poetry – Page 10 – Charlottes Art

December 26

Three Strikes You Are Out, Ole Blazer

Gone baby gone,

You went and ruined it this time

Gone baby gone

Maybe you will finally opine

She’s run away for good this time

Fled from the all too familiar scene

It could have been frogs fur fine

But you misdirected the whole damned thing

So she’s gone baby gone

And you are left with nothing

Resolved herself before dawn

And left you the ring

So sit back most eligible bachelor

And wait for the next fool

Three strikes you are out Ole Blazer

Surely you know the rules

CvWG

10.2.18

Category: All of Charlotte's Poetry | Comments Off

December 26

Wasteful Inelegance

Wasteful Ineligance

I’ve begun to think on when one is gone from this Earth and there is nothingness, and a whole lifetime of love and pain and knowledge is extinct, experience for naught — forgotten. It all seems wasteful to me, inelegant.

The universe is usually so parsimonious, conservation of energy and such, but not when it comes to knowledge and experience or even love. When it comes to love, the universe is hardly profligate.

I know there is my maker, does he keep all of my knowledge dear? How does one explain ghosts? Some discorpor of human personality that has survived mortal extinction?

Empirical evidence for such aside, I have witnessed the opposite — a body that has outlasted the existence of the personality… and that is a ghostly horror in itself.

Charlotte

Category: Like Soliloquies | Comments Off

December 26

Try Again

It’s like a nightmare,

Just the thought of going up against him again,

Suddenly feel stripped naked and bare,

My whole being I must defend.

As if I’m back in the torture chamber,

Every nerve lain bare,

Failing completely to remember,

Any defenses I prepared.

Like the cream atop the milk jug,

Every insecurity surfaces,

Left alone once again with this thug,

I am at cross purposes.

Be courageous and fight for my girls,

Run, hide, find solace far away,

A myriad of hurts this next move unfurls,

Much to my ardent dismay.

Do I face a thousand more tiny pricks?

Day, after day, after day,

Or renew my efforts and get one big lick?

Either way I am easy prey.

I have mustered my courage time and again,

Only to be struck dumb by my attempts at defense.

But my children’s happiness impends,

Life is often lacking in pretense.

Charlotte von Wolfle Greer

Tuesday, September 25th 2018

Regarding petitioning courts for better custody again. My PTSD is getting the best of me, even contemplating opening this can of worms again, and with no attorney as a buffer…

Category: Hurting When I Write | Comments Off

December 26

My Mother’s Hands

Dear gentle hands have stroked my hair

And cooled my brow,

Soft hands that pressed me close

And seemed to know somehow,

Those fleeting moods and erring thoughts

That cloud my day,

Which quickly melt beneath their suffrage

And pass away.

No other balm for earthly pain

Is half so sure,

No sweet caress as filled with love

Nor half so pure.

No other soul so close akin that understands,

No touch that brings such perfect peace as Mother’s hands.

~Charlotte G. Slater 1.18.01

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December 26

Gaslight

I stand here under the golden dim of the gas light.

As I have for fifteen years.

Afraid to move or relieve myself from this plight,

afraid to give up the fight.

The yellow cast of sulfur light washes the color from my face,

denuding my visage of its true colors,

humiliation my badge

waiting for time to turn wrongs to right

making great attempts not to cadge

Who knew the torture had a name?

