Rage

Rage

Quiet disquiet deep in the pit of my stomach.

My face is stone, my voice is level

but I feel the trembling circuits

sparking on the insides of my elbows.

My hands feel empty, weightless.

An easy uneasiness that makes

my stomach feel queasy and sick.

My hands want to clasp

the weight of a punch

My lips want to form

the words that will cut

deep to bone.

I want to hurt- and because it is against my nature-

it hurts me instead.

authors note: It is really against my nature to be angry. You probably wouldn't guess it from some of the poems I have posted, but poetry really is an outlet for me so that I am NOT angry in my real life. This little number was written back in 2008 when I was working as an ISS supervisor in MT. There was this one kid who knew just what buttons to push and he took such delight in pushing them. Fortunately, with a few calming breaths and this poem, he escaped with his life and very little visual reaction from yours truly. 

Gone

Gone 

I felt calm when you left

  but afraid you'd never return,

and a part of me accepted it.

The door still bears the scars of angry fists-

    splinters hang like broken teeth

       a gaping mouth

silent and screaming

The tremor subsided hours after you slammed the door,

as I watched your truck

spit up gravel as you

                               broke away.

(This is a piece I found in an old journal- circa 2004. I seem to remember thinking of my brother Jay leaving home for the final time after he and my mom had a fight as I wrote this piece. I can see that I have grown as a writer since this one- but I left it as is- and resisted the urge to edit. I like the imagery of the splinters hanging like broken teeth but rest is just so so to me...)

Comments/Critique welcome! 

"faculty- men"

The wood grain on the door looks like a raven's skull-
two cynical hollows for eyes
and a sharp beak-
perfectly symmetrical- a haunting coincidence.



authors note: I worked for two years at Havre High School in Havre, Montana as the In School Suspension Supervisor. My room was affectionately referred to as "the pit"(more for the way it descended down into an ampitheatre than anything else, but it did lend a bit of foreboding to the room which is always good for ISS). Across the hall was the faculty Men's room that the students were required to use while I watched the door... the door had a pattern from the cut wood that looked - well, like a raven skull. I spent several hours of my life staring at that door. I thought it warranted a tribute.)

Ode to An agnostic that I Was Once Related To

For one who claims to be so FREE of religion
you are more OBSESSED about it
than those who you scorn for their belief.

Those of us, who remain for our own reasons
don't even talk about it as much as you do

It seems as though you're more involved NOW
than you ever were before.

Now, that's IRONIC.... since we're on the subject.