The Origins of Guilt - More Bad Poetry

I've been writing this one since I was a little kid and my Mom was sick. She passed away in 1984 after decades of illness. As a child it must have taken a toll on me; though it was years until I could admit it. And even then, dealing with it was another matter entirely. Today I have nothing but the fondest memories of my Mom; which is as it should be. 

The Origins of Guilt

When Mom was sick the world was gray

There was no light from the sun.

I spent my time willing time away;

Avoiding what should never come.

So, I willed it on as I ate the pain;

learning how to live without her;

and when she was home – tho’ I wasn’t alone-

I’d wish she was gone again.

To hide from the guilt I built a wall,

Which only locked it all in.

And when I finally knocked that wall down

I was left to face up to my sin.

That cycle went on forever

And became a race I could only lose;

Unless I learned to eat the pain

Of the sin I didn’t get to choose.

Mooresville, NC 5-28-15

"The Boy at the Window" - Richard Wilbur (1952)

This is another of my favorite poems. The stark imagery of the outdoors; as endured by the Snowman; juxtaposed against the warmth and love which the boy experiences indoors; breaks my heart each time I read it. And the sympathy of the snowman as he melts is truly amazing. Being born to die he has no fears at all, while the boy remains trapped, fearing the loss of the things which he thinks possesses; but which in reality possess him.

"The Boy at the Window" - Richard Wilbur

Seeing the snowman standing all alone

In dusk and cold is more than he can bear.

The small boy weeps to hear the wind prepare

A night of gnashings and enormous moan.

His tearful sight can hardly reach to where

The pale faced figure with bitumen eyes

Returns him such a godforsaken stare

As outcast Adam gave to Paradise.

The man of snow is, nonetheless, content

Having no wish to go inside and die.

Still, he is moved to see the youngster cry.

Though water is his element,

He melts enough to drop from one soft eye

A trickle of the purest rain, a tear

For the child at the bright pane surrounded by

Such warmth, such light, such love, and so much fear.

Northampton's Clown

Have you heard about the clown stalking the streets of Northampton, England? He’s causing quite a stir among the populace there by dressing up as a clown and standing on street corners. Sounds harmless to me, but his actions have generated a bit of paranoia which seems to be centered around a character named “Pennywise” from a Stephen King novel involving a clown. Having never read the book I can’t really comment much on that aspect of the situation.

I guess my biggest concern is for the safety of the clown. The people there are ready to break out the pitchforks and torches in a scene reminiscent of “Frankenstein”, in order to be rid of the clown. He even has his own Facebook page, which I have visited. Here is the link;

https://www.facebook.com/spotnorthamptonsclown

The comments range from amusement and bemusement, to outright paranoia. I posted my take on it all, opining that if the Stephen King movies make you that uncomfortable, perhaps you should seek entertainment elsewhere.

It’s also interesting to note that no one seems to mind protestors wearing bandanas to obscure their identities while they destroy private property; nor is there an outcry over the increasing use of ski masks by law enforcement while depriving people of their rights when they bust up demonstrations, along with a head or two in the bargain.

I’m afraid we have all gotten a bit too sensitive. With all of the random violence in the world I suppose a bit of caution is understandable. But at the same time, I have to wonder about those who would be frightened by the mere presence of a clown standing on the corner. And then, of course, I feel sorry for them; locked in a world of fear.

"It Scared Me" ( for Sue)

It shook me up

to see you lying there.

The blood on the floor

made me scared.

Never felt so helpless

and didn't know what to do.

Was I thinking of me,

or thinking of you?

It's hard to say

what scares us the most.

The loss of your lover

or the love that you've lost.

Either way's a loser;

a turn of the cards.

While all the time you're thinking,

"God, why's life so hard?"

This was my reaction to Sue’s accident in the garage the other day. She gashed her head and had 6 stitches. I was worried about her, and also thinking of me being left alone; calling into question whether I am a good man, or a bad man.