I HEAR YOU

I HEAR YOU
[Voices Unheard]
2009(C)Judith A.Boggess



I hear you.
Hear what you say
as you defend your position,
ignore my reasoning,
blame me, but say:
Not I. Not me!

Oh, deft dealer of
two-pronged words that
pierce soul,
stabs, pokes,
prods emotional excrement,
all the while
denying existence
of pink elephant.

Your silence speaks.

I hear anger radiating
from a look,
see cemented bitterness
weighting lip-corners
into downhill channels,
feel rush of exhaled disgust,
impatience,contempt.

Am I so heinous
to gaze upon?
Is there something
less than suicide,
something less final,
but equally satisfying to you
that I could commit?
Could I bleed all over you
to wash away your humdrum years,
your unshed tears?

Tired, I am of carrying
this yoke of your presumptive
descent into hell,
while you,
all innocent,
deny being player
in this loveless
Chinese checker
game of
obligation,
loyalty,
commitment.

LIVING LIFE GIVEN

LIVING LIFE GIVEN
2009© Judith A. Boggess



Summer rain ends
fragrant residue
lingers . . .
suspended . . .
inhale
breathe deep
pause
smile
time out
slow down doing
inhale
deeply
stand motionless
one moment
fix the scent
in memory
recall
this needed
embrace
gentle reminder
of treasures found
in daily routine
of living
a life given

FALSE WORLD

FALSE WORLD
2009 © Judith A. Boggess
[Voices Unheard]


False world gave hope
to life turned gray,
melted sour face
greeting each day,
with gift out of the blue,
bringing sunlight and laughter,
unfolding petals
of heart grown cold,
with hug of words
full of joy and remorse for love
foolishly parted,
left so long ago.

Embrace awakens ardor,
a dangled teasing carrot,
so near but out of reach,
far from touch, taste, and smell . . .
left to reminiscence,
resurrect feelings
long buried but never dead—
feelings shuttered,
lamenting in quiet of night.

False world.
Fairy tale ending a lie,
no prince,
no princess,
no sunset ride,
Only temptation left untouched,
and passion lies moldering in cup,
as mind flogs self for excursions into
what cannot be,
cannot be told,
cannot be held,
cannot be kissed.

False world begs: Wait.
Promises not to turn away,
Promises to come one day,
a gift ordained to be opened
when love will not, as in past,
leave again.
It will not be bid adieu.

Older, wiser, restrained, cautious.
What is will not go missing,
what is will not stray,
a vow, heart lived each day.

Yes, older, wiser,
stronger in will,
for through hell and heaven
life’s journey went,
survived decades alone in spirit,
if not in body,
finding love has returned . . .,
it will not be surrendered
whatever the wait,
whatever the cost,
no, no,
not you
ever again,
lost.

DAMN FATE!

DAMN FATE!
February 2008©Judith A. Boggess


Bewildered,
dissatisfied,
irritated,
distressed,
alone . . .
so alone.

ongoing battle,
emotions
roller coaster
high up,
low down,
stomach churns . . .

loyalty . . .
well-chiseled trap,
integrity grins,
bears the rap.

fate deals
cards of chance
places bets into
abyss of possibilities,
with no winning hand.

mirror reflects
unknown alien features,
questions go unanswered,
refusing label of
good,
bad . . .
for what is, is,
what will be
isn’t yet.

Damn fate!
its interminable wait
with dark days
casting lingering shadows,
blanketing hot sun
ready to awake
blossoms fortified
by tarnished tears,
pink hope,
red promises,
green future
rainbow wrapped joy . . ..

Damn fate!

CRAZY?

CRAZY?

[from Voices Unheard]

2009©Judith Boggess

Crazy?

Do it

Stomp gas pedal

Aim for pole

Fly off friggin’ bridge

Give up control

Let go

No one will miss you

Maybe . . .but not for long.

Crazy?

No.

Tired

Living life’s game

Jumping hoops

Tripping over hurdles

Playing safe

Digging deep

Finding no grace.

Crazy?

Go away

Leave alone

Get out of head

Done talking

Going home.

Going to bed.

Not Born a Bastard

[Voices unheard]

17 July 2007 © Judith A. Boggess

You
from
infant to
age three
beaten,
abused,
arm broken,
small back fused
to pelvis from too many
spankings before you could
walk or talk . . .
too violent to be believed.

See
belt crack bare skin,
find whipping willow
branch snapped,
See
fists pummel,
toddler who could not run
or know to shout for help.

