Poetry & Prose by Carol J Forrester
There is a collective
misguided
assumption,
that we know the words.
Singing like rusted taps,
gargling and spluttering
our way to the chorus
where enthusiasm trumps
experience,
and pipes swell and burst
so all is noise
and furious revelry.
The wave of it crests
breaks,
washes us along
to the next line.
As real as the misting
of our breaths
as we sing.
The cold is not felt
in the thick of it.
When you arrived as the snowdrops melted,
pressed cherry blossom to my breast,
told me love is like a flower in bloom,
already closer to an end than the start.
Pressed cherry blossom to my breast,
found thorns that left their marks,
already closer to an end than the start
when sorrow grew from these seeds.
Found thorns that left their marks,
taught me how to cut out dead wood,
when sorrow grew from these seeds
pruning became vital to overall survival.
Taught me how to cut out dead wood,
told me love is like a flower in bloom,
pruning became vital to overall survival
when you arrived as the snowdrops melted.
So I blamed you,
because it was easy,
sweeter on the tongue.
Didn’t have the bite
of admitting
I could have been wrong.
I’ve just been writing up three longish poems so I felt something short and sweet was in order tonight.
One sip
to poison a prince,
his teeth sunk
into forbidden fruit,
while one-true-love stands
waiting,
patient,
the perfect good girl
all fairy-tales and smiles,
alone.
Drinks her own potion,
steps free
of skin
crafted from paperbound
volumes brittle with age.
Breathes.
Finally.
Screams.
Little girls are taught that boys being boys,
will torment to show their love.
Big girls will claim that love makes up
for bruises,
broken bones and split lips.
I am lucky not to have known that sort of that love.
I’ve never been struck
by someone claiming their heart beats for me
while echoing the beating with their fists.
When it happens to a man
they are reduced to the weaker sex,
because it’s bad enough when a woman
doesn’t have the balls to leave.
Without experiencing the same thing
I can’t say for certain,
but I’ve carried enough fear with me
to understand what it is to cling
to the things we know.
Privileged,
is a tricky word to stick
when most of us hide
the things dragging us down.
