Sidling Shadows

She moves like a languid lynx

slinking across glass littered alleys

tacky with the tears

of so many shattered dreams.

Hard and heartless, she has closed down

using her body as a commodity.

To survive, to entrap, to getting what she wants.

Unsure that even she knows.

Men made her this way.

From a father who held her too dear

to a brother she fought with fear.

From boyfriend to boyfriend

each one always the same…..

It was only the faces and bodies

that changed.

Women too had a hand here.

A mother who turned from her tears

to a sister who could only feel relief.

From girlfriend to girlfriend

relationships found growing in rocky graves

mistrust and jealousy….

It was only the clothes and hair

that changed.

No time for tears.

No time for love.

No time for comfort.

Delving into the underbelly

schooled in trash

she moves like a languid lynx

sidling through the shadows.

Your worst dream.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

August 10/17

Not really sure….

I am going to apologize in advance. This is probably going to be a rather disjointed and completely odd blog. Basically it is going to end up much like my actual conversations do. All over the place. Because without fail, one thing I am talking about leads seamlessly to this other thing. It all makes sense. At least in my mind, however, I have been known to cause some deep confusion and perplexity. Thus my advanced ‘I am so sorry.’

I have not written much. Have been going through a lot of my older poetry and posting those as they have struck a chord with me. I have been rereading posts on Facebook that I made as I began to recover from my depressive state in 2014. Those have been hard to read. I find myself crying in sympathy for the creature I was. So broken and alone. Even though I was still married at the time, a mother, a daughter, a sister, unfortunately as hard as they tried, they could not really understand what I was going through.

Admittedly that depressive episode sent me on an evolutionary journey. I began to claw back my space, my time, my self. I began to be more confident and happy. I spread out my interests and was no longer afraid to say this is me. I put myself in the forefront as opposed to always hiding in the background. I could finally look in the mirror and not only like but be proud of the woman who was looking back at me. It lead to the dissolving of my marriage as I realized that the man I had just spent the last 20 years with, was not the love of my life. We did not have anything in common besides our son. I am grateful for the child that we created but I am a better woman, a better mother for being apart from him. Much as he is a better person, a better man for being without me. He told me at one part that this was the best thing to happen to him, he could not remember when last he had been this happy. I had a few people say he was trying to anger me, I said I hoped not, because I really do want him to be happy.

In the last year and a bit I have learned a hell of a lot again about myself. One is that I will need to remain on my anti-depressants for life. This causes me a wee bit of a quandary for I write like a demon when I am depressed. The words flow and bite, I have no shortage of ideas. My creativity spirals and dips, clinging to the wall and than breaking apart to dance in raindrops all around me. I know that I can write when I am happy. I wrote an entire novel in high school and no one can say I was depressed that whole time.

Oh wait, it was high school. I was the opposite of popular. But I had rocking friends and really who wants to be a part of the blonde perfection team? Such a hard standard to live up to.

This passed year I have made some huge changes. December 9/16 I quit smoking. My blood pressure was out of control. February 2017 I went back on my meds and my life has been amazing since I crawled out of that black cesspool. July 1/17 I quit drinking alcohol. At least until the end of my holidays on Sept. 10th. I needed to prove to myself that I could.

My father was an alcoholic. He died 13 years ago. Not really missed. I found myself in a pattern of always finding men like him. Incapable of looking after themselves, drinkers, irresponsible. Despite the fact that I would constantly promise myself that I would not be with nor marry a man like my father in all regards I did. Than once my marriage imploded (it did not dissolve amicably made worse by our continued living together until nearly 6 months later) I began to drink. And heavily.

So I made the decision that I was done. No more. T accused me of quitting drinking because Chichi (my mom) was home. I was honest with him and told him I quit because it was becoming a problem. He was stopped by that answer. Every so often I would really like a glass of wine but I think about T and this promise that I have made myself and eventually that urge passes.

I, who have always despised and never really required exercise, have added it to my daily routine. I was given a stationary bike that I ride between 1/2 to 3/4 of an hour 3 to 4x a week. I also have some toning exercises that I have thrown in for myself. Nothing serious, no work out DVD just a few things to tone and shape.

I have also changed the way that I eat. More fish, salad. Fresh veggies. Less pizza, fast food. Eating breakfast. Not sure if this also has to do with my turning 45 this year but it really has been a year of change thus far.

My blood pressure is the envy of mom. I am happy all the time. Laughing. T is with his dad for the next three weeks and I was telling my boss about it. Said to him ‘I have three weeks to do the things I cannot do while I have T with me. And than after that I have him for three straight weeks as well.’ My boss looked at me and said ‘Only you could find the positive in this.’

It took me a long while to compute what he had said to me. And it made me realize how far I have come in the last six months. How much happier I am. How I always have a smile on my face, a giggle or laugh ready. I will retrain my brain on writing happy if that is what it takes. Or it might just be the summer thang.

When I was younger I could only write from September to June. The school year. Do not ask me why. It may be that I love being outside and in the sun during the summer. Friends were always available because well, we were kids. So before I really panic I will wait for the school year to roll around and see if I cannot become more productive in my writing.

Until than I will reread and rediscover older poetry. If it strikes me and makes me think, I will post. I am okay with that. For as I discover this new person who is me, I am patient and willing to bet that eventually, the neural pathways will straighten out and the creativity will once more pour forth from me. 🙂

 

Untitled 11

He was everyone’s best friend

yet a horrid husband and father.

Demons cried, piercing his pain

until alcohol was the only game.

Destroyed two lives;

thought it was a game,

died before retribution could be handed down.

