vapor pressure

My stomach gnarls as i read
smooth words drip
one letter at a time
from finger tips
tapping 'cross your key board

You write of wounds
your own and others
yet what of those
you've inflicted
amidst your so-called
justified tone

A hypocrite of hypocrites
one who offers healing
while exacting harms
without remorse
dismissing the inflictions
as inconsequential

Such can cause my blood to boil
perhaps burning away the chaff
of my own self-hatred
to which you at one time
offered solace

Your genius calls
and you are heeding
i'm sure some will profit
i pray it be not at the expense
of another wounded soul


judithpiper
12/16/10

***

When I read certain essays or articles or sharings from people who offer help and healing among those who are in process of recovery and rediscovery after cultic involvement... When I read certain pieces penned by authors with whom I've had personal and intimate experience of their own hypocrisy exacted toward myself and/or others that I know... When I read such, I sometimes find myself feeling rage, leaning toward a feeling of hatred, of their words, and even of them. Their words to me lack authenticity, even though the words may sound compassionate, smoothly laced with honey.

No doubt, the authors have helped some people...maybe many...and perhaps even me. But then The Way helped me too. Other organizations, by whom people have been harmed, have helped other people...and initially maybe helped even those who ended up harmed.

As I've stated elsewhere: In any so-called service/support organization, if people are expendable, therein the org is fraudulent.

We all harm others at some point. It is the denial, the dismissing of those harms, that makes the hypocrite.

At times, I imagine most all humans find themselves as the hypocrite. Hopefully we own up and thus become more Hippocratic than hypocritic.

The catharsis of the keyboard. It doth help me when anger tries to squeeze its grip upon my heart toward vengeance.

embalm

underneath my skin
just beneath the surface
an unreachable itch
vacillating, floating
trying to push through

to reveal, to disclose
to expose, to liberate

the tiny morsels
suppressed by authority
screaming for release
so as to not be buried

where 1000 splinters
morph into boards
solidified plywood
encasing my heart
as it silently pulses

september 10, 2010
judithpiper

***
Verbal abuse plus the silent treatment.
A soul murdering combination.
But only if I allow it.
***

Tribute for Acetabular

You served me well
You grew with me
Together we ran, we jumped, we danced
We made love

Every moment you were with me

Your pain then spoke
Sometimes I'd listen
Other times I'd push through
Cursing you beneath my breath

You heard every utterance

I'm sorry for my bitter words
Still, you continued to serve
The best you could
Still, you made your pain known

Now you are forever gone

In a matter of half-hours
Incision, folds, cuts, disengagement
It was time, you see
You lived with unforgiving pain

So did I

I think you'd be pleased
With your surrogate
Your peers and I have accepted it
Welcomed it, though it can never be you

It doesn't pulse with the life you had

Yet, it is becoming one with us
And we believe it will serve well
Valiantly, and hopefully
For our length of days

I honor you

I will not forget you
Thank you for your decades
Of life and service
 
I wonder....  
Is there a hip heaven?

August 20, 2008
judithpiper


****

On August 6, 2008, I received a new hip (acetabular) via total hip replacement surgery.  The new joint and auxilaries are a combo of titanium and other materials of which I cannot recall at the moment.  My new member doesn't squeak. I've heard that some hips from previous construction days do. I can't imagine having a replacement part that squeaks.  eek!

I'm young for hip replacement surgery.  Most likely, the osteoarthritis was brought on by high doses of steroids that I had to ingest for years and years in order to keep me breathing; I had suffered with serious adult-onset asthma.  Steroids have a tendency to mess up the bones.  However, most of me bones are in good shape considering the circumstances. Nutrition and exercise played vital roles in keeping them healthy amidst the steroid invasion.

When I initially went for my consultation with the surgeon he was going over my x-rays with me and stated, "You have really small bones."  As we ended the review, he pondered the gray and black and white medical photograph.  After a moment he stated (again), "Gosh, you have small bones."  At that point I asked, "Is that a problem?"