You
slammed to floor,
thrown to wall,
kicked by the sadist’s
steel toe construction boot,
all
before
age four.

Hugged?
Never.

Wanted?
Never.

Loved?
Never.

Oh, victim son of father’s hate.

You,
not favored one,
punished for playing
not protecting sibling
from a natural fall
You,
hit with bat for that
at age eight.

You,
by “trusted” friend
raped,
12 to 13,

Plied with alcohol,
lured with free drugs.

LSD, marijuana, speed,
failed to erase,
life corroding dreams
from hell and rapid
decent from grace.

“Don’t look at me,”

you cried, and in
drunken teenage rage
take chair to table
a crashing blow, and

fist to wall with
bone-breaking force.

“Don’t look at me,”
you cried at 17,
in shame and despair as
sodomy’s victim
reveals his pain.

Years of fears and tears slip by,
booze, cocaine and barroom fights
at 30 cannot black out fearsome,
fermenting rage fed by instant replays
of horror scenes left unshared,
No, no, no . . .go away . . . night terrors
all denied by light of day.

You,
having to be near death’s split hair—
as when father with pillow
placed over your crying infant face,
in attempt to take your life
turn off your air—
You,
in search of tender embrace,
not trusting love of God or man
in any shape or form,
substitute leather belt noose,
and
You
for three glorious seconds
can feel caressed and
maybe blessed
as body and senses thrill
alone to one last ecstatic release,
to climax,
to pass out,
dangle from belted bliss,
behind closed door,
death sneaks in,
steals your breath,
leaves . . .

You,
dangling
rag doll,
Midwest motel,
back of bathroom door
naked as you were born,
found,
next day,
to housekeeper’s fright,
and shriek: O, horrific sight!

Mortified
you would be
for family, friends to see,
simplest pleasure,
for you denied
unless reliving
suffocating,
afraid,
being ready to die.

Dead and gone
your memory tainted,
colored by untimely sad end.
No one cares to remember
the toddler always smiling,
the man always a helping friend.

Not even in death,
as unconscionable as it may seem,
can love and forgiveness be granted
to the tortured man who had dreams.

The living are an unloving, unforgiving lot.
It chills me to the core,
that even in death
You
are
reviled,
blackguarded

called Bastard, and more.

LOVE NEVER DIES

[VOICES UNHEARD]

2008(C)Judith A. Boggess

Love never dies, .

It goes backburner,
simmers,
days,
years,
true love,
first love never dies.

fades,
tarnishes,
waits to be polished,
to shine another day.
to come back
to taunt,

to challenge,
to rekindle sparks that flamed
like no other flame since,
And age old request asks,
Why?

Why now?

Why not sooner?

TOP FLITE

2008(C)Judith A. Boggess

Took a walk.
Found a turkey feather.
Picked it up.
Pondered it.
Wondered why?
Why this feather?
Why on this walk?
Message from Creator?

Turkey feather,
gray-brown,
symbol of Native American give-away.

Does this Native American
gray-brown head with
round body of turkey
need give something away?
Twirling feather between two fingers,
I wonder.

Took a walk

Found a Top-Flite golf ball.
Picked it up.
Pondered it.
Wondered why?
Why this golf ball?
Why on this walk?

Golf ball,
round with cellulite dimples,
number 2 stamped in red,
model XL 2000,
super titanium.

Message from Creator?
Me, round,
cellulite dimples,
number 2, not 1,
XL (extra large) 2000,
super woman,

scars and dents
and dirt, but still
Top Flite!
least I forget.

WHEN

[Voices Unheard]
2008(c) Judith A. Boggess

When did
lovers
become
no more . . .
instead
became
friends,
living,
sharing,
watching
life’s pages turn,
soft breeze,
spring to winter,
year after graying year.

When did
passion fade,
abandonment
start,
blind eye
turn permanent,
hearing
turn off,
complacency
set in,
wants
get
lost?

When did
tongue
sour,
thoughts
go bitter,
dreams
grow
cold,
denial
become a
sacrament . . .
and
desire,
respect,
begin
moldering?

When
did
love’s
light
once
warm . . .
in
your
eye . . .
die?

When did
tongue
sour,
thoughts
go bitter,
dreams
grow
cold,
denial
become a
sacrament . . .
and
desire,
respect,
begin
moldering?

When
did
love’s
light
once
warm . . .
in
your
eye . . .
die?