Poems for a Bad Day full of Bad people

First a Haiku:

An enlightened mind
Seeks ways to conquer its foes
Softly with kindness

Now onto the poems:

Just as day is ending
Each one of us begins
Reliving cringful moments
Kicking ourselves in

So this is my day
How could it be worse
I'll not dwell upon it
Tempting its thirst

Finding yourself
Ugly within
Can be healed with service
Kindness can win

Clever kinds of people
Universally understand
Not to sacrifice their sleep
To the obstinant and bland

Truth be told
What can we be
Attacking only
Tyranny

It's not me, It's you

My skin, my shirt, my skirt, my shoes
“Your begging them to look at you”
My hair, My ass, My mouth, My tongue
“It’s harmless, he’s just having fun”
My work, my street, my apartment
“You should take it as a compliment”
I’m scared, I’m angry, I’m anxious, I’m sad
“Oh stop whining it’s not that bad”
Refuse abuse, Detail the damage
“Go in the kitchen and make me a sandwich”
Fighting back, Taking a stand
“She just needs to get a man”
Target, Victim, Battered, Dead
“She probably shouldn’t have worn red”

Frozen in the Dregs of Dreams

My mind will reel
My heart will pound
Each time my mind
Begins the sounds

The terror thuds
within my chest
It plagues my mind
Fresh from its rest

My fingers long
To claw the air
To thrash out at
The monster there

Sometimes escapes
A gasping cry
My tightening throat
So raw and dry

Powerless
I lie in wait
No way to fight
this looming fate

With certainty
This is the end
Then suddenly
I move again

The fear subsides
And all is well
Except those moments
Spent in hell

Hollow

Full of feelings I have no names for
Painted memories I have no frames for
Stains of past and dregs of future
The drops of blood that escape the suture
Leaving trails, marking paths
Reducing me to just two halves
Missing nothing yet still empty
still the hollow won't exempt me
Tears still shed, heart still broken
The smile I wear a worthless token

Bump

Oh injurious moon
Oh treacherous night
as malevolence blooms
I prepare now to fight

The darkness consumes
all in its path
The terror resumes
with a slow evil laugh

My blade slices swift
The blood warm and surging
its claw now adrift
its agony purging

Its bellow rings loud
through the silence it broke
the sound like a crowd
drowning in smoke

The blade finds its place
upon the beasts neck
and aloft soars its face
hurtling on its trek

A unison thump
twixt its body and head
the thing that went bump
in the night is now dead

Tradition part 3

Here is Part 1 if you haven't read it yet!

And Here is part 2!


When I awoke, I felt restored in spite of my wounds, and a feeling of lightness spread over me. I was free. My duty had been done and was successful. I even laughed out loud with a sort of giddiness that made me feel a little uncomfortable after it was over. I exited the cave and found my bag and coverings behind the rock where I had left them. My love’s remains were gone, I had hoped to perhaps bury them, but a part of me wondered if it wasn’t some trick of the beast that had materialized her in the first place. I donned my gear and began my journey back. It was still morning, and there was a bright sun that shone with a warmth that had been absent the day before. The forest sang with life, and the sound of drops from the melting snow played a sort of music to accompany my walk.

I stopped halfway through and ate the remaining third of my meal from the previous day. I relived my triumph with each bite. Once I was finished and refilled with pride, I carried on. As the sinking sun dropped purple curtain across the sky, I reached the cabin and was greeted with a raucous noise. The celebration which had been hesitantly waiting to begin exploded upon my arrival. The joy on their faces reflected my own and some even surpassed it. There were copious amounts of food, music, and dancing. I even saw some mothers clutching their young sons and crying.

One of the elders who had trained me sidled up to me when things had quieted a bit and asked how it had gone. I relayed my story, leaving out the presence of my dream girl. He smiled proudly and clapped me on the back, but I could see a disappointment in his eyes. I asked what troubled him, and he simply said, “Do not despair. Just promise you will help train the next appointee.” “Of course!” I replied. He simply nodded his head and moved off to talk to some other revelers. I was then swept off to a warm bath in the cottage. As the layers from my journey dissolved into the bath, I watched the water, dirt and blood combine into a color not unlike the beast. I shuddered within, and despite the shedding of my travels in this tub I knew that I would not get over this experience quickly.

An older woman brought me to the backyard near the fire to rinse off the residue of the bath. As she dumped the warm water over my head, it rained over me like a wave of comfort. The warm feeling spread, and I bowed my head to let it wash over me. I watched the ground as she poured the third and final bucket over me and saw the remnants of the cave forming a swirl within the puddles of water that had formed. Then I noticed a glob no larger than a bubble, and perhaps it was a bubble after all, but it seemed more solid then that. I was fully shivering now, not because of the cold air, but because the idea of bringing any piece of that beast back with me seemed like a betrayal of reality.