He cared for others but not his own flesh and blood

demanding that we love.

Damned to the Underworld,

demons gobble his pain.

I can hear your cries, your pleads for help

but all I can feel is my pain.

 

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

July 31/17

 

Whore no more

Picture courtesy of symphonyforlove.blogspot.com

I saw her standing on the corner

(a child dressed as a whore)

Baby fat still molded to her body

a painted face dripping in gore.

Sitting in my home that night

surrounded with all my wealth

Love and warmth, a sense of security

I saw her standing alone.

(A child dressed as a whore)

Laying in bed that night

my mind did mutter and churn

How long could I plead ignorance

how long could I ignore?

(a child dressed as a whore)

What options lay at my door?

to call the police? Find her mother?

One way leads to a system that fosters

another may lead to horror.

(a child dressed as a whore)

Finally I knew I could take no more

and a plan did begin to brew.

Victim to victim, her silent cries

her empty face calling to my soul.

(a child dressed as a whore)

Late the next night while the family did sleep

I sidled from the house.

The car was running

exhaust hanging in the crisp air.

I found that little girl last night

and took her in my arms.

Promised her peace and redemption

saw the gleam of tears, hope revived.

(a child dressed as a whore no more)

Never was there an outcry

no news, no sad mother with tears

I did the right thing

rescuing that child from the stones.

(a child dressed as a whore no more)

This morning the sun rose

the mist burned into the ground.

And somewhere in this vast world

a child has been saved from such horrors.

(a child dressed as a whore no more)

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

Feb. 6/14

 

 

 

 

 

Stalker (no more)

***Picture courtesy of Pintrest***

The first time i saw her she took my breath

spotted through the lens of a security camera

i became lost in her beauty and only wanted to know

if she might desire me.

The first time I knew that something was amiss

the day a rose appeared on my desk

With a note detailing how nice I looked,

and I was charmed.

i began to find time to turn my lens her way

watching and learning all that i could of her,

wanting only to find a way in, to say hello

without scaring her away.

I began to fear as the flowers and notes became too much

looking over my shoulder wondering just who you are?

Every time the door dings alerting me to an entrance

my heart begins to race and I wonder if it is you?

i discovered where she lived and prowled the ‘hood

finding my way into her home.

i riffled through her drawers, coming away with souvenirs

leaving behind another welcome surprise.

The rose and petals strewn on my bed made my stomach churn

and so begins, another game, another race to discover

Who feels that they can terrorize me? Who thinks that they can gain?

admission to my heart and soul with such careless stuff?

i know we are to be together oh why can she not see?

i know that our souls will bond and bind

forever making us one of a kind.

I found the man I needed on a street unnamed

explained my needs and wants

he showed me guns and swords galore

while I made my peace.

i filmed you in so many ways, asleep, awake, undressed

tonight i shall climb in your window

taking your heart

and making you mine.

The people who swore that they could save me

are never near when needed.

Instead they mouth quiet promises of which I have seen the results

so we must do this my way.

i found the house in darkness, shadows layered upon shadows

for i chose a night with no moon.

together we shall make the sky alight

burning with our flames.

I sit in the blackness waiting.

I hear the window creak

left open to encourage the beast

and now the end is near.

in flickering candle light i found her

awake and waiting for me.

i knew but a brief minute of satisfaction

until she smiled at me.

A death mask revealed within my burning smile

as I waited for him to come.

Victim no more, I am the avenger

stealing back my life.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

July 20/17

 

To percolate or to just write

I am having some difficulty with my muse. I came across a poem that I wrote several years ago after a father here in Canada had committed an honor killing. And my brain has begun to piece together a poem or a story about women who have been abused by religious tenets.

So my muse is percolating. Trying to figure out how to write what I want to write. How to focus on my anger and fear. How to portray women who have been ruled by religion for 1000’s of years.

There has always been the condemnation of witchcraft, that is an easy one to fall back on. The bible is used to beat women into submission. I am sure the Koran is put to the same use. But what about the subliminal message that we receive. Today still, in 2017 that somehow it is our fault, how we dress, speak, smile, all is an excuse used.

I have a story or a poem within me. I am not sure why I feel the need to write about this at this moment. I have not read anything that would have been a trigger. I have not seen anything that has been a trigger. All I know is my muse is chewing her lip and tugging on her hair as the idea moves into being. It will be complete and utter fiction I can tell you that. I am just not sure when it will be written or published for your consumption.

The Poem that started this all when I reread it:

Honor Killing

I read that another girl died today

her father took her life

‘The shame, the shame’ he laments

‘she can no longer be a wife.’

Bound in an alley, filth in her face

abused, debased, left shivering

Afraid to move, afraid to cry out

she knows what she will face,

she knows that more is to come.

Allah’s tears cleanse her heart

Allah’s tears cleanse her soul

Allah’s embrace heals her hurts

Allah’s love shows her the truth.

The shame decried is his alone

the hatred burns his soul

No justification, no regrets

Saving one’s name, that is more important.

I read that another girl died today

her father so proud of the deed

Posturing, holding his head high

fierce in protest, in rejection of fear

no longer is he able to feel Allah’s grace.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

December 1/11

 

 

 

Untitled 9

Bitter tears and twisted smiles

ashes within my mouth

hidden daggers sheathed in my soul

tangled words you should not have spoken.

Cruel lies whispered with disdain

chains that wrapped and held

close me in this nightmarish hell

and abandon me with nary a farewell.

I will rise from the flames you consigned me to

better and stronger than before

and when I do you need to be aware

and search the shadows for the animal

you did create.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

June 11/17