Poetry Corner ~ Calling all Poets!!

“Little Person”

She sits there; the strong one,

Perched high on that throne,

Ruthless and calculating to all who meet her,

Because a scared little person is who she really is inside,

She deflects by joking about all her bitter situations,

As if nothing ever really deeply troubles her,

Her soul hidden by armored walls,

She’s crumbling and her soul is almost non-existent,

They want to get close to her and help her,

The fools want to fix her problems with their weak bandages,

They want to coddle her like a small child,

But she won’t let them manipulate her any longer.

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

September 20, 1996

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all Poets!

“Ghosts”

My ghosts they taunt me from the sidelines,

Laughing all the while for my benefit,

If I could only decipher their words of advice,

Maybe I could unwind all these twists,

But they are so muffled all rambling together,

Their words and actions don’t register in my mind,

Hercules a pillar of strength is what they see,

Don’t they realize that their taunting is killing me?

If they would just shut up or go back to sleep,

I could finally be at peace within my soul,

I know it is my fault; after all, I am the one that invited them in,

I just never imagined they would stay so long,

And nobody ever told me how to get rid of them…

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

September 9, 1996

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all Poets!!

Yeah! It's POETRY TIME AGAIN :-)

“Strength”

That visitor of strength I love to hate,

Although I adore you most of time and look at you in awe,

You’re so decided so sure of your direction,

You often leave me in the dust to deal with the pain,

I feel like such an undecided fool,

I need you to come and plant roots in my mind,

Never abandon me again,

Help me to decipher between all the right and wrong,

Give me the strength to heal and thrive,

Don’t leave me on the edge living in greyness,

Let me see things through vivid laughing eyes,

I need that armored shell of strength surrounding me,

Because with it, I will flourish!

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

September 8, 1996

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all Poets!

“The Cell”

She is a prisoner so alone in her cell, trapped there, the key nowhere to be found.

A ray of light filters in. Is that a ray of hope?

No…it’s just a crack in her mind.

The dampness here is never ending and the sell of mold attacks her senses.

In the darkness she claws at her cell until her fingers bleed from desperation and decides to quit.

She huddles in a corner as the tears fall in silence.

Truly painful in their wake...

How long will these walls hold her captive?

When will she be paroled for all her good deeds?

Nobody has any idea because they are no aware,

That she is trapped here and screaming for rescue.

So they all go about their lives and leave her there to rot.

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

September 21, 1996

Poetry Corner ~ Calling ALL Poets!

The Painter

The canvas is ready and my brush is poised,

I’ll be the painter and fill this blank space,

The scene I wish to aspire to is attainable,

With all its warmest and richest shades,

There are only ripples of darkness in this picture,

I see a sky so blue and clear,

With a few white clouds sporadically placed,

After all, life would be so boring without some challenges,

I also see a huge mountain that forms to a peak,

Representing that most roads worth traveling are usually up hill,

But when you reach the top fulfillment shall be present,

At the top of this mountain is a castle in all its glory,

In which I shall of course be queen,

Living my life as I see fit and happiness around me,

Below this is a valley that is flourishing with flowers and trees,

The colors are so enticing and beautiful,

That the onlooker can almost feel their rhythm and joy,

And then of course there is a gorgeous waterfall that flows into a river,

The most vibrant color that you’ll ever lay eyes on,

You’ll want to search it time and time again,

To see if you can find all the hidden treasures there,

This is so picturesque and calming for the soul,

That I lay down my brush and feel satisfied.

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

Poetry Corner ~ Calling ALL Poets!

Sometimes

Sometimes I feel so numb and sometimes I feel so focused and sometimes I feel so confused and sometimes I feel so useless and sometimes I feel full of joy and sometimes I feel so bitter and sometimes I feel so complete and sometimes I feel so empty and sometimes I feel so directed and sometimes I feel so lost and sometimes I feel so controlled and sometimes I feel I’m wild and sometimes I feel satisfied and sometimes I don’t and sometimes I feel lonely and sometimes I feel crowded and sometimes I feel strong and sometimes I feel weak and sometimes I’m so scared and sometimes I have courage and sometimes I have goals and sometimes I have no idea and sometimes the two blend into one of the same and there is no way I can tell which one is really me – the great chameleon and sometimes I’m quite certain of who I am and what I’m about.

