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Tinka Boukes

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Abandoned Life Autobiography: Part Fourteen:
By Tinka Boukes
Sunday, December 02, 2007

Rated "G" by the Author.

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Abandoned Life ~ Autobiography: Part Fourteen:

Tinka’s Dentist Daughter

Back home her life had to go back to what it was; her dad not there to go to and no safe harbor for her and her children. She had to endure the pain and humiliation coming her way all the while losing more confidence and starting even to hate herself.

Her daughter almost a qualified dentist by now was making plans to move away and start working in England. Tinka knew she was losing everything left that mattered to her. Her daughter had made a plan to stay in contact with her mom and gave Tinka a computer hoping it would teach her something new and at the same time allow them to stay in touch.

Tinka had a little time to get educated in her computer skills, knowing if she messed up, there would be no one to help her to fix what ever she buggered up big time. She opened some pages to do some research, sitting alone at the computer, she starts feeling like everyone is spying on her and looking at her through the screen, and they could see what she is feeling, what she was thinking, right through the screen and right through her skin. Chills would run down her spine. She would then just close her eyes to escape but only to see her partners eyes, standing there beer bottle in hand, and she can still see the poems he tossed up into the air swooping back to the floor like injured butterflies and yelling he has no time for this kind of shit, yet every one at that time written for him. She knew it shouldn’t matter so much, knowing they weren’t exactly compatible anymore. Maybe she knew it all along but ignored it telling herself it might still work out for them some day. Why should she care anymore, but she could not help feeling sad…it was her first real poetry written and it still hurts…now she is alone writing, dreaming about better tomorrows. That’s the worst part of it, she has just been holding on for the longest time now.


This night comes down in slow degrees


All untimely questions will arise

It will ruffle the temper of many

To sour my thoughts

And spoil my vision

With one foot on a banana peel

The other in my mouth

As the sad song of the lonely bird

Will sing along with me

Happy tunes there will never be

Casting your blazing eyes at me

As the night come down on me


We can never be

Then one day while talking to her daughter on the Internet, another person by the name of "Dirty Harry" , invited her to chat, she was hesitant to do so but soon learned that the young man was from Germany but was born in South Africa and that his folks, were still living in Johannesburg. He had left home seventeen years ago and her profile urged him to keep in touch with home ground. Tinka and Harry became good friends. She felt like a mother to him because, from their first encounter he trusted her completely. They had spent many hours just being there for each other. Later on she told him, like he was like another child, that God had sent him her way to fill up the empty space in her heart for losing her little girl Michêle. They became best of friends, and he started to make plans to visit if he had ever had the chance to visit the country. He was in contact with her almost every day…and one day he asked her to join a poetry website and write about the beach. He wanted her to see the beach through her eyes, and she did just that. Finding this poetry site opened new doors for Tinka and she had no idea at that time what it would mean to her later on.



I walk my beach alone

I walk tall in pain

Holding my head up high

No good to even try

Only you could stop my cry

What is the use of abuse?

When your man runs out on booze

And you get bruised

That's no excuse

I refuse to give...yes

I refuse to give

That's what I call been abused

I walk my beach well

Pick up some shell

Looking for some answer

But a heavy swell

What a disaster

Knocks me over

And I cry out of laughter

But now I walk my beach with you

My feet in your feet

My eyes is your eyes

And all I need is my Ocean

My Shell, my Soul Mate

My eyes in your eyes

With love abuse instead

That's all I need

That's all I need



But fate once again had no mercy on Tinka’s heart, and Harry who she started to call her "Ocean" had other motives. He was playing a double roll, playing with two ladies hearts at the same time, inviting them both to write poetry to let their emotions flow through their words. He must have been laughing his ass off, for being in control of two women, and playing them off against each other. They started to smell a rat and started to asked questions and came to the conclusion that he was a control freak to say the least, and that both of them was falling for his charm. A fight broke lose and the friendship ended badly. But Tinka and Sara became close friends for a while, until Tinka found out that she was NOT the friend she thought she was; playing her off against him behind her back.