There were a few complications. The recuperating process was rough and long.  It took over one year for me to be fully functional.  I need to get back to exercising now! The complications are mostly smoothed now.  And my hip glides well these days.  It's fun to engage some positions I'd not been afforded for years.

Yay for titanium and Dr. David Howe and Forsyth Medical Center.  They done real good!

Safe Place

Photo ~
dismembered, napalmed leg
Dream ~
dismembered, bloodied appendage

I have been dismembered

To re-member is to bring back together
It's o.k. to remember

I am not in physical danger
I am safe
My physical needs are met

I am not in emotional danger
I can call for support
JK, John, friends

Sometimes I hurt
From what I am not sure
Just deep, deep pain

It's o.k. to cry in this safe place

june 29, 2009
judithpiper

An Eagle Soars

(The sequel to likeaneagle)

**********************
To Carole...
"Death of a Friend" 
by Loren Robert DiGiorgi - Composer, Performer, Producer
(click #3)
Thanks to Loren for sharing his exquisite gift.
********************************

Beauty more splendid than lily of the field
Bubbling like brook that sings
Strength of Appaloosa on the plain
Wisdom of redwood standing tall
Grace of eagle in flight

Your every heartbeat enlivened with hope
Every breath energized with life
Every cell performed its task valiantly
Some tore down
Others rebuilt
They battled the best they could
Served until the last breath

In Autumn light, red and golden hues,
A tree sheds its final leaf
Cloud lets go a snowflake
Icicle prisms dance your song
In Spring, the sweet aroma of new life
Will honor your every breath
The giant mammal will slap her mighty tail
On the ocean waters
Your laughter and awe to recall

Know you are honored
The ship in the harbor awaits
I hope one day we all shall sail
As far as our hearts desire

Thank you for being a friend
Thank you for sweet memories

November 25, 2008
judithpiper


I had written the poem likeaneagle in August, 2008. It was a prayer for Carole, a prayer for strength and tenacity to be able reach beyond the despair of the medical diagnosis of cancer, stage 4. Carole had great hope and much support from family and friends.

Carole and I kept in touch via phone, email, and some US mail.

I received a photograph from Carole via US mail around November 18. Ships were afloat in a harbor. With it was a note; it was one of Carole's favorite spots. She had taken the shot while visiting the harbor in the last few months, September I think.

Around November 23 I received an email from one of Carole's daughters wondering if I could make a trip to see Carole. Of course I felt some guilt, but Carole understood. I wasn't well enough from major surgery I had had in August, a full hip replacement with some complications. I simply couldn't make the trip.

I received an email sometime late on November 25th. Carole had drawn her last breath. My heart broke again....as it does writing this post. Yet it also smiles for the blessings Carole bestowed, her goodness and grace and sweet laughter that still echos.

I revised likeaneagle, in Carole's honor, to An Eagle Soars. Both poems were read at her memorial service which was held in Chicago, her hometown.

I hope one day there is that great ship on which to sail together. And it better serve Carole's favorite wine!! And have some Scrabble boards. :-)

To Carole. May she sweetly rest, until then....

Approval No Longer the Master

(note:  language warning)


I despise these fucking standards
Decades fed with perfectionism 
I wish I could simply erase
This god-damned approval addiction

Self-blame a constant resident 
Yet, the guilt does not all lie with me
Perhaps it's within the warped standards
Of a false-sterile society

I've grown to detest sterility
Breeding its disease in secrecy
A playground for deception
Murdering individuality

How do I flee this beguilement
Without loosing a ravenous beast
Whose been chained and finally tastes freedom
With a lusting impulse to feast

Upon the cravings denied it
Once starved of the sense to feel
To allow emancipation
Will its hunger therein be healed

Or this insatiable desire to feed
To express without repression
Will it slay that which it needs
And devour its yearned for companion

Nay, if allowed to follow its longing
The famine put out to pasture
This beast will patiently gentle
Approval no longer the master

april 1, 2007
judithpiper


Unrelenting standards are one of the customary fares in a totalistic group. To the group, appearances are more important than the individual. There is to be no hint of error, else the doctrine might be proven as wrong. There is a sickening air of a sterile, emotionless, humanless culture. Seldom are performed tasks good enough.

