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New Jersey
My name is Kelly Moran. I'm just using writing to take my mind off of the craziness of life. Trying to turn a million mistakes …
Poems
Kate MacDonald Mar 2016
The Trees Weap
Kate MacDonald
Mar 2016
The trees look sad and wilted over.
Broken and mangled.
Awkward and bent. Droopy and still.
Some try to stand tall, others fall.
The weight is too great to bare for some and pieces crack, brake and fall off around them like flowers placed around a grave, forever encased in a sparkly crystal coffin.
When the weak ones fall, with anger they drag down the other trees, shrubs and branches and leave a path of destruction around and behind them.
The rest of the trees pitty the poor little houses that by fate and misfortune lay in their way, being crushed under the weight of the weaker ones.
When the snow clears and the ice melts away, will they ever stand as tall as they did again?
Maybe. Maybe not.
Nobody will know until the storm has passed and settled and spring has rounded the corner.
Most will continue to bloom beautifully.
Others will remain in the misshapen, broken state that winter left them in.
Over time, prettier and stronger trees will grow around the broken and weak and cover them until they aren't noticeable anymore. Leaving the forest looking pretty; from the outside. But inside, it is hurting and crying out for mercy.
Broken and mangled.
Awkward and bent. Droopy and still.
Some try to stand tall, others fall.
The weight is too great to bare for some and pieces crack, brake and fall off around them like flowers placed around a grave, forever encased in a sparkly crystal coffin.
When the weak ones fall, with anger they drag down the other trees, shrubs and branches and leave a path of destruction around and behind them.
The rest of the trees pitty the poor little houses that by fate and misfortune lay in their way, being crushed under the weight of the weaker ones.
When the snow clears and the ice melts away, will they ever stand as tall as they did again?
Maybe. Maybe not.
Nobody will know until the storm has passed and settled and spring has rounded the corner.
Most will continue to bloom beautifully.
Others will remain in the misshapen, broken state that winter left them in.
Over time, prettier and stronger trees will grow around the broken and weak and cover them until they aren't noticeable anymore. Leaving the forest looking pretty; from the outside. But inside, it is hurting and crying out for mercy.
You can interpret this poem however you like. I wrote this while driving to my cottage after an ice storm. I found beauty in the destruction that the storm had left in its wake. But I would like to think the trees represented more than just themselves. Maybe humans and how we deal with disaster- whatever it may be. Everyone deals with trauma and disaster differently which I can see represented in these trees. Hope you enjoyed.
Ashley Clark Dec 2012
The Hardest Yes
Ashley Clark
Dec 2012
The feeding tube had left her mouth a gap.
Allowing her breath to dry, her lips and crack. I dampend the spounge on a stick and applied the moisture her lips severaly were lacking.
I had never seen her like this.
Helplessness doesn’t suit her, yet she has been wearing it for months now because of me I’m sure.
She opened her eyes.
My heart skipped a beat.
I pull from my transe of guilt and rise from my seat. “Hello.” I say wiping away any trace of tears, but no matter how hard I tried I knew I wouldn’t wipe away the fear.
I wait, watcing her reaction intently.
“Please remember me this time…” I beg her without a single word.
“Pain…” Her voice cracked..
“I’m in pain Ashley.” Her words slurred.
I push the button for the nurse and kiss her forhead. She remembers me this time!
I don’t know what to say beside, “I’m so sorry.” In shame.
15 months ago I graduated high school.... This should be the beginning, not the end.
She cried and I held her head to my chest as I brushed her hair with my fingers.
Something she taught me long ago.
Her loving gestures through my heart will always echo. She helped me survive.
She was my breathing machine.
My morphine.
My life coach.
Once medicated she fell asleep.
She left her pain for now, but the thought that in hours her pain would wake her made me weap.
There was a light knock and the curtain opended.
A lady wearing nice clothes and a gentle smile stepped forward.
“Hello Ashley, I’m Janice with St. Mary’s hospice.” "Hospice?" I ask, never hearing of it before.
She was one of many that week.
After nearly a month, mom woke up.
“I’m tired,” Her dry house voice tried to speak.
Her lips began to quiver against the feeding tube, she was so weak.
“Close your eyes and rest.” I said knowing there was a deeper meaning in her words.
She shook her heard no, tears now streaking her face. “Stop.” She croaked.
I knew she wanted to leave this place.
I pressed the button for the nurse.
“Are you ready to take the feeding tube out mom?” I asked openly, regreating every word.
She looked at me with such big eyes, so much emotion stirred.
Extreme fear, confusion, sadness, feeling I’d never seen her express.
I hated seeing her in this stranger like state.
Imagine the pressure layed upon you, to choose your fate.
In a way, I know, for my job was to figure moms wants and then make her life or death decision.
With her beautiful eyes locked on mine, she shook her head yes.
“Are you sure?” Oh how I wish I could clean up this mess.
She shook her head yes again as the nurse got another stranger. After the nurse gave her more morphine I asked for the number to St. Johns hospice.
Mom started to drift away and I left her with a kiss. They removed the feeding tube.
13 days passed.