This is what Tinka wrote to explain what happened. He did not really die but to Tinka it felt the same. Yet again her trust in another human was brutally crushed to a million pieces and scattered like the pieces of her heart and soul. This was her first "short Story" written utter pain in her heart.

"The Dream"

On the beach near where I live
One day you said to me "Write about the ocean this morning"
Do you still remember?
I still go to this beach daily
A distance of thirteen kilometers or let’s say approximately (eight miles)
And when ever the world begins to close in on me
I will build a sandcastle or collect shells
And then I will look up
Into your eyes as blue as the sea
And I will connect with you
I get spaced out completely
as it really takes my mind over
I hear you say "Hello"
I answer with a nod
{Not really in the mood to bother with small talk
Asking me what I am doing}
"I’m building," I said.
"I see.
What is it?" You ask
"I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."
"Sounds good," you said and slipped off your shoes.
A seagull glided by
"That's joy,"
"It's a what?"
"It's a joy.
My seagull always comes here to bring me joy."
The bird went glissading down the beach
"Good-bye joy," and then I muttered to myself, "Hello pain,"
I turned away to walk on
I was depressed
My life seemed completely out of balance
"What's your name?"
"Your Dream," you answered. "I'm your Dream."
"Mine's Tinka... I'm a seagull lover"
"Hi, Tinka seagull lover girl" I giggled… "You're funny," You said
In spite of my gloom
I laughed and walked on… musical giggle followed me
"Come again you called;
"We'll have another happy day."
The days and weeks that followed belonged to others
A group of unruly family members and meetings
The sun was shining bright one morning
As I took my hands out of the dishwater
"I need a seagull,"
I said to myself, I gathering up my coat.
The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me.
The breeze was chilly, but I strode along…
Trying so hard to recapture the serenity I needed.
I had forgotten the happy times and was startled when you appeared.
"Hello, Seagull girl!"
"Do you want to talk?"
"What do you have on your mind?"
"Nothing" I said… with a twinge of annoyance and not in a good mood
"I don't know
"What about...?"
I asked sarcastically
"How about charades?"
A laugh burst forth.
"I don't know what that is."
"Then let's just walk."
Looking at you
I noticed the fairness of your face.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
"Over there."
You pointed toward the "summer" cottage
Strange I thought, a summer cottage in winter.
"Where do you work?"
"I don't work I am an inventor and a poet.
Are you on vacation?"
I chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach
But my mind had been on other things
When I left for home
You said it had been a happy day
Feeling surprisingly better
I smiled and agreed.
Three weeks later
I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic.
I was in no mood to even greet you
thinking I saw you on the porch
I felt like demanding you to stay at home.
"Look, if you don't mind,"
I said crossly when you caught up with me
"I'd rather be alone today."
I seemed unusually pale and out of breath’
"Why?" you asked
I turned to you and shouted,
"Because my heart died!"
And you said," Oh, God"!
"Oh," you said quietly
"Then this is a bad day."
"Yes, and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!"
"Did it hurt?"
"Did what hurt?"
I was exasperated with you and with myself
"When your heart died?"
"Of course it hurt!"
I snapped
Misunderstanding wrapped up in myself
I strode off
And I started to read my diary
A month or so after that
When I went to the beach you were not there
Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed you
I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door
A drawn looking young woman opened the door.
"Hello," I said. "I'm Tinka
I missed my Dream today and wondered where he is."
"Yes," The young woman said; "Please come in.
Dream talked about you so much.
I'm afraid I allowed him to bother you.
If he was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."
"Not at all – he’s a delightful man," I said
Suddenly realizing that I meant it.
"Where is he?"
"Dream died last week, Seagull girl
He was very sick.... and hurt
Maybe he didn't tell you.
" Struck dumb, I groped for a chair
hoping to catch my breath.
"He loved this beach; so when he asked to come
I couldn't say no.
He seemed so much better here
And had a lot of what he called happy days
But the last few weeks, he declined rapidly..." her voice faltered.
"He left something for you... if only I can find it.
Could you wait a moment while I look?"
I nodded stupidly
my mind searching for something Anything to say to this lovely young woman
She handed me a smeared envelope,
My name, printed in bold uneven letters
Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues –
A yellow beach, a blue sea, and a bird.
Underneath was carefully printed
A Seagull girl brought me joy
Tears welled up in my eyes
and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide
I took the young woman in my arms.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry,"
I muttered over and over, and we wept together
The precious picture is framed now and hangs in my study
A few words -- one for happy time of life –
That speaks to me of harmony, courage, undemanding love.
A gift from a man with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of depression
He taught me the gift of love
But is now gone

