May 12

Heading Home

Heading Home 6.14.16

Heading home used to fill me with Dread
As I would steady myself for the onslaught
Definitely putting up fortresses in my head
Every breath hastened with fraught

Nowadays heading home is one of my pleasures
As I wind my way down Old Highway 53
A sense of elation I cannot measure
The mountains a cue to set my heart free

Navigate curves betwixt Precambrian mountains
The Appalachians swallow up the radio signal
As I motor to my secret bastion
All my cares fade and dwindle

The road nestles in along the valley
Talking rocks and baptizing holes for landmarks
Peaks rising up and stealing sunlight greedily
The great mountains like massive bulwarks

To my left a Mountain Road appears
A 30 degree slope as it makes its climb
Past little cabins up a single-lane I must steer
Ears popping twice as I mount the incline

To manage the ascent my truck strains and pulls
Around dog leg bends and double back turns
I reached the peak taking in Mountain Air by the lung full
And suddenly a husband chickens and a farm are my sole concerns

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April 3

If I Could

If I Could

If I could
I would fold myself away
Like a love note saved
for a rainy day.

If I could
I would ride away
like the hero
at the end of the play.

If I could
I would find a way to convey
Like a telegram
important news concisely displayed

If I could
Like a businessman with skills to parlay
I would find my niche
And never stray

If you would
just let me retreat for one day
I would find my center
and be able to act out the play

Really I should just divest myself
of the worry and fret
stop trying to hedge my bets
and just pray.

~Charlotte 6.7.09

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April 3

Wonderland Lost

Wonderland Lost

There is no Cinderella
Peter Pan is grown
That doesn’t keep him sober
Nor does it keep him home

Old King Cole’s not so merry
His wife’s the Wicked Witch
Red Riding Hood seeks shelter
From her wrath – and her switch

Wonderland is a wasteland
The Giving Tree a stump
Little Bo Peep’s playground
Is a needle-infested dump

Harold grabs his purple crayon
And draws Jonah’s whale
In its belly he finds his haven
A compulsory fairy-tale

~Charlotte Greer Slater 2011

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April 3

Here lies the body of Charlotte Greer

Here lies the body of Charlotte Greer
Whose mouth would stretch from ear to ear
Be careful as you tread this sod
For if she gapes, you’re gone by god

Here lies the body of Charlotte Greer
How she came of it was rather queer
She advises you inspect the boards at the pier
For the boards are not always what they appear
Here lies the body of Charlotte Greer

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April 3

The Opening Eye

The opening eye

I close my eyes so we might see
the one I’ve always ignored.
They wait there still for us to be
and for our sight to be restored.

Peeling back my lips
exposing muscle, veins and skull,
now over shoulders, chest, and hips
we shed, and now we’ll mull.

Layers of armor, useless now,
we will abandon here!
For they weigh us down
and it is time for “I” to disappear.

Shrugging off these suits of me
a tedious process, yes.
But when we’re done we all shall see
through these eyes that we possess.

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April 3

Condemnation

Condemnation

Tripping over thoughts,
stumbling over questions.
Just can’t connect the dots,
keep your fucking suggestions.

Searching for the end of infinite,
wading through an ocean of bullshit.
I’ll find my way if it fucking kills me,
crawling up from this cold, dark pit.

Their expectations upon my shoulders,
pulling me down to drown like them.
Sailing into crimson waters,
my sun is flickering, getting dim.

I hold on tight, but I’m losing grip,
slipping away from my destination.
I feel reality begin to rip,
moments away from dissipation…
and then I let them go.

They fall to the flourescent fires,
“Don&’t you fucking know
I have my own desires?”

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April 3

Motivation

What of motivation?
unconscious or denied
helps us reach our destination
or at least say we tried

Some hold motivation impure
filled with calculated desire
aimed at increasing tenure
building an empire

the narcissist fuels motivation
harmful thoughts inspired
unleashes it on his target
yielding results his mind conspires

destructive by nature
deliberate in consequence
forethought defter
delivered with poisonous pretense

sample evil incarnate
if you dare
leaving you prostrate
and fighting for air

for the narcissist will always prevail
will wear you down
in all his bent motives entail
delivering your breakdown

~Charlotte Greer Slater
7.30.13

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March 27

The Trophy

The Trophy

The seas are ever so stormy,
And no land in sight.
Will this craft buck and reel for eternity,
With me trapped tight?

I am conflicted
I am loved
I am addicted
I am shoved

I am witness to chaos
I am torn
I am soaked in pathos
I want to be reborn

I , the trophy gathering dust on a shelf
Then comes a man who admires me for what I am
He, that he loves me for myself
Picked me up and dusted the hurt way, opening the dam

We both said this will end in tears
From the start it was out of our control
And we both dread our worst fears
But here we are now- heart and soul

Is there a happy ending?
Can we make all this work?
Is it wrong, the time and love I am spending?
Or are we all hopeless jerks?

I am now the shiny trophy
Yet still tied down by the other
You woke me to the catastrophe
But I am still beholden to another

How do I reconcile with the pain?
How would I go on without you?
Although I try in vain
I still love you….I still love you.

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March 27

There is a place

There is a place

Wrapped in brown paper and tied with string

Waiting for me….

 

Occluded by plain paper, belying its beautiful contents

And in the half light I can almost see it.

Moving through the fields and whispering pines

Over well mended fences and sleeping horses so fine.

 

The people who once lived here loved this place, 

and now I get to love it the same

my mother and her dearest wish

became my dearest wish

and look what it all became

 

now I will tend the farm

I will till the soil

I will plant the seeds

I will fret over the weather a bit

And I will reap the peace and happiness

 

In the night the creek will babble

The cicadas will drone

The owl will sing his plaintive whistling song

While my family sleep

 

In the mornings the animals will stir

Light will pour in through every window

Steaming mugs of tea will welcome the awakenings

There are children, a husband and animals to feed

 

Horses wait impatiently for grain and hay

Hens sit their eggs and wait for scratch

Dogs lie in the morning sun

Vegetables sit ripe and dew fallen waiting to be picked for dinner

 

I see the entrance now…

A sign crafted by me

An avenue of trees

A destination called home.

 

~Charlotte 7.16.09

 

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