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Danae Wilkin, click here
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Triumph over baggage.
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And so you rode the wave
Of conscience
To a sea of doubt
Rising and falling
Rising and falling
What they took from you
Can never be returned
In time you smiled and forgave
That which is unforgivable
Torturous years
Fear of physical threats
Fear of their God
Fear of His hell
Beatings and violence
Locked in your room
You wanted to disappear
Opened your eyes
To fantasy worlds
Anywhere but there
Skills developed as you aged
Your writing became excellent
Teachers agreed: you have talent
Something grew inside
Years more of trauma
And then the breakthrough
Severed from the abusers
You wrote your way out
Of the dismal pain and misery
Poetry, short stories, a novel
So many visions so long ago
So many I yearn for today
Nothing can destroy you now
Nothing save for you
Might we meet some day
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| Reviewed by Keith Rowley |
10/26/2012 |
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| I think I understand this. The chief problem is the mingling of pain and yearning with love, which generates instability and doubt where there was innate joy, and cold detachment where there was a natural inclination to love and laugh and empathize. Been there! Your words resonate. |
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| Reviewed by Ronald Hull |
8/24/2012 |
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I read this as though you wrote it for someone else, and then I thought it would be you. If abuse and violence can make one stronger, then this says it can. I can't say that I fully understand what you have written, but it struck a chord in me that I won't forget.
Ron |
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| Reviewed by Jerry Bolton |
8/23/2012 |
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| I damn sure have been where this poem takes the reader. Without my ability to write my way out of decades of pure hell I wouldn't be here to write these words. But I did write my novels, my short stories and, yes indeed, my poems and found my peace October 2011. Yes, it took awhile, but I am happier now that I have ever been. |
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| Reviewed by richard cederberg |
8/23/2012 |
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| A palpable write. Especially the spiritual/emotional connections I construe in the subtext. Being the progeny of Pentecostal ancestry I recognise the elements of control and emotional bondage endured in whatever Christian organization your protagonist formulated up through. Many were brow-beaten severely in the post hell fire and brimstone church. I was wounded as well, (by many who had good intentions) but I rose up through it all to succeed with being able to recognise the difference between what real spirituality is and the manmade trash. There was much fear in Church, much misunderstanding; there still is. Moving on, as you postulate, is mandatory in our pursuit of meaning and happiness. Using the negative to fuel the positive is something many artistic types have learned how to do. peace to you ... |
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| Reviewed by Odin Roark |
8/23/2012 |
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| To address that which represents man's greatest fear, himself, is to accept infallibility over perfection, vulnerability over brute force, and most importantly, reality as an ever changing and undeniable part of existence itself. For far too many, the shirking of said responsibility, the hiding behind one's own two way mirror, thus a 3 way mirror (as the nature of denial always creates its own ego) they become mere fluff floating in that endless movement of ether, hoping for dead air so they might settle and attach to something, anything. Wave of conscience is ever moving, asking the many reflections it presents to look hard and be willing to move on. After all, there are inevitable reflections waiting as the future caps, lift, roil and settle into the ebb and tide we all live in. Your poem gives much to contemplate, as its 2nd person narrative seems willing to embrace the new. Enjoyed this immensely. |
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