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

Poetry Corner ~ Calling ALL Poets!

The Beast

This beast – my body – is beating me once again,

I feel like a slave to its needs,

It’s a wanton beast that loves to be visited,

After awhile, the face and name no longer matter,

The places I’ve been and the trouble I’ve seen,

Is the fault of the beast!

It controls my mind and I loose sight for a while,

But when I awaken from the ride,

I always find the journey un-fulfilling,

A great pretender is what I am,

Thinking I’m controlling this beast when it controls me,

I’ve raped myself over and over again,

Just to satisfy that hungry beast,

One day I’ll betray it and stop the madness,

The game will have a new sight and feel.

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

Poetry Corner ~ Calling ALL Poets!

Your Coat of Many Colors

That coat of many colors that you display upon your back,

You’ve worn it really well; it serves your life’s needs,

You only let through what you want it to portray,

You shed each color as it suits you according to your needs,

I was fooled by what you represented yourself to be,

You’re a wolf in disguise in that beautiful coat,

Each color represents a side of your emotions; I’ve learnt them well,

The blue represents the playful you that only emerges when it’s to your advantage,

The yellow represents your warmth and affection, it is rarely ever seen,

The green represents your jealous and distrusting soul, as you are well aware of your unfaithfulness,

The red represents your anger which is the one you’ve almost warn to death,

The white represents purity and wellness; you are not allowed to wear that one,

And of course, let’s not forget the black, which represents just how evil you are.

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

New Year's Eve Poetry SLAM!

Hi everyone and HAPPY NEW YEAR'S EVE DAY OR EVENING (depending on when you visited)!!!! If you are going out tonight....PLEASE DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE!!

 

Here is tonight's special contribution by an unknown poet -- I loved it the first time I read it and it still makes me chuckle!! 

You’re the truth, Not I

I have a friend named Jim. He is the truest kind of friend. Jim is a tiny green bug that sits by my bed every evening as I think myself to sleep. He’ll often frolic in the air, his wings conducting the music of my mind.

When I am feeling affectionate I will call him “Jim-Jam-Alabamastan”. If my patience is fading our relationship becomes more professional and he becomes simply “Mr. Jim”. When it’s cold outside we cuddle close, and he recites sweet poetry into my ear:

I knew a fat lass named Nicole.

When she ran it would jiggle her roles.

Now barren the worst case

She’ll be taken the first place.  

And swallowin my children hole.

On these hot summer nights we lay sprawled together in a sweaty heap. The twinkle in his eye is a beautiful sunrise. His smile is a warm feeling. It’s deep satisfaction.

Jim likes to talk to my sock, the dirty one in the corner, you know, the sock that hasn’t made it to the laundry basket. It sits there filthy and crumpled the progeny of laziness. Jim will often argue with the sock all day. I call his insults “Little Boy”. I call the sock “Hiroshima”. Every once in a while the sock will argue back, but you have to pay close attention to catch it. It’s troubling to watch someone you deeply care about slip farther and farther away from reality. I often plead with Jim, but it has no use. I tell him to come back to me, to embrace rationality, but he’ll just mutter that it’s “patty time” and “those hamburger bastards better watch out”.

Jim died yesterday. It was a freak accident. My shoe slowly lowered itself onto Jim’s fragile body and began to turn him into a fine paste. Jim tasted like a mixture between a peanut and an oyster. Sometimes you hurt the ones you love, sometimes you eat them.

Things have only gotten worse. That sock is a mouthy son-of-a-bitch. I am starting to understand why Jim had such problems with it. I tell it that we can get along; that things don’t have to be this way, but it is a cold hearted sock. I fear that it has some sinister plan, some great evil in store for me. I often wake in the night to find it silently contemplating me, a dark lust in its fibers. My fear is palpable. I live in dread, and from my dread comes a single question. The question is desperation. The question-my question-is this; what does cotton taste like?
 
