There
are words inside me
Words
that are mean, hateful,
bubbling
with righteousness and sin,
bursting
balloons weighed down with
steaming
thoughts and midnight mullings.
Gaseous
words inside me
burp and belch
a
quick taste of bile in the back of my throat
words
spit up like a formulaic baby,
hiccuped
in front of company,
an
unexpected fart escaped,
leaving
a telltale sign of embarrassment.
Words
should say “excuse me,”
“sorry,
I didn’t mean that” but
I
purse my lips
pretend,
a hurt actress defending
insane
words.
Be
right for once, even at times
when
words make sense to no one,
myself
included.
Rogue
words inside me
built
in a house of cards,
places
I never wanted to be
where
pain and death are certain
where
disgrace scurries from room to room
leaving
droplets of discomfort, discontent, distress.
Wounded
words inside me
tears
quickly swiped away with the back of a fisted hand,
sometimes
left to drip off my chin
while
my nose fills so one tissue cannot do the job.
Prayerful
words inside me
begging
for help, relieve, change my fate.
He
hears them but the answer is always the same
fate
inevitable
life
means death and all that.
Catalogued
words inside me
regret,
guilt, anger, sorrow, grief, failure, loss
walking
with me by day,
lying
with me at night, interrupting sleep,
bringing
dreams with their tears.
Heavy
books of memories, photo albums of
bright
pictures and panoramic views
of
the cost of love.
In
a Lifetime
Our first years
were difficult.
We had
nothing
except love
and a mortage.
In the
middle of nothing
roads are long
futures are vast and open
a scary plane for two
treading alone.
Then the
children came
bringing noise and confusion
taking up space.
They
narrowed our path
filled the nothingness
recorded the time--
before
birthdays
after
holidays
once in a
while
all the time
We found
friends
time became precious
lives intermingle
dates fill memories.
Suddenly all
seems lost
time, future, tomorrow
are reclaimed
as children leave
to fill their own futures.
The
emptiness is a void
where grandchildren skip
play is reckless and
nerve-racking and
leaving is as special
as arriving.
Close to Home
What is the protocol
one might ask.
What is the appropriate response
everyone needs to know.
What does one say
when no words can answer.
Impossible to reason
discern
moderate
There are actions
occurrences that do not happen here
where life is laughter and clinking glasses.
Slow paced Alacrity
does not move with fervor
where bayous ramble deep and wide and slow.
A loner who is not alone
has powers unspeakable
when turned on others.
Apathy converts with vigor
furnishing Acrimony and Fear
like snakes threading their way into steely hearts.
Emotions overwhelm
dripping Confusion
like Spanish moss-covered oaks
blackened with aged lichen.
A new pestilence on the city
one loner is a loner still
among people who wade through waters
deep in culture and belief and hope.
No loner has power
over the lives of a people
whose stories are swamped in Heritage
of exile and transcendence.
Like Evangeline waiting in the forest primeval
Austerity sits for time
though abnegation occurs not.
In response to the Lafayette shooting on July 23, 2015
poet and poem
They sit, quiet
thoughts whirling, brains engaged, hands busy
Difficult, this work, messy, thought-provoking.
blank paper stares back for much too long
pen smudges, crumple, toss.
One kitten curls in tight on herself
but still the words come.
A zebra of lines, doodles, words sits
wanting more.
Ah, aha, awe! more and more
words come—
simile, symbol, synecdoche
connotation, consonance, conceit
archtype, alliteration, assonance
poet and poem emerge
March 2013
Your dreams
and God’s will
Do not match.
Your dreams
involve great things
house of gold
maybe,
money somewhere,
vacations in
exotic places.
He will let
you see California one day
but houses of
gold make no sense
except in
heaven—
a just reward
where
Money is
worthless.
How
disappointing for you
until you
realize the truth,
perceive the
worth of smallness,
understand the
power of little.
How old must
you be
to relinquish
everything?
How much pain is
required
to appreciate
a death?
Why pray for
peace,
hope for rest?
Small lives
feel the answer
suffer the
knowledge
tend the need.
July 2012
Pace upon
Pace
What if
You
listened to my words
understood
my meaning
remembered
my thoughts.
What if
I spoke
only truths
built on
hope
dreams that
we shared.
Who knew
our lives
would entwine
encircle,
enrich
each other.
Years
passing,
crossing, altering
who we are
who we were
who we
become
who we hope
to be.
What if
energy,
momentum, power
left me
standing,
immoveable, fixed on your arm?
more weight
than you can endure?
Do not
make
promises yet.
follow
faith
allow hope
sustain
love.
dance
pace upon
pace
despite
direction.
For Richard
Pen
Writing, doodling, noting,
on paper
on skin
on parchment.
Always thinking
an extension of my fingers
with no connection to my brain.
July 2012
Needle
Sewing, binding, making, repairing,
on clothing, quilts, artwork,
on skin, organs, transplants
Sometimes necessary, sometimes life-saving.
Always pricking.
Pulling bright thread into fancy knots.
A versatile eye that has never seen a haystack.
Fear
In my childhood
I was a frightened girl
Abused, hungry, lonely
like a kitten
cowering in the corner
I mewed myself to sleep.
In my teens
I gave everything for survival
Abuse, hunger, threats.
Men filled my waking hours
Drugs fill the others.
Is this adulthood?
I sense a growing dread
Abuse, hunger, crying
Babies never sleep
mewing for milk
where there is nothing.
