep wantonly

as terrible twos tantrums

erupt and as suddenly

sunshine pushes through

smiling down warmth

so much depends on weather

Cynthia L. Bryant April 9, 1999 8:24 PM

Solitary

Hiding out from summer bright

Laying low the sleepy night

Painfully removed from maddening crowds

Always 'fraid of crying out loud

Quietly going about lifes' business

Hoping no one will notice

Content to do time solitary

August 18, 1998 4:31 PM

Solstice— Half Full

Lengthened rays of weary light

Stretching time taut to extreme

Against an 'only childish' backdrop day

Played out, over center of calendars

Then exquisitely extinguished

Stars left to mark its passing

Until its moment next year

June 22, 1998 3:28 pm

Secret

I hold a terrible secret

in the place where secrets hide

it avoids the light of day

the quiet of starlight

I keep silent the knowledge

of fear too great to tell

June 13, 1999 11:24 AM

Seer

I live in a doorway

Between two rooms

I have since I can remember

My neighbor to the left

A truthful lady keeps to herself

A hoarder of details and disdain

Frightened of her own shadow

The woman on the right

A cheery sort, social butterfly

Never remembers how things really are

Makes up reality as she goes alone

And as for me

I have always felt safer

Staying in doorways

Not talking to strangers

April 8, 1998 5:20 P.M.

Send Your Child a Letter from Santa

Things were simpler then

when my children were small

the year broken at intervals

of Valentine’s Day, Easter,

summer vacation, beginning of school

Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas

Times have changed

shortened in fading sun

holidays hollowed out

flattened and put away

never the same as when

every purist experience of childhood

like November’s first snowfall

was stellar

In America stinging blasts

arrive at middle-class homes

in guise of letters

from the Army National Guard

offering part-time jobs

with full-time benefits

forever dashing pastoral globes

of white winter wonderlands

Shadow

If a man is to cast off shadow

mustn’t he stand upright

in the light to begin

If he stands victorious

in the gaze of impartial light

then to face his shadow side

If he allows definition

form to emerge

smoky side turned away

from the light

July 25, 1999 9:51 AM

Over the silent valley town…

Fingers of darkness

slowly reach

A radio crackles

Temperatures

into triple digits

continue

into third full month

No relief in sight

No one left

to welcome

the cool shadows

of night

2/12/2022

Shock and Awe

First comes the landslide

then the quake

a precursor to what

only time will tell

In every neighborhood

shrouds mount in

lifeless symbols of old glory

laid low

Big brother slithers among us

with license and bible

able to breach human rights

in a single bound

Hark the moral majority has risen

with their terrible swift sword

all shall be judged

every single fear of one another

flamed into history

AK-47s, M-16s and Uzis taken up

the righteous walk the streets

Six-gun toting sheriffs of Armageddon

blast away those without the elephant

super-glued to a cross

Women cannot choose

gays cannot marry

we must spread democracy

Christianity

squeeze all humanity

into tight tiny minds

When we wake

in the middle of this nightmare

will we recognize the anti-Christ

as he smirks at his creation

Silhouettes

In daydream

Sickly thin silhouettes

Float down faintly lit runways

Strutting the latest fashion statement

Ghastly surreal images solidify

Naked, lines of living dead

Heads hung low, marching

To showers for de-licing

October 28, 1998 12:41 PM

Sitcom Life

Back then

When "Donna Reed" was mother

"Father Knows Best" my dad

When my young mind settled

Living in black and white

Fantasy unavailable in color

Too vivid in real life

A set-aside place

Where life problems got resolved

Over a twenty-two-minute time slot

Everyone loved happily ever after

No matter what the story line

Every day ending with a hug and kiss

Back then

When "Donna Reed" was mother

"Father Knows Best" my dad

When make believe parents

Were the most I could hope for

Filling mile-wide gaps of affection

Where my Techni-color family dwelled

1999

Small Town Mean

Saw your by-line today

in the local rag

remembered those days

when I woke to dad

breathing heavy

leaving quick

where boys keep talkin’

when there’s nothin’ to say

and girls better not be built

or have hell to pay

livin’ with small town mean

My best friend’s beauty

tall slim model not in vogue

boys preferred me

with curves

that rounded

in and out

where boys keep talkin’

when there’s nothin’ to say

and girls better not be built

or have hell to pay

livin’ with small town mean

12/7/2000

Smoke Screen

Mother smoked cigarettes

in our old Studebaker

bringing me home that first day

Smoked when I fed

when I slept

when I played

when I wet

Filled the car with gray filmy air

on the way to the hospital

when I turned a tinge of blue

from the first of many colds

She smoked through my bouts with

measles mumps chicken pox

escalating to asthmatic bronchitis pneumonia

in later years

I remember mother’s face

eyes wide mouth wider

the day she caught me

lit cigarette between fingers

thin trail of smoke escaping pursed lips

How she sat me out on the back porch

where neighbors couldn’t see

with a fresh pack of her Old Golds

the coffee table lighter obscene orange ashtray

Watched while I turned

the green of a healing bruise

as I sucked in smoke

spit out bits of tobacco

wheezed coughed sputtered

through that first pack

never stopping

for the next sixteen years

Although it has been eighteen years

since I filled my lungs

with mysterious soothing salve of acrid air

I sometimes still dream I am smoking

when life has me pulling my hair out

Always waking in relief to find

it was only a dream

My Mother still smokes

though her cigarette of choice changed

to a filtered low-tar low-nicotine brand

I watch her now

shudder to the rattle of air

working to escape

putrid caverns shiny with tar

I wince at her pallor

how it mimics one that has

already given up the ghost

Not the cigarettes

Never the cigarettes

Some Things Never Change

I suppose the photograph

could have been of any face

though it was unmistakably his

Unshaven landscape

pitted with wounds

open to the deep beneath

number two in line of succession

on the terrorist hit list

Eyes closed

clearly nobody was home

on the inside

Opaque lenses locked sight

into faraway territory called paradise

They say this face

with no more cares

stands for some emblazoned victory

as it covers magazines, newspapers

news clips and the internet

I say all that is missing is

someone forgot to remove

the head from the body

and hoist it atop a pol

7/18/2006

DECISION

A Soul called forth.

Dismiss me not lightly.

I come forward now

Though eyes see it not,

always timely.

The preciousness of my gift

cannot always be judged.

The sickness and the burdens

are but smoke screens of the seeing.