To continue >>>>>>>>>

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Reviewed by Rosemarie Skaine 9/14/2008
"[P]oems he tossed up into the air swooping back to the floor like injured butterflies" -- beautifully crafted sentence. You break free within in this segment, thus allowing yourself to be open to growth -- which you do. Because you prevail within and refuse to be defined by your "mate," you truly are free. And in that freedom, you learned sorrow comes in many forms. Well done segment. R
Reviewed by Christine Erasmus 8/24/2008
Tinka, jammer jy moes al so seergekry het, my hart gaan uit na jou, hou aan daar sal beter dae kom.
Reviewed by Mark Rockeymoore 7/13/2008
Ah, I love how you have placed all of this in such a fashion, using the 3rd person to present this tale, sometimes dispassion is necessary, in order to create a lucid storyline, isn't it. Thank you for sharing!
Reviewed by Amira van Kerk 1/22/2008
I have been very busy lately. No time left to write poems - hardly ever time to read other poems. Tonight I just wanted to glance through real quick and get an update on everybody's work. I ended up on this site and could not stop reading for hours.
Thank you so much for this wonderful write, for letting us be part of your life, sharing your hopes, dreams, emotions and dark moments. Letting us laugh about your silly adventures and cry with you when life treated you badly.
Please keep on writing soon. I am sure there are still many other moments, good as well as bad ones that are worth being written down.
All the best to you.
Stay strong.
Reviewed by m j hollingshead 12/30/2007
keep writing
Reviewed by m w 12/5/2007
Deception can often be cloaked in a veil of love .... What a book you are creating Tinka
Reviewed by Walt Hardester 12/3/2007
Sweet lady, my heart aches at the sadness and suffering you have endured. But, you have and will continue to endure, Seagull Girl.

Reviewed by Georg Mateos 12/3/2007
They said that to walk up to the mountain top there are more twisting paths than man can walk, you did a lot of walk, and you should be proud to reach the top with scratched knees and battered soul but not with a surrendering one.
Good for you!!!!!
Reviewed by Carole Mathys 12/3/2007
Your life has had many twists and turns, but you have remained so strong. Writing helps me too, deal with the hard blows that seem to keep coming...stay strong Tinks

Reviewed by Jerry Bolton 12/2/2007
A little late getting into the game here, but I'll try kepp up from her on . . . Hopefully, my book is kicking my ass, but I'll try . . . I like how you worked this chapter. Everything you had to say was said, without a lot of he said/she said stuff and the poetry exploded in my senses, some of it was so well done . . . I don't know if writing this is ripping your guts out the way mine is doing me, but if it is just know you have a fellow sufferer . . . LOL . . .
Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado 12/2/2007
Heartbreaking what you have had to endure in your life; it's no wonder you are so sad! I will keep you in my prayers; I pray happier days are ahead for you! If there's anyone who deserves to be happy, it's YOU, dear Tinks! Very well penned; keep on writing; it will help you to heal down the road!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in America, Karen Lynn in Texas. :( >tears! <

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