Much longer then the doc’s thought she’d last.
No food.
No water.
The repeated question ran through my head, was I a good or bad daughter.
Regaurdless my selfish thoughts, she lay still unable to answer, she looked happier though.
She never spoke after we talked about her choice to leave, how I’d wished she said no.
I lived in complete shame.
I had lost the best part of me, without her, my body felt lame.
I had to be strong for my sister, whom I’d been left to care for.
I was her stone.
I then lived as a stone.
Brainless, emotionless, cold. How would she have felt to see me living like this….
It would **** her, the thought lingered like a poisonous kiss.
I had to live again. I have to live for the both of us now, the way it had never been.
Allowing her breath to dry, her lips and crack. I dampend the spounge on a stick and applied the moisture her lips severaly were lacking.
I had never seen her like this.
Helplessness doesn’t suit her, yet she has been wearing it for months now because of me I’m sure.
She opened her eyes.
My heart skipped a beat.
I pull from my transe of guilt and rise from my seat. “Hello.” I say wiping away any trace of tears, but no matter how hard I tried I knew I wouldn’t wipe away the fear.
I wait, watcing her reaction intently.
“Please remember me this time…” I beg her without a single word.
“Pain…” Her voice cracked..
“I’m in pain Ashley.” Her words slurred.
I push the button for the nurse and kiss her forhead. She remembers me this time!
I don’t know what to say beside, “I’m so sorry.” In shame.
15 months ago I graduated high school.... This should be the beginning, not the end.
She cried and I held her head to my chest as I brushed her hair with my fingers.
Something she taught me long ago.
Her loving gestures through my heart will always echo. She helped me survive.
She was my breathing machine.
My morphine.
My life coach.
Once medicated she fell asleep.
She left her pain for now, but the thought that in hours her pain would wake her made me weap.
There was a light knock and the curtain opended.
A lady wearing nice clothes and a gentle smile stepped forward.
“Hello Ashley, I’m Janice with St. Mary’s hospice.” "Hospice?" I ask, never hearing of it before.
She was one of many that week.
After nearly a month, mom woke up.
“I’m tired,” Her dry house voice tried to speak.
Her lips began to quiver against the feeding tube, she was so weak.
“Close your eyes and rest.” I said knowing there was a deeper meaning in her words.
She shook her heard no, tears now streaking her face. “Stop.” She croaked.
I knew she wanted to leave this place.
I pressed the button for the nurse.
“Are you ready to take the feeding tube out mom?” I asked openly, regreating every word.
She looked at me with such big eyes, so much emotion stirred.
Extreme fear, confusion, sadness, feeling I’d never seen her express.
I hated seeing her in this stranger like state.
Imagine the pressure layed upon you, to choose your fate.
In a way, I know, for my job was to figure moms wants and then make her life or death decision.
With her beautiful eyes locked on mine, she shook her head yes.
“Are you sure?” Oh how I wish I could clean up this mess.
She shook her head yes again as the nurse got another stranger. After the nurse gave her more morphine I asked for the number to St. Johns hospice.
Mom started to drift away and I left her with a kiss. They removed the feeding tube.
13 days passed.
Much longer then the doc’s thought she’d last.
No food.
No water.
The repeated question ran through my head, was I a good or bad daughter.
Regaurdless my selfish thoughts, she lay still unable to answer, she looked happier though.
She never spoke after we talked about her choice to leave, how I’d wished she said no.
I lived in complete shame.
I had lost the best part of me, without her, my body felt lame.
I had to be strong for my sister, whom I’d been left to care for.
I was her stone.
I then lived as a stone.
Brainless, emotionless, cold. How would she have felt to see me living like this….
It would **** her, the thought lingered like a poisonous kiss.
I had to live again. I have to live for the both of us now, the way it had never been.
This is a piece of my story. My mother got a blood infection called Sepsis from an accident I hold myself respondsible for. It feels good to write about it.
Orion Hernandez Dec 2012
Clairvoyance
Orion Hernandez
Dec 2012
Ive watched you weap
Bemoan in subtlety, without reason
Attempt to give light on an obsidian subject
Ive seen you bicker and cross swords
A struggle felt for miles
Have our confrontations meant nothing to you
Does venom foreshadow death
Ive seen you pass away
Day by day, its all the same
But am I the mad one?
Questioned by clans
When all I see is taunt discourse as if we're docking on long suppressed dreams
If it had been somewhere else, we'd hide a fixed eye to the occasion
Load the cartridge
Pull the trigger
Ignite cannons
**** the innocence
Have we lost our minds
Bemoan in subtlety, without reason
Attempt to give light on an obsidian subject
Ive seen you bicker and cross swords
A struggle felt for miles
Have our confrontations meant nothing to you
Does venom foreshadow death
Ive seen you pass away
Day by day, its all the same
But am I the mad one?
Questioned by clans
When all I see is taunt discourse as if we're docking on long suppressed dreams
If it had been somewhere else, we'd hide a fixed eye to the occasion
Load the cartridge
Pull the trigger
Ignite cannons
**** the innocence
Have we lost our minds