The joy and true wonder

come only with my celebrated being.

March 19, 1997

LOSING A CHILD

EVERY FOND REMEMBRANCE,

TURNED TO THE HARSH REALITY

OF ALL THAT WAS LOST.

MAY 6, 1997 8:29 PM

Sound of Wind Blows,

My brain's out of ideas

Howls,

The low moan zings

Flaps away,

Long frazzled nerves

Winding wind around

Swirling residue of words

Caught now

Horns blow blue

Sensuous sound

Blows my mind

November 30, 1998 10:15AM

Song- Born of the Blues

Imagine when Billy Holiday

happening on the awful sight

strange fruit hanging on poplar trees

swinging in the breeze

rightly guessing the boy’s only crime committed

being born black

no other rhyme or reason

April 2, 2002

Song of the Heart

Four eggs lay in that nest

I could see from my second story flat

Interested I watch daily for any progress

Mother bird devoted

barely left the nest for food

besides flying seemed a lost cause

with a lame left wing

4/22/2022

“SORRY MA’AM”

I’M TRYING TO LOOK BACK. I HAVE SO MANY GAPS. SO, I THOUGHT I WOULD START WITH PUBLIC RECORDS, TO HELP JAR MY MEMORY.

I CALLED TO ASK FOR THE RECORD OF ME BEING PICKED UP BY THE POLICE, ON ORDER BY MY PARENTS

I WANTED THE DATE. I WANTED TO KNOW WHAT CONDITIONS THEY NOTED. HOW LONG I STAYED IN JUVENILE HALL. AND IF ANY MENTION WAS MADE OF WHAT I SAID ABOUT THE INCIDENT.

“SORRY, MA’AM, THE RECORDS HAVE BEEN PURGED”

I FEEL LIKE SOME ELSE HAS SAID, “THAT WAS A LONG TIME AGO. WHY DON’T YOU JUST FORGET ABOUT IT NOW.”

I FEEL LIKE SOMEONE ELSE HAS JUST TOLD ME, “YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR LIFE.” JUST LIKE I DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO KNOW WHERE I COME FROM AND WHO I AM. THE LAW, THE JUDGES, THE POLICE CAN KNOW ABOUT ME, BUT I DON’T HAVE THAT RIGHT. I FEEL MY RIGHTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN AWAY ENOUGH AND IT MAKES ME VERY ANGRY.

JANUARY 14, 1993

School Crossing

Vital lives spent

pool

then soak

into society’s shield

amassed numbness

Too many rungs to climb

things to accumulate

caught in the maze of survival

surpassing the Jones’

having it all madness

How many ways to afford notice

to stop the teasing

to stand up for differences

beat down indifference

beg your attention

Lit up school yards

flash warning signs

across America

suburban warfare with a cause

Do you hear the sound?

May 2, 1999 11:55 AM

See-Through

Addicts by their nature

Compulsive, driven by acrid needs

Charming to a fault

Lost in a pendulum of adrenalin highs,

Then lows

Spiraling down to inner aching shame

Making poor role models

Unreliable husbands and

Lying leaders

October 26, 1998 10:40 AM

Sentry Duty

Old boots—

Stand at attention

Welcoming a patchwork family

Guarding a weathered back door

A job done satisfactorily

For years now

Boots—

Filling the shoes of a lost soldier

Man, husband, father

Who wears them no longer

A symbol of comfort to his family

Living on without him

April 18, 1998 3:35 P.M.

Shades of a Dream

In one fluid motion

he sweeps sleep from his eyes

rubs twice more

not quite removing the crust

when an oddly shaped bit

the size of a jawbreaker

falls from his left eye

rolls under the bed

covered in gunk

it runs the length of time traveled

At rest in the palm of his small hand

he turns it about

full of wonder

that it came from his being

Watches as it unfolds

like an origami kaleidoscope

It opens again, then again

as he gawps

into the rice-paper thin mask,

all that is left of his soul

1/19/2006

Shadows of Summer

The peak difference

between young and old

is found

in how long

one wants

the shadows of summer

to linger

July 15, 1999

Entreatment

Cosmic dust molds heavenly bodies

She who taught earth to spin

Enriching her with flow of life

Evolving intricacies of perfection

As above So below

Hold up your emblazoned mirror

Show me how to see

July 10, 1998 12:01 PM

Shoe Fly

A flip- flop

Discarded

out in the elements

Broken at the sensitive part

that comes to rest

between the big toe and taller toe

This rubber sandal once protected

a naked sole

From puncturing bits of debris

Thin skin from heated asphalt

Concrete pathways of life

The final harried run for a bus

busted flip flop free

Foot left on its own

uneven with its right

to recover on the long bus ride home

11/25/2017

Side Effect

Blue-black street’s sheen

glares

in midnight’s light

Fresh stench

of oil laden roads

betray purity

first rain of the season

August 12, 1999 9:48 AM

Sink Hole

At home in a different country

I watch as my backyard

slowly fills with water

like a septic tank

gone awry

Water and earth

mysteriously sucked out

from an unseen drain

until grass dirt water

linger on the bottom

twelve feet down

like a great emptied pool

Even the loud bell

ringing ringing ringing

does little to dam

the new areas filling

emptying into deep recesses

as I run for my life

The phone ringing

awakens sensibility

into this nightmare

psychic sinkhole

addiction has caused

Slow Down

Come on down

Visit the slow living folk

Dreaming through days

Quiet and easy,

Like grandma knitting

In her rocker

To and fro

Swing back and forth

Find your rhythm

To and fro, to and fro

Catching the moment

Wind blowing hair

Exhilaration of lungs full

Mind on task, not wandering ahead

Like city folk sneaking in line

When everyone knows

The show never starts

Till everyone is seated

November 4, 1998 10:20 AM

Small Town

Shocks of red oleander

run parallel

partition oncoming traffic

from those going down

old Highway 99

in California’s Central Valley

A solitary A&W stand

visible from the road

marks access to the town

where I am forever caught in amber

its yellowed ill-defined edges

hold me there

Michael stayed

who taught my heart to flutter

with his soprano voice of angels

Unfairly nurturing residual memory of me

finite flawless fifteen

while time ravaged his bride

Endless days spent splitting onions

in a wooden farming shed

His nights now linger alone

with shots of fog to tender terror

of never being willing

to move down that road

Sojourn

1.

