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Poetry Corner ~ dedicated to poets and the discussion of poetry ~
News & Information
Christina Johnson will be writing a quarterly column entitled The Market Place for Author Network. In the first issue, she will be covering poetry magazines from New Zealand, Australia, United States, Canada, and England.
Poets and Poems
Alison Heath is interested in receiving feedback about her work and therefore would like visitors to Poetry Corner to comment accordingly. Please offer constructive criticism when sending comments, which can be emailed to allissandra@ntlworld.com.
I see a little girl I see a little girl, within a woman's eye, Summer's white light shines the pale of days gone by. Upon her face the tatters of an old and worn out smile Reserved for special occasions, every once in a while. That mask has had its use throughout the decade past Childhood days that seemed like years now speed by so fast If only I could speak with her and see behind her grin I would tell her of the pain she'd cause and of what a fool she'd been. I can't see the pain or feel the hurt she's trying to suppress Instead I see the first class marks, the need to impress. A 'perfect' child so quiet, well mannered and dry How well she hid it from them all, her personal-public lie. You see, through those days she was not alone, A shadow her companion, with her while she's grown. Bulimia? I hear you cry, no comprehension of its name, A lonely, secretive disease; a violent destructive game. She was in control of that, something to decide That little girl with empty dreams and no real place to hide. This one action at her command, she hid it rather well 'Just one more time' will be the last, no more of this hell. Any alcoholic knows that every drink's his last Each mouthful stuffed suppressed the hurt, then there came the fast. No food now and she'll be slim and everyone be proud To be the best, to have a dream, to stand out from the crowd. It never lasted all that long, the cravings won the day And all the food that she could eat she quickly put away. Disgusted, alone and needing recognition Bulimia soon beat this girl into deep submission. A stable family, that cared, and shared and loved, and stuff Parents wanting just the best, but the best was just never enough. The love was there just not the attention; look and you'll see the word There's a difference 'tween listening and hearing, and she just wanted to be heard. Ten years to grow from girl to woman, a long ten years it's been Her world is now 'grown up', suppressed the young, the green. She now understands, prompted by a family bereavement That the measure of a man is not judged by his achievement. Secure in who she is at last, no need to run and hide What destiny holds in store is now hers to decide To be herself, to be confidant much loved and proud Of her own achievements, not seek compliments from the crowd. She has her health, her family, who all love without condition She has ceased to feel that life is one big career mission To prove (to who?) that she can succeed in what her heart decides She has succeeded in beating the disease that lurks and sneers and chides. Her shadow will accompany her through life; that is her cross to bear In weaker moments, self- doubt lingers she knows he will be there. Hold your head up high my love and show him who is boss For many are the hills of life and greater rivers to cross. I see a little girl, within a woman's eye Summers shadow approaches autumn and the sun is high in the sky. I was that girl, I am that woman, regrets I have a few But life for me is full of joy and every smile is TRUE. Copyright Alison Heath November 2001
Kelly McIntire is interested in receiving feedback about her work and therefore would like visitors to Poetry Corner to comment accordingly. Please offer constructive criticism when sending comments, which can be emailed to fairymagic6079@earthlink.net.
Her name was angelic floating motionless silent within the big sky moonlit highlights, my fight was to uncover her game.
Unlike my past previous experience, my theorys would get squashed, every time Id floss, my skills up in her slllooooowwwww lane.
No name could be given to the emotions she dealt me, she felt me for my feelings and not what she saw.
My flaws still wandered across the coals bare footed, habits evolved, and every time that I'd plug in, I'd get no signal at all.
So as I sit here and wonder why that movement began, it was to understand love, and paradoxically it's mocking me.
But I'm grateful for the time that I was even involved, even though she ripped my heart out decorating my walls.
With splatter, matter was implanted in my ignorant soul, cynical goals left, love grew, and now my story gets told. I miss you, I miss you.
Copyright Kelly McIntire 2002
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