In honor of all abused children July 2011
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a timein a fairy tale
you played the prince,
broad-shouldered, strong, silent type
I played the princess in a light silk dress.
Once upon a time
in our fairy tale
your love was instant, the moment we met.
I grew to love you though time had no end.
Once up a time
in all fairy tales
marriage was the goal
the reason, the point.
A prince of few words has many thoughts.
A princess slow in falling plunges deep.
Together we rule a small dominion of three princes,
or they rule us.
They left, returning with girls in white lace;
and the destiny that is ours endures.
June 2011
Alzheimer's Dreams
Her loss is that which steals the powers of the mind.
Anger, Denial, Sadness, Despair, Depression
These are my friends, my enemies, my release.
Her family is torn, ripped to shreds.
They come to grips, the disease wins, loses, wins again.
Together they talk -- the only point of conversation --
Together they plan, discuss needs, determine wishes, realize lost dreams.
Sadness, Despair, Depression
These are my friends, my enemies, my release.
She is lost -- lost for words, lost in thought,
Lost her glasses, her keys, her pen.
She laughs, shrugging it off.
She cries, feeling the pain.
She screams, releasing the anger.
Sadness, Despair, Depression
Sadness, Despair, Depression
These are my friends, my enemies, my release.
Her only release is sleep.
Dreams and memories intermingle
In that winter
When she could no longer remember.
c. 1998
I Celebrate this Place
If you would find yourself, look to the land
you come from and to which you go.
-Walt Whitman
Water moves slowly,
human eyes and the duck weed cannot sense its rhythm.
An alligator moves, making duck weed tracks,
brown water curving around stumps and cypress trees.
An gros bec, a great beaked-bird, swoops down on a dragonfly
feasting on mosquitoes,
its grayish brown feathers move silently through the heavy, hot air.
Cypress trees tower overhead,
a safe haven for birds, squirrels, and opossums,
their greenness turning
brown like slow cooked roux melting into the heat.
I celebrate this place,
the quiet peacefulness,
nature's respite from all things
modern or moving.
I celebrate this place,
the soft bird song,
the drab muted tones of nature,
the soft sticky smell of summer.
1994
A Lifetime of Learning
When I was little, you towered over me, speaking in a big, booming voicethat meant business, and I knew security and safety. Sometimes I sat in your lap,
leaning into the crook of your left arm, as you read the newspaper, and I looked
at the pictures understanding the importance of learning and education.
As I grew bigger, your quiet determination taught me that I, too, could
accomplish my goals. You insisted that I learn to live with my sisters, that mean
words and fighting were not ways to get along.
As a teenager, I watched you hug and kiss Momma and learned how
relationships work. I witnessed your kitchen romance, heard your quiet laughter,
and saw longing when one of you was away, and I wanted a marriage of love and
laughter and longing for myself.
I began another family, finding a man who fit into ours. You accepted him
and cherished him and loved him, and he held you in great esteem, knowing
respect, seeing the importance of marriage in your example, wanting to stay, to
be a part of something wonderful and safe and lasting.
I gave life to others, doing the best I could with them, knowing that my best
was the only thing I could offer: my love, the safety and comfort of home, hard
work, education. I make mistakes, I apologize, I keep trying: you taught me how.
Now we talk about our lives and you teach me that I come from more than
just family--I share a destiny and past with a people whose culture and pride are
a part of me, and I try to share that with others.
So now, as you reach for the pinnacle of your life, I honor you. The
memories and images I hold of you have given me lessons and direction. They
help guide me in difficult times and help me to appreciate good times, family, and love.
They nurture me and ground me and enlighten me. I am today because of you.
Written for my father, Joseph Riley Bourque, for his 70th birthday, December 28, 2000.
Cypress Rose
Red Old Bienville bricks mortared
Together with sweat, love, hard work
One door forever slamming amid
Cries of "Close the door!"
Sun beams in heat and light through
Triple-hung windows that showcase
Panoramic views of the lake, pond, nature.
Guys playing touch football
Leaves turning red and gold in
Autumn brown
splotches of
Grey oaks standing
sentinel against
Winter blasts trying to
douse
Red coals of burning wood
in a fireplace of
Red Old Bienville bricks
mortared
Together with love, family,
Hearth and home.
1992
In my twenties I was a hopeful mother
But now I pass
Children in play.
Babies lie
Sleeping
With their faces turned away --
Please forgive me for
Saying the mothers would not
Fancy their little ones in my arms.
Oh, perish the thought
I was thinking that moment.
All boys
The beautiful, strapping guys --
What a life? Would I trade it away?
No. Once I returned late in the spring
Tired of meetings
Yet, the adoption would not happen.
You'll say that the emptiness will end
But still at night, I cry.
1992
Categorical Aftermath
Camille, Andrew, Charley, Ivan, Frances, Hugo, Jeanne, Katrina
Lettered. Numbered. Categorized. Alphabetized.
Twist their way into human memory.
Turn their wrath on human lives.
Entwine the human psyche.
Devastation of
Shattered lives
Drowning in mementos,
Coffered in attics.
Hunger thirst death
Take their toll,
Count their rations.
Wind, water, heat
Spin into
Mother Earth’s Darwinist theory
Force
Elders, illness, infants into weaklings,
Survival reliant on instinct and ability.
Faith, hope, dreams
Become ruins
Build into communities of desperation,
Buttress the losses,
Befit that restoration.
Cities rising like Phoenix
2007