We traded breasts last night

passed them between us

like school girls

trying on each others clothes

no words spoken

only a familiar glance

I wanted to know

what she was going through

not as a voyeur

nor passive resistor

but as a card carrying member

dues paid

I wanted to feel the white-hot shock

of finding the lump

“Big as a baseball!” she said

“Oh my God, No!” I said

“Cancer in both breasts!” the doctor said

C a n c e r

− in both breasts!

2.

As the second treatment begins

she is seated on a Naugahyde throne

reclines into its safety

removes her crown of the day

the bright red straw one

where the flower garden grows

Early warning does little to prepare me

for the once familiar head hidden beneath

sparsely covered with tufts of fine gray fuzz

that reminds me of an old teddy bear

I once carried until it fell into disrepair

Amidst banter between girlfriends

nurses who witness similar battles daily

maneuver through the room

weaving magic with wisecracks

weapons of mass destruction

ready to explain procedure process

cheer the beleaguered battle-fatigued

whenever possible

It is then I am aware

that more than being her friend

I am here to witness the war

Her face grows dark

teeth clench as armies are deposited

into the port embedded in sensitive skin

The heat of battle follows the soldiers

leaves her body all a shiver

a blanket and portable heater comfort

I have long since returned the breasts

fitting them back into perspective

Visualize the coalition of meds

like vermin-eating ants that march

then munch indiscriminately

search tirelessly

for over-bred cockroach cells

that defile with decay

the once supple breasts of my mentor

Attack ants Attack!

3.

I wasn’t prepared to lose you

or deal with the hollow

where once you rooted to my heart

I dealt with the ravenous disease

that stalked inside under shadow

threatened to devour you whole

I came to terms with the cure

that waged great war

on your battle fatigued frame

Witnessed salt-and-pepper tresses

lift out by the handfuls

leaving nothing but tufts of fuzz

When you wore shingles

like the roof of a worn-out fire house

head-to-toe on your left side

When your mouth and gums

swollen with pus

withered your pride

Stood by after every session

as they shot you full of pain

to heighten your white cell count

All through the cancer

its cure

the fix from the cure

and the side effects from that

loss of you loomed large

but not once did I imagine

you would move away

Spectacle

A damaged child’s view

of the world

strained through

an opaque psyche

like cheesecloth drains off

heavy fluid

catching the solids

for later

Reality remains muted

guided by parents

who bind and gag

until legal age

the child, then

magically

the cage springs

o p e n

Cinders fall away

From sightless eyes

denials’ lie ceases its hum

clarity slowly yawns awake

to urgent reality of survival

childhood’s blindness

having served

its purpose

February 23, 1999 4:22 PM

Splintered Choice

1

For many years, this song has replayed

a time when you were held in loving arms

how we spun freely around the wooden floor

rolling dust curls aside as we glided

humming along with JOURNEY…as the lights

go down in the city…

2

Left alone in the shuttered room

with rocking chairs’ monotonous stir

of half-remembered song, Raggedy Andy

clutched to cleaved heart

the tattered doll this mother’s makeshift remedy,

one solution to the broken rhythm

of the loss of a child

Cynthia Bryant

11/18/2010

Springtide

Something in the breeze

quickens the heart

we respond to the excitement

like small, cornered animals

preening

preparation

up to the primal task

wintered libidos rise

with springtide

once more

3/10/2004

Stasis

Goodness for heaven's sake

Makes for one-sided logic

Takes away all the areas of gray

where living takes place

Leaving only glistening white

Perfection for perfection's sake

Would prove a monotonous bore

A rather hellish state

A single point of view

Nothing more

January 27, 1999 10:56 AM

Star Blind

Oh lonely night

that caught closed eyes

in dazzling starlight

Began the climb

step by broken step

closer to devastations drawn face

eyes of mystery

mouth of sultry lust

One otherworldly moment of passion

before real time startled awake

guilt gnawing at racing heart

where sacred words were given

Then crossed casually

Like any other chicken

Crossing the road

Just to get to the other side

August 10, 1998 3:45 PM

State of Mind

They say that my body is morbid

Fine-tuned focused my mind follows

Making sure to stay on the tracks

That were man-made, never jump those rails

frigid with the notion that being human

has the hap hazard holodeck lucidity

of monkey see - monkey slinks

into the corner of his cage

puts fingers in mouth

Eyes steady gaze on the cage door

Storm Boots

Black patent leather boots

trudge endless miles through mud

mix with muck of human remains

that long to return

to rain plied earth

Scarlet rivulets squirm across shiny boots

like ravenous snakes

Even at night

safely cloaked away in their wardrobe

an unkindly hiss can be heard

11/8/2003

Summer Storm

Sickness strikes

all of a sudden

like a summer thunderstorm

humid and thick

Caution in the air

raises tiny hairs

on the nap of the neck

to stand and take notice

with an awareness

Something

Immediate surroundings

out of kilter

air pressure pressing

unseen feelings of dread

until

Cancer

We found cancer, the doctor murmurs

Lightening strikes

Thunder roars

too late to prepare

June 16, 1999 3:41 PM

Stuck

Store owners who get a jump on Christmas before Halloween

Teenagers who dye their hair black to be different

Artists who only paint pastoral landscapes

Choices made

sleepwalking through life

unexplainably driven like zombies

they kill

just to make more

STUNNED

So many of us snickered then

as he made his way down

the golden escalator with his briefly clad

foreign born trophy missus

held at her obligatory ten paces ahead

proclaiming his urge to rule

The mass media mesmerized covered him

His bigley words, his mythological bleached combover

Mercenary life mission mixed with a hubristic view

Of alpha male misogyny, he before all else

Everyday he made the newscast, every single day

Under no circumstance were we ready to witness

The presidency won, taken by a man such as this

I believe this is when the shock, the feelings

Of being ripped off, left unprotected began

Not yet irrevocable-you caught in the headlights Unable to move to safety, look away from the accident

Narcissist leanings favor his daughter in unfatherly ways

Surrounds self with family and true believers like a godfather In the Italian mafia

Umbrella allotted to him, leaves First Lady in the rain,

Or alone outside a car, always behind another

No second thought to her comfort let alone her needs or existence

Oblivious to feelings of any kind, in a rush to know his ratings

What Fox said about him today

Not one of his cabinet members

capable of carrying out their jobs in the accepted norm.

Head of education against public education.