Written by Kevin Arcand

That's it...that is all for this year folks. See you next year :-)

Becky 

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all Poets

Hi everyone,

It's that time of week again!! Let's make this a great week with lots of page views and some interaction with our readers...don't be shy -- POST A POEM :-)

This week, with the permission of the author, I'm posting a poem that is not one of my own. The first time I read this poem it really moved me and most of the writing by this author has.

Behind Blank Eyes

I was weird

Oddly unique

Rebellious. Yes

With revolutionary ideas

Challenging the comforts of normality

Whatever that is

But they molded me

Conformed me

Unified me with the rest of the world

I am now one and the same with everyone in every way

Except one

I remember what it was like to be ………..

                                                                                 Different.

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all POETS!!

Another week of SLAMMIN POETRY!! WHOO WHOO!! 

As all of you know, I love the way we can express ourselves through writing and I find poetry is a wonderful way to express happiness, fear, longing, desire, anger, frustration, and so many more emotions!

My submission this week is another really old poem that I wrote. To this day, I still remember who it was directed at and why....

I'm Glad

Did the salt I rub in your open wound hurt?

Did you feel the sharp blade of my cruel tongue?

Good, I'm glad you've at least suffered some.

Did you hurt from a memory that hovers in your conscience?

Did you bleed because I no longer care and you know it?

Good, I'm glad I can affect you.

Did you hate my words and the meeting they held?

Did you dislike my honesty with you?

Good, I'm glad I can teach you something.

Did you rage inside and want to erase me?

Did you scream in frustration?

Good, I'm glad you've felt that way for once.

Did you hate me at that moment and want to see me suffer?

Did you feel shame at your irresponsibility?

Good, I'm glad we're even!

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all POETS!

Poetry ROCKS --- What a great way to express yourself! Take a turn...take a chance...come with me...lets have a dance :-)

My submission this week is a very old poem that I wrote many years ago (see date) about a year after I left my husband who had physically abused me for five years....

Final Words and Truth

I feel I have to find a way to vent these bitter feelings and pain,

So, I picked up my pen and hoped I could do it through writing,

I'm sure for some people this will be hard to take and even harder to understand,

Why someone with an attitude and personality like mine would be at the mercy of any man,

I could never figure out why his soul was filled with such hate and anger,

And then to my fearful realization on many nights when I was visited by the dark side of this, my husband, the stranger,

As his attacks upon my flesh became more and more brutal,

I became filled with such frustration,

And yet I still had no idea on how to deal with an d put an end to this bitter devastation,

My body, mind and soul being so betrayed by his iron fists,

And my heart breaking more and more each time he tightened his grip,

I had to get over being so recklessly deceived,

to learn how to stand and walk again so I could fight for me,

So as scared as I was and although I was weak,

I knew I would have to eventually crawl on my knees and then stand on my own two feet,

So, one cold day many years ago,

I decided to have a new devotion,

My heart and body had suffered long enough and became my own healing potion,

I didn't need and didn't want sympathy from my friends,

All I needed was them to be strong for me when my belief started to sway again,

Now I'm stuck to live here with all the guilt and shame,

Only because I refused to share this mans house and name,

He was cruel and bitter and a very lost soul and the harder I tried to make things right, the worse he would get,

What most don't realize is that if I didn't leave when I did,

Instead of facing that I'm divorced, you'd be facing my death,

So sit up there on your high throne and judge me all you want you see,

but this sould had to be once and for all...no strings attached -- just FREE.

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner 

November 4, 1991

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all POETS!!