A phrase for his invalidating ways

I was part of his control game

Oh how the heart betrays

Instilled doubt denudes reality

overwhelms perception

Ceases to honor boundaries

draws the real truth away like a siphon

I doubt my world

I doubt my sanity

retreat to the little girl

where I pray he can’t hurt me

I find myself isolated

try harder to do his right

all the while my sanity is debated

many cannot see my plight

His opinions are fact

His stories carry impact

deftly applied with great tact

He continues to distract as I slowly begin to crack

Shamed for standing up for myself

accused of abuse for reactions in self defense

suddenly comes the big crack in your health

up and over psychoses’ fence

Borderlines feel like the victim

Narcissists make you theirs

wisely fear the narcissist’s conviction

while you marinate in you own despair

go ahead and run circles around me

It doesn’t make you right,

only lies presented cleverly

In the dimness of the gaslight

Category: All of Charlotte's Poetry, Hurting When I Write | Comments Off

December 26

Artifacts of Change

Teardrops meet my face. I am fearless in my resolve. I must devolve, reprogram, and loosen his hold on me, so I don’t spasm with nervous ticks at the thought of being in the same place as he. I must build my wall ever higher. I must not tire in my vigil. I must repair the cracks in my façade- Hide the worry and present a strong face. I will not allow him to debase me, efface me, and disgrace me any longer. Love is a doing word- Love is not in this equation. Teardrops are mere artifacts of change.

~Charlotte Greer Slater

4.29.09

Category: Hurting When I Write | Comments Off

December 26

Here comes the sunshine

Here comes that daughter of mine

Here comes wit sublime

Here’s a poem for her for all time

Sweet kisses

Three wishes

Lovely MacKay

The most beautiful

The most willful

The most fantastic countenance

I have ever seen

Sweet bliss

A mirthful twist

Lovely MacKay

You bring me so much joy

A love that does not cloy

My heart you fully employ

~Charlotte Greer Slater 8.7.09

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December 26

Enter Twilight

Looking back on my life

I see all my mistakes run rife

Wake up another day but the pain won’t go away

What am I fighting, in my own peculiar way?

Enter the twilight

And rise into the light of dreamtime

Give me knights and dragons to smite

As I rise straight through the night and out of time

Into a light I pass

Another dream another chance

To succeed I must find my compass

Through the maze will I advance

I’m going to find my way in life

Finally see things in black and white

Making everything all right

If I could just rise to the light

Because I know there is time

So I must exercise my dreamtime

Resolve demons as night hours chime

Sorting my life while supine

– Charlotte Greer Slater 7.16.11

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December 26

The Back of My Mind

Here comes the night again,

Left feeling so hurt for two little girls.

Makes it hard to pretend,

I’m okay with what life sometimes unfurls.

I hold you both close in the back of my mind.

But I know it’s for naught,

Because he doesn’t play like our kind,

I am painfully familiar with the onslaught.

The hole in my heart like a vacuum,

It whistles, what if you fail again?

All his ugly words well up in the void like a sad tune,

But my little engine fights, says I think i can.

So I hold my little girls in the back of my mind,

Whisper for them to be strong.

Now I pray to God for strength in any sign,

For I gave up asking him why things went so wrong.

My apron strings stretch for miles, my little girls.

My hope and faith and determination with them.

But when big blue eyes sprout tears like pearls,

I feel like the loveliest of flowers crimped at the stem.

So let me hold you tight in the back of my mind,

Where he cannot reach us.

Listen when I whisper be strong and act so in kind,

Never let him pull asunder our mutual trust.

So here we three are, my arms wrapped around you,

I will sing you songs and stroke your long blonde hair.

Please don’t forget it’s your mama who will see you through

For it is I who lives and breathes for your every care.

April 16th, 2014

Charlotte von Wolfle Greer

Category: Hurting When I Write | Comments Off

December 26

The Power of the Dog

Rudyard Kipling, 1865 – 1936

There is sorrow enough in the natural way

From men and women to fill our day;

And when we are certain of sorrow in store,

Why do we always arrange for more?

Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware

Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy

Love unflinching that cannot lie—

Perfect passion and worship fed

By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.

Nevertheless it is hardly fair

To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits

Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,

And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs

To lethal chambers or loaded guns,

Then you will find—it’s your own affair—

But … you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,

With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).

When the spirit that answered your every mood

Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,

You will discover how much you care,

And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,

When it comes to burying Christian clay.

Our loves are not given, but only lent,

At compound interest of cent per cent.

Though it is not always the case, I believe,

That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:

For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,

A short-time loan is as bad as a long—

So why in—Heaven (before we are there)

Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

Category: My Inspirations | Comments Off