Head of EPA against climate change

Run roughshod over protections of environment

head of Veteran’s Affair run by Billionaire’s club in Mar Largo

Many fired when his praises were not sung loud enough, or

resigned to save his face

Lies are the goal of the day, a new statement a new lie every day,

Or the same lie over and over Lie, repeat, repeat, then redact.

Eradicate brown people, take their children,

put them in cages, give them away

All to deter them migrating to America,

To find safety, better lives for their families

Now we are thoroughly stunned as we watch

the inhumanity, permanent damage done to others

From so called shithole countries.

His nod to White Nationalism over and over

in hand signals, his choice of peoples to judge and help rule,

his observations of people the violence with which he suggests

they be treated

Little red baseball caps tattooed with MAGA made in Mexico

have become the new white hoods of yesterday

Despot want-to-be

aligned with his hero despots,

Russia, North Korea and Saudi Arabia

the same alpha males he hails so high,

does his business within treacherous secrecy

Allies held in distant past, distain holds them there,

Age-old loyalties broken tariffs charged

We shake our heads at first in disbelief,

realize the headlights are coming down on us swiftly

Panic toward ways to clear the chaos

Help us Mueller, you are our only hope.

Summer’s End

California’s summer calls

indigent fog

into the alleys of bays

festoons micro-climates

just short of swelter

over the brim

into our great Central Valley

raising our crops

aging our wines

Mellowed sprits celebrate

the harvest

take little care

of the men and woman

who crave sustenance

shelter from elements

soft place to lay aching backs

rest unfettered

at summer’s end

August 24, 2001 4:20PM

Summer of Love Undressed

1967, City of Love on a street called Haight

Peace and love was the rule

Sexual revolution in its prime

But nobody wins

Music—psychedelic or mellow

As long as it’s rock’n’roll

The Beatles lead the way

Hippies the happening folks

Tuning in, turning on and dropping out

Dope plentiful, bum trips too

The establishment was nowhere man

War in Viet Nam brings everyone down

Posters proclaimed “Make Love Not War”

Draft-dodgers and streakers ran amok

“One pill makes you smaller” sings Gracie

While Hog Farm’s Wavy Gravy

Passed free food around at Be-Ins, Love-Ins

The Pigs verses Flower Children clash in PEOPLE’S PARK

60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s—

Timothy and Jerry gone,

Lennon and Bill Graham too

Winterland and the Fillmore closed long ago

Our waists thicken, hair thins turns pale

Sex, no longer risky—turns deadly

Money our mantra

Power and success our goals

Comforted by geriatric rock’n’rollers

Still able to boogie, living the dream

The baton passes to Generation X

With trepidation—some words of wisdom

Look forward—remember the past!

Summertime in the South

Slow with thick wet air

sweet smells of magnolia blossoms

fragrant mint that grew in the yards

swamp-coolers and paced overhead fans

that moved like folks on humid summer mornings

Black tea was sweet and well iced

white corn hushpuppies deep-fried

served with syrup grits on the side

Where sensible white folks with means

hired colored women with hungry children

for pennies on the dollar to do their bidding

The Amos and Andy Show

played by black actors, syndicated

brought peals of laughter across the south

on black and white television screens

in white homes

where blacks cleaned up after them

White-hooded Klansmen

continued to hang

tacky reminders of hate

from white poplar trees

that Billy sang about on records

in Harlem clubs for white folks

Sunflowers

In grateful communion

giant yellow goddesses

flowers of the sun

seek light throughout day

dancing on the wind

Each majesty rooted to earth

by the weight of its hold

Small blackened treasures

baked

harvested by birds

Short Recall

In white tee shirt with boxers/ my cousin called him a beer keg on stilts

white terrycloth robe covered in green dragons

nylon green one-piece suit

zippered from crouch to red neck/ ruddy face

deep pockets that held treasures

the hunt was the thing

as he stood still

we searched for hidden goodies

ate weird combinations

cottage cheese and peanut butter sandwiches

loved to grow things/ all his veggies looked like bonsais

beefsteak tomatoes the size of cherry tomatoes

never smoked cigarettes but an occasional cigar

living in a house of women

he yelled cow shit as he sneezed

held the programs from recitals

rolled up and looking for his girls

saying SWeeeeeeTIE as he goes

terrorized the neighborhood on Halloween

his nylon flight suit, rubber mask and one hand

the other tucked neatly inside the main zipper

taking advantage of our friends visiting

he would pull up his tee shirt saying

want to see my operation

loved to swim and put us on his back

as he would submerge slowly below the water

as we squealed for him to come up

Dad could play anything on the piano

that we could hum

they called it playing by ear

thought that was funny

he loved to make up silly songs

Cindy Jones is a bag of bones

and all she eats is ice cream cones

sang real songs as well

formed a band in the 60’s

called the colonels of corn

with other officers in the air force

performed songs like Winchester Cathedral

with a mega phone

dad played the bass fiddle

and sang

he wanted to call our new Boston Terrier pup

Popeye, because his eyes bulged out

would come into the family room

wearing only his robe

start doing a dance in front of the picture window

holding one side of the robe to cover himself

while opening the other side

get confused while we are giggling

then flash himself full into the front yard

later in life during retirement from the Air Force

he still worked

had a broker’s license and his own real estate business

he joined a little theatre group in town

his true love and played drama

got his first part in 1776

played the honorable gentleman from Rhode Island

who was plagued with the cancer

got to moan and groan on stage

prophetic in a way

several years later when cancer was discovered

while having surgery to repair a hernia

as he set across from me that afternoon

I was there to stay with him

being on methadone and other meds

he had tried to get his keys

and drive his car

he looked up at me for a second and said

well sweetie

“The grim reapers after me”

2/11/2000

Early Dream

Drawn from troubled repose

rubbing sleep from eyes

I follow laughter

down the hall

Enter knee-hi into a room

with a soft haze of acrid air

alive with sleek hands

holding chilled stems of cocktails

smoldering butts

between yellow-stained fingers

I search frantically for mother

as prattle dances across the room

from the myriad

of bright red mouths

that smile hideously

cackle loudly then louder

I gasp in horror

for mother’s face

is on each and every

wicked witch there

August 19, 1999 3:46 PM

Suppose

Suppose every child was wanted

that none were given away

raised in institutions

spared the love

Suppose that no voice was raised

raising children

Suppose no marks were left on small bodies

to scar their lives

Suppose that none were used shamelessly

like playthings

Who would grow into murderers

if no one had anger or fear

Who would grow into thieves

if nothing was taken from them

Who would grow to be President

if children were always told the truth

Perhaps someone worthy of the title!

