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...'pon a midnight dark and drear...' Several years ago, an aunt on my father's side informed me that a paternal grandmother had been a Poe. "Related to Edgar Allen, thought you knew." Aha. I thought That explains it. ~~ An oft-emoted Shakespeare quote has also made its way through the swamp that represents
my min--. . .Drat and damnation! It's gone!! E v e r y one knows the passage. Gist is that "humans are but shadows in the night. . .?dark? Someone help me out! ~~ Bottom line for now: dress warmly for this one. Keep a flashlight handy. ~~ Should anyone wonder where the poem came from, consider that a healed scar only appears to vanish. Shine a light, a livid line or mottled, bruised-looking area surfaces. Better analogy may be the tenderness that remains decades after surgery. All have our sore spots and can't resist prodding (take the proverbial sore tooth). Hard to explain, but I'd like to venture a guess. Pain is universal, but the pain that accumulates in the corners of our minds and hearts is ours alone. Just as each of us differs, so does the pain. Who does not want to hang on to the small part of the self that is unlike any other? Especially now, when individual rights and peccadilloes are almost cotinuously under fire. Not all of us want to be clones, do we. Yes, an individual's thoughts and emotions have a way of getting out of hand. Emotional forest dries, fire ignites and spreads. Thing is, there are fires that need to burn. Swoop in with chemicals, prepare to pay. So. We do our best to come to terms. Unless we are masochists, probe lightly and infrequently. Okay, when bad things happen, they knock us out of the driver's seat. . .you must be sick of my bull. Poem is a poem? Peace, Freedom, and OEO, Don't take any wooden dollars. 'Pea'<3
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A dog howls in the night.
If you are locked out young,
if you are locked out often,
if you are locked out long,
you hear every howl
except your own. Howl
your throat numb, hear only
the poor dog. Clawing
the dark. Dark yard, dark fence,
dark walk, and back.. Winter
spring summer fall stay frozen
to a strip of dark where a door
stops, teeth gritted to not whine
for the yellow to show
that means the next sound
to strain for is the scrape
of drunken curses fumbling
with chain has to be forced
to unlock. Dog-like, you
wait for scrape rattle, plop,
?, shuffle, shhh? to go on
inside. Door opens,
won’t be safe, but sleep
sound. Thaw a little.
Dog is not going to stop.
Next a train going nowhere
is going to groan across a field.
Engine huff as wheels clack
locked out locked out locked
out. All together now, whistle,
howl groan chuffchuffchuff locked out
locked out locked out chuff
chuffchuff grrrrrooooooooo
Say dogs hear sounds
humans do not. Not true
for those who’ve been treated
like some treat a dog.
H o w l
.
(c) Phyllis Jean Green, 2005
{May be copied for individual, private use; forwards and site publication not permitted. Contact the author if you would like more information.)
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| Reviewed by Carmen Ruggero |
11/16/2005 |
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This sent chills up my spine -- particularly your last stanza. What a poinant conclusion!
Carmen :-) |
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| Reviewed by Paul Berube |
11/14/2005 |
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Phyllis,
Your use of imagery is excellent. The howling is piercing and the chill rattles my bones. |
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| Reviewed by Barbara Terry |
11/12/2005 |
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Thnx Phyllis, this piece, from beginning to end, sounds an awful like...no...IS...my life in a nutshell. I have been howling all of my life, but the only ones to hear the sadness in that howl, have been my family and friends here at AD. Even my own Transsexual community cannot hear the sad howls, that we say each and every moment of each and every day of our lives. That is very sad. I get terrified of the night, and cannot sleep, until my eyes can no longer stay open, and I fall into a very fitful sleep. There are times when I am so scared to sleep, that I try to find other things to do. High Frequency is the story of hurt, of pain, of loneliness, of depression, and so on. My life also differes greatly from most of the transsexual community, because of my being forced to endure 5 1/2 years of intense sadnees, by being abandoned by my mother, the one person who should have tried to understand what I needed, and should have been there for me, but was not. The nova sized hole that is the core of my soul, will never be filled. The scars of humiliation and abandonment, will never heal. My life reminds me of the Bellamy Brothers song, "Some Broken Hearts"....
"Some broken hearts never mend,
Some memories never end,
Some tears will never dry,
My love for you will never die."
Even tho my mother abandoned me, and caused me much sadness and depression, and made me cry for 5 1/2 years, I still love her, even after all these years of her being gone from us. I am also proud that people tell me I look exactly like her. But my broken heart will never heal, my tortured memories will never end, and even tho I still love her, my sad and lonely tears will never dry.
This piece is right on Phyllis, and I only wish that others would stop judging me by my cover alone, and get to know this gentle soul, that is the girl I have always been. Thnx for sharing sis.
May the Lord Jesus bless you, and those whom you love, and be with you always, and at your side constantly. With much love in my heart, stubborn to a fault, joy to the world, peace on earth, & ((((((((((MANY WONDERFUL SISTERLY HUGGGGSSSS)))))))))), your still sad and very terrified little sister, Barbie
"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I may as well be." |
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| Reviewed by Aberjhani |
11/12/2005 |
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| HIGH FREQUENCY indeed. An intense and deep-cutting write that gives voice to the soul of bleeding itself. Not all can confront the nature and power of pain as done here but you have done so quite masterfully both as a poet and as an evolved human spiritual being. Thank you for "howling" with such melodious unruly truth and beauty. |
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| Reviewed by Tinka Boukes |
11/12/2005 |
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Deep to the point of understanding...coming from someone who knows the deeper side of heartache and pain!!
Well expressed poetry Pea!!
Love Tinka |
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| Reviewed by Linda Hill |
11/12/2005 |
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EXCELLENT poetry Phyllis!
~Linda |
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| Reviewed by Mr. Ed |
11/12/2005 |
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Should anyone wonder where the poem came from, consider that a healed scar only appears to vanish.
Sadly true, Phyllis, and this is quite a powerful piece. |
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| Reviewed by Tami Ryan |
11/11/2005 |
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Whoa. I mean to tell ya, Pea, your preface is as good as your poem... it spoke to me. Correction: shouted. Ears are ringin'.
I know you dug deep down for this one, my friend. Exceptional piece.
Hugs n stuff,
Tami |
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| Reviewed by Felix Perry |
11/11/2005 |
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Deep stuff here and vivid and graphic images in this write and yes very Poe-ish indeed.
Felix |
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| Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater |
11/11/2005 |
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Best treat everyone right, unless the masochistic desire is incisors embedded bad to the bone. I hear you, Pea Green ... my silver dog whistle is hanging around my neck dangling from a rhinestone costume jewelry Sage-strung necklace. Hear my High Frequency? Blowing in the wind .... the answer my friend, is blowing in the wind~~Bob Dylan. Gonna listen to some old train songs, Pea. Didn't Johnny Cash have one? Me an' you an' a dog named Boo and Mr. Bojangles I hear too.
Sage and Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
Sage |
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