The woman wrapped a warm blanket around me and led me inside. I sat thinking of the bubble and realized that I had not defeated the monster at all. I had only killed it. I had killed it and then given it the means to return. My blood was all over that cave, moist and red. This was the vehicle it needed to return. I was its new creator. It was then that I realized my true role, that I was a part of a cycle now, a cycle that brought nightmares, pain, and despair; a cycle that resulted in the heroes and their victories becoming fodder for the next revolution to progress. An ever rolling wheel that turns flesh to dust, then mud, then flesh again.

Tradition Part 2

Part 1 is here in case you haven't seen it!





As blood poured from her, the rest of the beast emerged from the cave and began tearing her apart, piece by piece. From my chest emerged a sound I had never heard before; rage and pain co-mingled in this roar that escaped me, and just as it dropped the last shredded piece of her perfect skin, I charged at it full force.

My veins bursting with rage I hurtled toward it like a bullet. I sunk both of my fists into its carmine chest and screamed in its face. Only then did I realize it had no face: no discernible eyes, nose, or mouth. There was only a head shaped lump atop its massive humanoid body. At that moment its thick claws stabbed into my arms and extracted me from its chest. As it pulled me backward from the wounds I had opened, I saw blood gushing into the empty cavities. I quickly realized, though, that the monster wasn’t bleeding, it was healing. The blood filled the cavity, but rather then spilling, it congealed. The beast was whole again.

As I lay on the ground bleeding and whimpering it turned and began to recede back into the caves maw. My pain turned to rage and I grabbed its ankle and dug my fingers into its gelatinous flesh. As I squeezed, its flesh came through my fingers like dough. The muck of flesh then spread over my hand and seemed to hold me fast to the beast’s leg. It dragged me into the cave with it raking my flesh across the rocks as it did. When we reached the heart of the cave, it threw its leg forward, and with that I was released from it and slammed soundly against the cave wall. My shoulders took the brunt of the blow.

I feigned unconsciousness and took the opportunity to watch it. It sat silently facing away from me. It made no noise and had no breath. The only sound in the cave at all was my breath and intermittent drips down near the entrance. It sat in the fashion of a frog with its knees up near where its ears should have been. I studied it looking for anything humanoid about it besides its shape. As I observed it, I began to realize the vulnerability we have as humans. As safe as we feel with our skulls and spines and ribcages, we still have eyes and orifices to attack. Skin protects us from the elements but is easily broken, and our blood seems so eager to escape, to run. A hopelessness settled deep within me, and I began to wonder if I could figure out a way to defeat the beast.

As my blood pooled beside me, it formed a crimson mud with the dirt on the floor. It reminded me of the path and the brook on my journey; how a cave is formed by drops of water; how a colossal tree rose from a small seed. Those thoughts, and my lingering pain for my lost love, brought me to my feet once again. The monster turned toward me, and its legs tensed, then it sprang forward, its claws surging toward me. I quickly stepped to the side but grabbed it by a wrist and dug my fingers in like I had before with its ankle. I began twisting to avoid the surge of blood that was trying to cover my hand and hold me fast. As I twisted, the connection of its hand to its arm became damper and damper with blood. Then, as if by a miracle, the hand separated from its body.

Without thinking, I plunged my hand into the base of the severed claw. I was sickened by the sensation, by the sound, as the partially congealed blood once again grabbed a hold of my hand. This time it would be to my advantage. Once my new hand seemed firmly in place, I set to slashing. I swatted at the beast, and a piece of its flesh flew from it and landed on the ground. The wound resembled the innards of a blood orange, and this time it didn’t heal. With this new found knowledge, I began slicing and hacking at the beast. It fought back, but I was propelled by a legacy of devastation, the most recent being out in front of the cave. I forged that pain into a warrior’s swiftness and accuracy. I received nicks here and there, but I was doing most of the damage, and the monsters flesh was dropping wetly to the floor in large chunks and darkening.