8/1/2022

Swallowed by a Whale

Being young I did not know better

Ate all on my plate

Plate was full

Watched mother eat a platter of fudge

A pile of mashed potatoes

Drowning in gravy

Solitary soul bent in submission

To a world too scary to travel alone

Not trusting enough to do otherwise

Wanting to disappear

Water washed in pulling me out

I have been swallowed by a whale

9/1/2001

Swamp Love

He comes for swamp love

the kind of loving that makes

a man forget

hands over hard-earned wages

longs to feel alive, to make sense

lost among incomprehensible times

unable to imagine a future without a past

He comes to her still standing

bone tired, ego aching

hunger gnaws at his mind

loosened trousers draped around

unsteady ankles

anticipatory goose bumps well up

from the toes

He stares down

into glint of rented eyes

strokes silken hair against heaving thighs

heat rushes up through muddled mind

reduced to autonomic ecstasy

worships at her altar

learning all there is to know

by osmosis

7/15 2001

Sycamore Sunday

Sycamore trees spread

magnificent lacy screens

filter light in artistic arpeggio

A fixed sheltered retreat

from the calamity of community

with push-shove of carnival

at both gates

Crowds flow through

like currents of water

looking for banks to hold them

Siphoned over the dam

through the archway

with its iron-work gates

into this sanctuary of calm

Words hang here along with art

awaiting their time

when eyes will glide along them

stroking mind as they go

along the letters

the feelings

then the name at the bottom

It is Sunday

the words a gift of sharing

from one heart to one mind

for anyone who bothers

to stop and read

the words

Symbiosis

Inerrant mouth yawns wide

A gaping bottomless hole

in perpetual hunger

Eyes caught open

revealing

blank stare of need

For nourishment comes second-hand

Regurgitated fodder

from mother's sick psyche

A parasite, sucking precious fluid,

then devouring it whole

and thankless

January 25, 1999 1:25 PM

Symptom

Roast beast with melted cheese

Hamburger tacos with guacamole

Lasagna with Italian sausage

Stroganoff with sour cream

No broccoli, green beans, or spinach

No veggies please, I have a task

to perform

Buried alive

July 18, 1997 12:16 a.m.

Taken to Wing

My son’s taking a creative writing class

looking for a runway

to take his writing to the sky

Almost ready to be nudged from the nest

test his wings

see if they can hold the wind

buoy him up

skywrite his stories

to ant-like creatures below

The second session slams him

back to earth

as he is handed a poem to translate

into people-speak

one of his mother’s poems

praising the sun going down

Tale of Childhood Toys

Me and my teddy bear

dance with the dolly

Mickey mouse and the chair

tinker toys build them to the top to climb out

Broken teacup

coloring book with mom

Teen Barbie Daddy Ken

Pressing hard on top

Later when the spectacular pains

spontaneous trail of blood from bed to toilet

Where childhood’s innocence floats

ready to be flushed like the goldfish who saw it all

10/6/2007

Taos, New Mexico 1969

My first memorable disdain taught

white folks to black

Shreveport, Louisiana 1958

Confusing more than confirming

fine-tuned senses

A young mind needed clear lines drawn

of right or wrong

The black woman I knew

cleaned our home

listened with patience when I spoke

answered curiosity with facts

A light hand on my head

While our home filled daily

with serenades by Ella, Billie, Lena,

Satchmo and more…

Words like pica-ninny, funny hair,

unclean, colored, not like us,

were said ugly

By the time I was seventeen I was still

Ill-prepared for this next course

of hatred, just as visceral as 1950’s

In the deep south…the Spanish

Loathed Indians

The signs “No Indians Allowed” on most

store front windows or doors.

There were no Mexicans, only Spanish

No allowance for any evident debasement

of superior race by mingling blood

with inferiors

Hippies were not looked kindly upon either

Although the Indians accepted the influx

of these young, willful folks with honor

They saw in them, the raised spirits of ancestors

There to bring balance to The Mother

2/21/2020

Tarnation

Outside daylight crackles into morning

leaves stretch to be part of the exhibit

domestic animals, creatures of habit

one and all scurry to relive built up toxins

leftovers from the day before

Pvt.1st Class Regina Hobbs sleeps at last

joined the army for a college education

home once more to her single mom in Harlem

receives her free burial, six gun salute instead

Tarot Reading

I show up early

to avoid pitfalls

in finding the place

during the void-of-course moon

Negotiate the steamy asphalt

Walk the inner maze of office suites

three complete turns

until I come face to face with her

“The Double Dragon”