This perfectionism can stifle creativity and cause one to fear and box their own expression. It can lead to an incessant strive for approval.

There are duties in life that need great precision, such as a carpenter's saw or the surgeon's scalpel or even an artist's pen. But other tasks in life do not require such. Chairs don't have to be straight nor every bed wrinkle smoothed nor every place setting exactly even.

A few months prior to penning this poem I had discovered poetrypages.com. For me the site was (and is) like a breath of fresh air! To be able to express myself in a public setting was a remarkable step in recovery. Yes, it was scary (and sometimes still is). At the same time it was (is) liberating: to express and to be able to make mistakes, without fear of constant correction (from myself or others.).

The beast is slowly being gentled. However with its gentling, I'd like to not lose its wild side. :-)


btw: I've tried to find another word besides "sterility" to end the first line of verse three. But alas, I fail to find one I like. Any suggestions are appreciated!

Killing a Thesaurus

The following poem is not authored by me. I post it for some laughs and dedicate it to every writer. It is on my favorite poems list. It was written by Sweet Insanity. Enjoy!!

(note: contains some 'language' )


Killing a Thesaurus
by Sweet Insanity

Specks of red appeared on the leather cover
as I beat it repeatedly against a wall.
Turning on the oven to its highest possible temperature,
I did not wait for it to become fully heated
before I wrenched the door open,
threw it inside,
just to watch it burn, burn, burn.
“Die, you fucking word nazi!
Fucking die die die die die die die!!!”
My teeth grinding into one another.
Sallow is a stupid, pitiful word,
couldn’t I just say yellow instead?
The covers parted like two full, ugly lips,
bellowing “NO!” in response.
Too confident for its own good,
I knew then that I would have to kill it.
It didn’t see the hammer before I screamed,
“Goddamn know-it-all. Burn in hell you bastard!”
It made a hollow sound
as I beat it ruthlessly.
By the time I emerged from the kitchen
with a chainsaw,
it was too helpless to defend itself.
Five hours of diligent battle
until there it lay,
tattered,
shredded,
spilling out the last red
of its annoying, maddening, gigantic vocabulary.
I bent down, whispering to it,
“I win. I win you son of a bitch.”



http://poetrypages.com/phpBB3/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=49225

About this blog

technology evolved ~ parchment altered
humanity evolved ~ the cry of the soul remains
voice of poetry ~ language of the heart
anthology ~ a gathering of flowers
of which there is a multitude
~*~

In this modern information age, parchment has changed. Everyday billions of symbols and characters appear upon the cyber page. Yet, the cry of the human soul continues as it has for thousands of years: to be acknowledged, to be heard, to embrace life, to flee from life, to face death, to flee from death, with all the facets in between.

An anthology is a collection of poetry/prose. The roots of the word 'anthology' mean "a gathering of flowers."

Thus this blog is a 'gathering of flowers'...of which there is a multitude. Some of splendor and life; others of loss and death. Yet each is significant; each deserves honoring.

With many of the poems I relay some of the context at the time the poem was written. Some poems may be years, or even decades old. All poems/prose are authored by me unless otherwise stated. I sign some with my pen name, Judith Piper.

Many of my poems/prose express the loss, grief, longing, rage, searching, confusion and other emotions that surface as a result of living through challenges of life, some of them traumatic. Some poems express hopes and dreams. Writing poetry and journaling have been two of my main therapeutic helps.

Each individual has a journey; each journey is significant. There are no non-persons; there are no non-events. I hope humanity can someday learn to honor one another with the respect and love we each deserve.

To Life!

Thanks for visiting...

~Carol
9/29/08


Is there ever a final draft? ~moi
Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance. ~Carl Sandburg