I'm really hoping some of the GREAT authors of poetry that I know are out there because I've tweeted or chatted with them, begin to partake in this weekly ONLINE POETRY SLAM! I'm tired of "winning" every week by default...lol

Here is my submission this week (WARNING: NOT FOR YOUNG READERS):

Longing, Lust and Desire

The mind is a powerful thing and mine is a sea of relentless sexual torture as I sit here thinking of you,

I started with a blank canvass that is now filled with images that mock me,

The vivid picture that has come to life in my minds eye has left me yearning and wanton,

Imagine the sky is a mixture of light clouds and blue sky, the sun is out and yet a slight rain is falling,

You stumble upon me laying in the lush grass under a maple tree in the corner of the yard,

I'm naked and the cool rain is falling upon my heated flesh, enhancing my erotic thoughts, which are already plentiful,

You watch as I lightly trace a droplet that has fallen between my breasts with the tips of my fingers,

My skin feels electrically charged and as my fingers continue to caress, my eyes close and my back arches pushing my breasts forward,

A frustrated sigh escapes my lips, my dark nipples are hard and jutting begging to be touched,

I am longing for you to be beside me pressing your naked body against mine our legs entwined,

As I lay there touching myself I can almost feel your hands knotted in my hair as you pull me to you and claim my mouth with yours,

Your tongue a mixture of sweet and spicy as you probe the depths of me, you are sure, slow and demanding more,

My hips rock against your cool thigh and you feel the warmth of my heated excitement,

You thrust your hardness against me as your hands cup my behind and pull me closer, you strain for control gritting your teeth,

I open myself to you and inch by inch my body claims you, wrapping you within walls of warm pleasure,

You move your hips slowly and purposefully as we cling to each other, our eyes locked in shared passion,

The waves of pleasure rising and falling, rising and falling, our breath is labored, muscles taunt,

You feel me tighten around you and as I breach the crest I call out your name, my nails dig into your back,

Control is now a distant memory as you move more urgently, one hand holding my hips down while the other pulls my hair,

Your body tenses, your face contorts in lust as you twitch inside me filling me with your warm seed,

Languid and momentarily spent we lay in the wet grass still embraced our eyes saying what words cannot.

Written by Becky Illson-Skinner

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all POETS

It's POETRY day on Mystery Writers Unite :-)

If you've stumbled upon this page and you like poetry, please check out some of the previous posts for Poetry corner and let your creative spirit loose and post a comment!

Here is my submission this week:

Look at Me

Look at me; I mean really look at me, a penetrating look into the depths of my eyes.

Tell me. What do you see?

If you do not see the wounds within my soul, then you've not looked deep enough.

If you do not see a flesh and blood person that bleeds when they are cut, then you have only scratched the surface.

All of me is in here just waiting for release, a release that I thought I had found so many times before.

The unworthy ones that tried to touch my soul, are they even worth my remembrance?

I doubt it and it doesn't really matter since thy are gone and you are here.

You stand before me filled with such sweet promise and I want to take that plunge but I'm scared and bruised although not yet broken.

Will you be the one?

The first one to really look at me, a penetrating look into the depths of my eyes?

 

Poetry Corner ~ Calling all POETS

Hi everyone,

Poetry Corner is so much fun and I love it when people express themselves here on Mystery Writers Unite! Leave a comment with some of your poetry today :-)

Here is my submission this week:

The Eagle  

I recently came across an eagle that was wounded yet still very much alive.

I sat filled with sadness and sorrow as I watched it struggle; feeling guilty over my own knowledge and wisdom.

What I would give to be able to lend my stubbornness and strength but the eagle is too proud and turns its head in rejection.

The eagle's pain and yearning for flight are almost palpable in my own heart and I sit here helpless in helping.

The eagle could find strength in forbidden places, yet another struggle in which it fights off for a life of freedom in this thing we call life.

The eagle's keen eyes are watchful as it see's things it yearns for - love, freedom, acceptance, forgiveness - dangle just outside of its reach. 

In time, its broken feathers molt away revealing strong new bold layers of protection underneath; the outward delicate, dull appearance gone.

Healing all that is broken inside and out and finding unexpected reserves; sometimes in spite of its pride.

Like the stranger that shares some time, sustenance and balance for the mere pleasure of it...for example.

Until one day the eagle stands on that high perch, spreads it wings and moves onward and forward in spite of it all.