The room is a box

with one door blinded window

at the center rests a table

that holds the cards

housed in a velvet bag

decorated in cycles of energy

Two chairs oppose one another

a massage table off to the right

broken chairs off to the left

assorted crystals esoteric symbols

aroma the music a candle lit

the dye is cast

While the boys look on

Carol introduces me

to the three tiny statuettes

a jazz trio that holds the last three cards

See the unseen

tell her things to say

as she waves her henna energy tattoo

at my charkas and God knows what else

TEARS AND BLOOD

EVERY MONTH

LIKE CLOCKWORK

WHEN I CAN HOLD

NO MORE

FIRST THE TEARS

AND THEN THE BLOOD

I AM EVER MINDFUL

AND IN AWE

OF THE GREAT GIFT

LIKE OLD FRIENDS

AND FOR THE LONGEST TIME

RELEASING THE ANGER AND PAIN

THE ONLY PATH OUT

FIRST THE TEARS

AND THEN THE BLOOD

CYNTHIA L. BRYANT

FEBRUARY 28, 1997

Temptation

Rises above trees like angels

Feathered with grace with freedom

recites words that ignite understanding

Bring peace to our suffering

Loves so safety is solemn as God

May it begin with me

Knows one another like self

All division an eerie regret

Apples grown in taste then design

Enjoyed far more than entice

A hungry world

8/31/2017

Terrarium

We snake the road to Mendocino

slither first one direction

then the other

dart through the canopy of redwoods

light redwoods light

preliminary rousting about of senses

preparation for entrance to the ether world

of mist and marvel

Flowers explode in kaleidoscope of colors

like entering Oz

blossoms of every spectacular hue

vibrant against the backdrop verdant globe

and blues on blue

1/19/2005

Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

– Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

Tests

When I go to this favored place in imaging

Where tall grass and cattails surround

Cool dark waters alive with reflection

A looking glass scrying questions

With no foreseeable answers

I gather abstract queries recovered from both sides

Dreamland and tangible tests

Mortality and frozen living pictured in shadows

Has this been a chosen path or one stumbled upon by fate

Gazing into test of reflection

A horrid dark entity appears solid

Holding its space faceless still nameless

Only aware of self yet threatening

I lean forward to catch a glimpse of the face

Who has come to do war over our existence

Wanting to know what I must challenge soon

Cutting short before a face is revealed

In enough time to keep from falling into the pond

Where I surely would drown

That Was Then…

I lust for yesterday’s volcanic heat

back to lava kisses

that liquefied knees

sent fourth fiery gush

of steam and fireworks

wetted for loving

Perched here

on crater’s edge

the virgin long sacrificed

to spectacular regeneration

I am transformed

That's Entertainment

I’M CERTAIN YOU FOUND

HIM UNCHALLENGING

YOU UNFETTERED AND CALM

PERHAPS THINKING HIM

TOO LITTLE EFFORT

FOR YOUR DAY’S TOLL

WITH NOTHING BETTER

ON THE MENU

YOU MOVED FORWARD

WITHOUT HESITATION

YOU HAD NO REAL NEED OF HIM

JUST THE RESOLVE

TO ENTERTAIN YOURSELF

FILLING A BORING MOMENT

HE CAME TO YOU THEN AWKWARD

NEVER SEEING THE PIT FALLS

OF A WOMAN WITH NO HEART

ONLY SPARE TIME TO FILL

MISSION COMPLETED NICELY

SATIATED FOR NOW

YOU SIMPLY TURNED AND WALKED

BACK OUT

LEAVING THE WRECKED MESS

OF ANOTHER HOME

SWEPT UP AND DISCARDED

AT LEISURE

AUGUST 25, 1997 1:45 P.M.

The Black Velvet Nude

Twenty–years-old

Dressed to the hilt

Cast party at your house, daddy

My date was an actor in the play

Remember the play that you got to die of

cancer in

The party was in full swing

Everyone drinking and pleased

with the turn out of the play

When you walked up to me

and my date, daddy

We watched as you ogled

the black velvet nude

hanging over the bar

And you told him

“This is a picture of my

daughter several years ago,

looks pretty good, doesn’t

she?”

September 27, 1997 9:41 A.M.

Poetry

on the way to the toilet

hung on walls

like graffiti

written in lipstick

worn ball point pens

County fair microphones

reserved for burnt out

has-beens

sing songs popular

in the 50’s, 60’s, 70’s

Not for words

worded just so

taking you to places

familiar in your soul

piqued by poignant scenes

unexplored

Watch Suzie Sunshine

amble through galleries

that exhibit poetry

mixed with fine arts

Eyes flick over poetry

Joe Blow spends hours

ruminating emotions

pouring over paintings

like the FBI

checking for prints

Slice poetry’s power

Leave it bleeding

like bad guys

making a getaway

taking what they need

leaving the body

I stay behind

lift unnoticed words

clutch tightly to breast

Breathe life back

into line and verse

July 4, 2000 7:oo PM

THE RATIONALE

YOU WERE SHOWING ME ABOUT LOVE

YOU WANTED ME TO LEARN TO BE WARM AND RESPONSIVE

YOU SAID IT WAS IMPORTANT THAT I LEARN THESE THINGS

SO I WOULD BE A GOOD WIFE SOME DAY

I LOVED YOU SO MUCH AND TRUSTED YOU COMPLETELY

YOU WERE MY DADDY, WHO WOULD ALWAYS TAKE CARE OF ME AND LOVE ME NO MATTER WHAT

DADDY , IT WAS ALL JUST A LIE

YOU TAUGHT ME ALL RIGHT

NOW WHEN I WANT TO MAKE LOVE TO MY HUSBAND, I'M EITHER NUMB OR SCARED

TOTALLY REPULSED OR CONFUSED

I WANT LOVE BUT I'VE LEARNED I HAVE TO EARN IT WITH SEX

SO IF I WANT LOVE, I SEEK SEX

AND IF I'M HORNY, I ONLY WANT TO HAVE AN ORGASM,BUT PLEASE DON'T LOVE ME, IT'S TOO PAINFUL

YOUR RATIONALE MAY HAVE HELPED YOU MOLEST AND RAPE ME WITHOUT ANY GUILT, BUT IT DIDN'T SAVE ME FROM FEELING GUILTY

I'M A GROWN WOMAN NOW, DAD

A GROWN WOMAN, WHO NEVER WAS AN INNOCENT CHILD

AND SHALL NOW ALWAYS BE A CHILD TRYING TO LEARN THE THINGS

YOU NEVER TAUGHT ME

AND UNLEARN THE THINGS YOU DID

5/15/93

The Castle Walls

Tall and sleek at first glance

And easy on the eye

Only on closer inspection

Finding places actually rough

And weathered with deep holes

Worn and chipped away

From nesting bird’s beaks

Perhaps burrowing beasts

Small fierce creatures finding shelter

From the dampness of night

The walls—

Facing the constant barrage from without

Defending the meek and maligned within

The castle remains safe, and oh so very

Isolated.

June 30, 1997 11:03 a.m.

THE DOOR

THERE IT STANDS

OPEN AND INVITING

MY PATHWAY TO SAFETY

PLEASE DON'T SHUT IT

YOU TURN MY SANCTUARY

INTO MY PRISON

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

FEAR

I HOLD IT TO ME LIKE A BIG COMFORTING PILLOW

IT IS MY BOUNDARY BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH

IT KEEPS ME SAFE

IT KEEPS ME FROZEN IN TIME

I KNOW IT WELL, MY FEAR

The Dream after the Phone Call

We traded breasts last night

passed them between us

like schoolgirls

trying on each others clothes

no words spoken

only a familiar glance

I wanted to know

what you were going through

not as a voyeur

or passive resistor

but as a card-carrying member

dues paid

I wanted to feel the white-hot shock

of finding the lump

“Big as a baseball!” you said

“Oh my God, No!” I said

“Cancer in both breasts!” the doctor said

C a n c e r

-- in both breasts!

