T: My Dream

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she falls in love.
Not with her husband
not with her boyfriend
but with her child.
When they come from within
and are laid on her tummy mewling
she welcomes them to the world.
Once I thought it would not happen
once I thought my time had passed
that a child would not
could not
be born of me.
Yet he came
tiny and fragile
delicate yet
and fierce to the end.
They told me not to worry
if he did not cry or scream.
I braced myself for fear
yet when they laid him upon me
he grabbed my finger and held on tight
proclaiming his appearance.
My little warrior,
the fighter that I was meant to be.
Six years later
he astounds me.
He robs me of my breath.
I watch him grow
and learn.
And damn don’t I know
that the best of me is in front of me.
My son.
My child.
My life.
My moon and stars.
The dream I thought I had missed.
Originally written August 7/14 (T’s birthday)
revised March 20/18

Go Me!

I feel like I need to say something. I am not sure what it is that I want to say though. Thoughts keep flashing through my head. Not one stops to let me latch on. My inspiration seems to have fallen short. Truthfully I do know what my problem is. I am unsure of how it is that I am going to deal with it. I keep starting to build scenerios in my head and than stopping. This is a dangerous road for me to go down because it starts small and spirals. Every time this happens, I tell myself to not go there. I do not know what the conversations are going to bring. And no matter how much I plot and plan, I do not know what the other person is going to say.
I do not want to return to work. I have been in Customer Service since I was 17 years old. As a waitress, a receptionist, rental and kitchen supplies, taking orders in an industrial setting, and for the last 14 years have worked for the same company in a variety of positions. I am working at a job that does not satisfy me. That does not challenge me so I need to create challenges. I fell into Customer Service by default. It is something that I am good at. Talking to people. Welcoming them. Remembering them. This was not where I was planning to be. A career in writing, that is where I saw myself but the path sorta veered out to the right, crossed to the left and has finally straightened out again.
I recently wrote about how T believes in me. It is time to start to believe in myself and my writing. I recently took the plunge and submitted a poem to the New Reader Magazine. I have mentioned this before and as I type this it has been exactly a month since I sent the poem in. I patiently await a response and am prepared for anything. Rejection is what I am expecting. Not because I do not think that the poem I submitted is not good but because it is my first submission anywhere.
This passed weekend I had the weirdest inspiration. And I wrote a poem that my baby bro told me was pretty good. He was not sure how one goes about measuring a poem as he has never read one before. Which let me know that it actually must be good because this is a man who reads absolutely nothing if he is able to get away with it. (It is due to my wonderful SIL that my niece and nephews are such voracious readers.) I had another poem that fit with this one so I put them together and submitted them.
Of course last night after submitting them I had an ‘omg what the hell have I done? I am so pretentious. Who am I to write about this material?’ I sent a message to K who of course talked me down. She is actually the one who encouraged me to submit Moral Bankruptcy  in the first place. The other is called Subvert. Two brand new and unpublished anywhere poems. And now I wait. Again I am fully expecting to be rejected. I submitted to The New Yorker.
Who am I to do this? That is what is going through my head over and over again. How could I have the audacity, an unknown writer, to submit to one of the most prestigous magazines out there? And in my voice I can hear my bro telling me over and over again to jump. Mom is behind him saying JDI-just do it. And most of all there is T cheering the loudest with ‘Mom you can do this. You can do anything.’
I am moving out of my comfort zone. I am proud of the poetry that I have written. Proud of the poetry that I have submitted. Poetry that as of yet has only been read by K and my bro. Proud of myself.  I am putting myself out there. For good or bad, I have done it.  Go me!

Heartless Love

the words we speak
the dance we flow through
shades of emotions
that tumble about.
this thread that binds
steel wrapped in velvet
so that the chains
chafe not our skin.
unwilling to surrender
these contested wills
bruised eyes flashing
as once more we attack.
words that sting
barbs that hook and tear
flesh torn asunder
wounds never stitched
left gaping
breathless gasps
as we lay panting.
Thieves of love
honor and faith
a warped notion of pleasure
pain that sticks
never ending
a cycle of disrepute.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
Feb. 17/18


Caught within Winter’s fevered embrace,
a desire to be numbed,
to feel no pain.
Marching forward,
tears frozen to my cheeks
eyes blinded to the warmth
as I traverse the plains of snow.
I chain my beating heart
desperate to rip free
the sorrow and anguish
that this rage and torment fuel.
Locked in my mind
looping over and over
are tapes of my youth
the silent jeers and taunts
that I have swallowed,
made into a part of me.
Within Winter’s frozen embrace
I find my madness so clean
so easy to comprehend.
For within Winter’s dying embrace
I give up my denial,
my fight,
and I allow the sun to penetrate.
Jay-lyn Doerksen
December 27/17



Do you strive for it?

Do you search for it?

Perfection without mar

without scratch or scar

and impossible feat

and yet

still I try.

Perfect daughter.

Perfect sister.

Perfect mother.

Perfect friend.

Perfect boss.

Perfect co-worker.

Perfect employee.

Perfect lover.

Take all the cares 

carry all the burdens 

that others offer up

so I do not have to see,

so not have to feel

the longing abyss inside.

The facade of perfection I wear

the face that I present

is beginning to show cracks and tears

for I am incomplete

and I do know how to hide.

Hide the tears 

hide the addiction that I feed

hide the pain and the fear

down this road I have travelled before

it makes it no less unknown.

Slowly I will reclaim

the peace of mind I deserve.

But for now I struggle,

through ever shifting sands

of depression and blackness

drowning in all these sorrows.

Jay-lyn Doerksen

December 24/17

Caring and Tender

Dearly beloved
all gathered here today
to watch as we enshrine this heart
to wrench free the source of caring
of love and pain
and bind it within a jeweled cask
so nevermore can it offend.
Find not the sorrow that awakens
as in the dawn we chant
spells of change and reclaimation
ensuring that this heart
is chained and wrapped so tight
so as not to have a chance to be free.
See not the anger and hatred
that consume this life
that make me such a bitch
only mark the time that passes
life hardened and incomplete.
It is with great sadness that we renounce your claim
this heart will become the companion to all
forever more shall you walk
in bleakness and disrepair
while we huger for that force.
The force to feed the whole of humanity
the force to become the warrior
the force that is going to make it all right
grown within the heart you catupulted from your chest.
Caring and tender
the emotions you bear
turned out to all who claim
while you lay barren upon the sands of time
a murder overhead,
watching your bones become bleached in the sun.
Jay-lyn Doerksen
December 21/17