7/19/2005

THE EXCUSE

I REALLY WISH I COULD MAKE UP MY MIND REGARDING WHAT TO DO ABOUT MY GALL BLADDER PROBLEMS. I WOKE UP THIS MORNING WITH SORENESS AROUND THAT AREA. SO, I THOUGHT ALL RIGHT, I'LL JUST HAVE THE SURGERY AND GET IT OVER WITH. THEN I FORGOT ABOUT IT AND STARTED DOING MY CHORES. I THOUGHT DON'T BE SO WEAK; YOU'LL BE FINE WITHOUT ANY SURGERY. IT SEEMS LIKE I JUST BOUNCE BACK AND FORTH. I'LL SEE THE SURGEON THIS FRIDAY, SO I HAD BETTER COME TO SOME RESOLUTION.

I FEEL IF I COULD JUST FILL MY LIFE WITH MORE ACTIVITY. THEN EVERYTHING ELSE WOULD BE BETTER. I HAVE SLOWLY BEEN DOING THAT. I REALLY WANT TO FILL MY LIFE WITH REALLY LIVING AND LOVING.

I WAS LISTENING TO A TALK SHOW THAT SAID THAT I CAN'T GO ON UNLESS I FINALIZE SOMETHING. I GUESS I WONDER WHAT IT IS I HAVEN'T FINISHED. SO, I CAN GET ON WITH REALLY LIVING. IT’S SOMETHING THAT I HAVE HELD ON TO, NOT THE SPIRIT HOLDING ME BACK. I JUST REALIZED THAT THIS TRUE. IF YOU DON'T TRY ANYTHING NEW, THEN YOU CAN'T BE DISAPPOINTED OR EVER FAIL. I GUESS THAT IT IS FEAR OF FAILURE THAT HAS CRYSTALLIZED ME INTO NO MOVEMENT. GOD KNOWS THAT MY HUSBAND HAS NEVER HELD ME BACK IN ANY WAY. NOR HAVE MY KIDS ALTHOUGH I'VE USED THEM AS AN EXCUSE IN MY MIND. I'VE KEPT SAFE AT HOME. I'VE ALSO STIFLED MYSELF UNTIL I CAN HERE MY SPIRIT SCREAMING FOR FREEDOM AND EXPRESSION. I GUESS CONCERN WITH SAFETY HAS BEEN KIND OF A DEATH. BUT NOW I WANT LIFE AND LOVE AND EXPRESSION. I JUST KNOW EXACTLY HOW TO GO ABOUT GETTING IT, OR EVEN WHAT IT IS.

THE GROUP

I NEED THE GROUP. I WANT THE GROUP TO FEEL SAFE. I FEEL VERY UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE NEW MEMBER.

I HAD TO SIT NEXT TO THEM LAST WEEK AND I WAS VERY ON GUARD AND UNSAFE FEELING MOST OF THE MEETING.

THEY WERE VERY ANGRY AND I AM AFRAID OF ANGER. THEY COME OFF AS CRAZY TO ME, AND I AM VERY AFRAID OF CRAZY.

THEY ARE BEING HUNTED DOWN BY A SATANIC CULT THAT THEIR PARENTS ARE IN, AND I AM VERY AFRAID OF ORGANIZED EVIL.

I HAVE A STRONG SENSE THAT THEY ARE LYING AND I DON'T KNOW WHY.

I AM ANGRY THAT OUR GROUP LEADER ALLOWED THE PERSON INTO OUR GROUP. I FEEL SINCE WE ARE NOT MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES, AND WE WERE NOT VICTIMS OF RITUAL ABUSE, BUT ARE ALL INCEST SURVIVORS. THAT IS MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR ME TO DEAL WITH. I FEEL BETRAYED BY OUR GROUP LEADER, IN A WAY BECAUSE IT IS UP TO THEM TO MAINTAIN A SAFE SPACE FOR GROUP. I FEEL THEY HAVE MADE A POOR DECISION IN ALLOWING A RITUAL ABUSE, MULTIPLE PERSONALITY IN OUR INCEST SUPPORT GROUP.

NOW I FEEL I HAVE TO PUSH MY UNSAFE FEELING DOWN, JUST SO I CAN HAVE THE SUPPORT OF THE GROUP. I HAVE TOLD THE LEADER HOW AFRAID AND UNCOMFORTABLE I WAS. I DON'T WANT TO SAY THIS TO THE GROUP BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO UPSET THE NEWCOMER OR MAKE THEM FEEL UNWANTED. IT ISN'T THEIR FAULT WHO THEY ARE AND WHAT WAS DONE TO THEM. SO, DO I STAY OR GO?

OCTOBER 10, 1993

The Guest

Were I to host a party

the first thing I would buy

plenty of colorful tasty treats

or know the reason why

I’d place a nose gay on each table

add interesting knickknacks as well

never have too much there

just enough to cast a spell

Entertainment would be quit diverse

music from salty to smooth

dancing throughout the night

something for every mood

The guest list would include the finest

the wittiest and best

not the kind I’m hosting now

for the influenza guest

September 3, 2000 7:43 AM

The Jokes on Me

In my early 20’s

I remember feeling special

known by my peers as the

Queen of Double Entendre

Young, sexy and available

to any male that caught

my fancy, I continued my

masquerade for many years,

totally ignorant of my history

of sexual abuse

As I think on it today,

beads of sweat roll down my back

and the taste of bile forms in my mouth

I hear echoes from long ago,

my favorite quick comeback,

to the pick of the night

I retort with a coquettish smile,

“You can’t rape the willing”

8/13/1997

Acting it Out

You’ve overcome so many barriers:

declining years of fertility, diabetes,

his vasectomy. Pregnant now finally, and

all seems right, joyfully making plans for a

new arrival

The situation reminds me of another

hopeful young woman, overcoming many obstacles,

but finally acquiring daughters through adoption

Same as your own life, neither ever dealt with past

emotional baggage. Hoping to make it right by osmosis

Starting a family, with fresh clean children

Both married men with complementary

histories, who fulfilled their needs

through seduction—reducing children to

gaping holes of convenience

Yesterdays molested children going on to

adulthood unheard—frantically acting out

the drama once more. Hoping this time, to change

forever the oozing wounds of days gone by

1997

The Joust of Jesters

When cruelty enters your eyes

and the hostility leaves my lips

And all I can think of is what an

absolute fool you are and how I

know all that is best for you even

when you seem oblivious to the

truth, and then you look at me with

hurt on your face and all at once I

Remember how much I love that

face and the man who has so much

wisdom and compassion to give,

realizing even if I win, I’ll lose.

So who is the fool now?

July 30, 1997 10:36 a.m.

THE LIE

"WE WERE SPECIAL"

"WE WERE WANTED"

"WE WERE ADOPTED"

INSTEAD OF COMING INTO THIS WORLD THROUGH A MISTAKEN NIGHT OF LUST

"WE WERE PICKED OUT"

"THEY DIDN'T HAVE TO HAVE US"

"WE WERE WANTED"

WANTED TO FULFILL THE DESIRES OF THOSE

WHOM GOD HAD TAKEN AWAY THE PRIVILEGE OF CONCEPTION

"WE WERE SPECIAL"

"WE WERE WANTED"

"WE WERE ADOPTED"

HONORED GUEST

THEY'VE BEEN PREPARING FOR WEEKS

THE CLEANING AND REPAIRING

THE REPLACING AND THE RENOVATING

THEY READY THEIR HOME FOR THE GREAT HONOR OF MAKING WELCOME

THE CHILD MOLESTER

1996

The Monkeys

In the den of my childhood

on varnished wooden shelves

layered between square glass bricks

three porcelain monkeys’ squat

next to The Kinsey Report

one book over from The Tropic of Cancer

God’s Little Acre, Peyton Place, Valley of the Dolls

sandwich assorted dime-store murder mysteries

Prominently placed on the end

Emily Post’s Book of Etiquette

rests on a stack of Playboy magazines

Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories

a gift with our set of encyclopedias

leans over the dog-eared copy

of Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care

Mother, years later rebuked Dr. Spock

for having the audacity to speak against

The American Way, The Viet Nam War

She was sure he was the harbinger

for a whole spoilt generation

raised and coddled on his advice

The three monkeys sit stoic

unchanged in memory

their human-like-hands

cover the first monkey’s eyes

cup over the second monkey’s ears

clamp on the third monkey’s mouth

Omnipresent

in our home

they never saw

heard

or said a thing

August 25, 2002 7:10pm

THE MOTHER HOLE

THERE'S A PLACE I GO

WHERE NO LIGHT IS EMITTED

WHERE THE WALLS ARE TALL AND SLEEK

I GO THERE WHEN I THINK OF THEM

THERE IS NO PLACE TO HIDE THERE

NO WAY TO EARN LOVE

NO KIND WORDS OR REASONS TO GO ON

THIS PLACE IS MY HELL ON EARTH

I CALL IT THE MOTHER HOLE

THE HOLE ITSELF WAS BUILT BY BOTH OF THEM

I STILL RETURN TO IT PERIODICALLY

IT STILL GIVES NO LIGHT

NO WARMTH

AND MY LITTLE GIRL STILL SHUDDERS FROM THE PAIN THERE

PERHAPS AS THE ADULT

I NEED TO BLOW IT UP AND FILL IT IN

PUT UP WARNING SIGNS

SO THAT WONDERFUL LITTLE GIRL WHO IS ME

DOESN'T GET SUCKED BACK INTO

THAT OLD UGLY MOTHER HOLE

10/11/95

GOING AWAY

EVERY TIME YOU GO AWAY

I GO SPINNING

SPINNING BACK

BACK TO MY CHILDHOOD

DADDY, WILL YOU COME BACK THIS TIME

OR WILL I BE LEFT ALONE TO FEND FOR MYSELF

EVERY TIME YOU GO AWAY

I FACE YOUR DEATH

OR IS IT JUST THE END OF ME

10/24/92

The Obvious Interruption

Settled in at the desk

computer on

hands flash like lightening

across the keyboard

ideas bolt out

one after another

with the intensity

of a summer storm

My son hovers above

breathes warmth

raises hackles

on my neck

“What are you doing Mom?”

I turn slowly

eyes glare

over glasses

Baking a cake!

May 13, 2000

The Poetry Reading: A Prequel

Usually

by the time it happens

the pound of flesh

is already sacrificed

An ounce or two

in the writing

several more

in tedious rewrite

a couple more ounces

toward an introduction

order of presentation

what to wear

The last week spent

trudging

up and down

the same narrow path

speaking words

into a room filled

with books

references to the craft

machines that record

then magically spit out

polished product

and my Boston Terrier, Gilligan

who listens attentively

between soft snores

I stand tall at the imaginary podium

out of patchwork memories

I create an audience seated in front of me

then silently pray my dog’s behavior

is not a portent

of things to come

9/21/2005

The Opening

For years the fence has stood

bewitched barrier between us and them

the blanched landmark

licked clean by the heat of the sun

Handy perch for neighboring Jays

favorite walk of the stray Tom

who stalks the menagerie of our yard

then suns himself on fence’s ledge

Another winter has passed

some of fence’s once fine wood

has given way to the elements

creating a pathway to new horizons

February 20, 2002 12:42 PM

Poems 1 & Other Stuff

To have your remarks added to page send to cynthialanebryant@gmail.com

Remarks

VOID…

To have your remarks added to page send to cynthialanebryant@gmail.com

Hummingbird

​

Remarks-Lock Her Up

"Powerful Poem"

Anita May, LA Poet/ Editor

​

"Amazing Poem"

Cold Skin

Afraid of the Dark

Fragrant Remembrance

Atlas

At 70…

Acoustic Shadowing

Swooping up morsels with agility

if your already queasy stomach allows

While his clean well-fed children

ALL THE FEAR

And all that they see

Untold Legacy

thought up to appease Pagans

​

Half- Hearted

Byways of discourse

Heaven on Earth

Heavenly lights flicker

Do the walls still whisper your name

Or wandering out-cast gypsy girl

Cynthia L. Bryant

replace it if it’s all used up

It Could Have Been …

Many satisfying moments of adolescence

Stop in the name of love before you…”

Lullaby and …

Nesting

Two newlyweds

And all that they see

sanity

Let it resonate

May 30, 1997

Roll Call

Like a silent horror flick

who bind and gag

its purpose

Sexual revolution in its prime

But nobody wins

Hippies the happening folks

Tuning in, turning on and dropping out

God’s Little Acre, Peyton Place, Valley of the Dolls

Poems 1
&
Other Stuff

To have your remarks added to page
send to cynthialanebryant@gmail.com

To have your remarks added to page
send to cynthialanebryant@gmail.com