In one final push of determination, I screamed with an unfettered rage and sliced unwaveringly for each of the slain boys; each of the mothers cries of pain; each of the fathers done in by their own hand after the shame became too great, and they were swallowed by it. The cave floor was now covered with a quickly darkening sludge that once formed the beast. It seemed to writhe as it shrank and dried into a scabby crust upon the floor. I sat upon the one clean surface in the cave, a rock, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. As blood still dripped from me, a triumphant feeling washed over me bringing tears and sobs, partly from joy but mostly from exhaustion. I leaned against the cave wall, and, before I could stop myself, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Tradition Part 1

The sun peeked over the earth, and its light covered the ground like a gush of water; the meaning, however, was that of a youthful infatuation: as the wind poured from the east cutting its teeth on my face, and my eyes fought back with a salient defiance. The absence of warmth bent my back and hunched my shoulders. In spite of its brutality, the day did not lack beauty. The new snow, untouched, resembled the warm comfort that then lay rumpled on my bed. The comparison made my mind jovial just before I realized I was then wrapped within the day’s cold fingers and not my beds warm embrace. My feet crunched through the ice with each step, and as the barren trees grew closer, they towered above me in their skeletal majesty. I caught my first full breath as the wind receded for a few short moments, and my lungs quaked from the cold of it.
I broke the tree line and slowed my pace.

Snow covered much of the forest floor, so the dangers and beasts were now equally hidden and baring their teeth. I wove between the trees my ancestors planted, treading a path they had worn through bloodlines and tradition. The dawn of the first snow is the time; the cave of the beast is the place. An appointment made by the souls of the first born sons of my people and kept by the second born.Tales of the massacre and first born extinction had been told to me throughout my life by the wavering voices of the elders and by the tears of mothers who still mourn. Though years have been removed, the pain stays fresh on the surface. On the anniversary, it was a smell in the air, like the embers of a fire or the blood of birth. That anniversary was tomorrow. Today was our insurance that the fires would not be filled with bodies, and the wails would be only for the past.

The elders had expressed how important this walk would be, to absorb the peace of it and commit all of the sounds and sensations to memory. I would need them, to replace more terrifying moments later. Instead of breaking bones, I would hear snapping twigs; instead of hell born roars, bubbling brooks. This process was as vital as its end would be. It was the only way to come out of it alive. I listened to each branch cracking from its burden of snow. I watched the rabbits dart from their homes, bounding confidently through the forest floor’s thick coverage. I felt the cold air stick to me with each step, as if the layers of the snow itself were stuck to my skin. I reveled in all things natural, for soon, in spite of its harshness, it would be a comfort I would long for, even beg to be with again.

As the sun reached its peak, it sent shafts of light through the bare thick branches of this dead forest. I could hear snow, as it melted, drip upon the stones on the ground. I stopped for a few minutes to eat my last meal in the fashion which the elders had instructed. I divided it into 3 portions: one for me, one for the forest, and one for the hope that I would return. As I trekked on, the sun slid down the sky, turning the forest into a museum of shadows. One might see them as dark beings waiting for you to turn your back, so they can take you away. I saw them as those who had made this journey before, the ones who didn’t return. They knew what the result could be and still stood in support.

The sun settled on its haunches; red and orange light alighted from the horizon. As I got closer to the cave, there was an unnatural warmth in the surrounding area. The ground at this point was wet from the melting snow and slid beneath my feet. Each time I lifted my foot, it made a sucking sound, each footfall an uneasy splash. My shoes quickly became caked with the thick mud, adding weight to my already realized trudgery.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the cave appeared like a looming threat. My heart tried in vain to depart from my chest. I drew in a startled breath; the gasp echoed into the mouth of the cave, and footsteps echoed back. I scrambled behind a rock and shed my bag and coverings, so that I could move more swiftly. A beautiful young woman emerged from the dark opening: a woman I had loved in my dreams for many years. Her skin was a light brown but seemed to shimmer with a gold hue. Her eyes , a dark brown, emanated an unrivaled warmth and welcome. Her mouth was broad, smiling, and surrounded by perfectly shaped lips I had kissed a million times, in my slumbers over the years. Her body, that I had held countless times, was soft and shapely.
Then with a voice I knew as well as my own, she called to me “Aza, come to me.” I turned the corner, ready to run to her. She smiled even more broadly, and I saw her eyes sparkle at the sight of me. Then a claw shot from the mouth of the cave and tore through her throat.

Ember: Part 1

I always want to start in the middle. That's where the action starts. I don't want to wait, the waiting was the hardest part so why would I put you through that fair readers? So should we speak of the sword first? The one that split their skulls and severed various limbs from various foes or do you really want the beginning. Why would the woman becoming the destroyer be of any interest to you? Do you need to know why? The proverbial straw, the accelerant to the ensuing inferno explained? I suppose it's important that you can understand why an executioner became such. If not to make sure you do not tread the same cliff's edge then to make sure you can at least understand and stop the next bringer of doom. Ember is my name, they chose it for the black hair with a tuft of sparkly red at my widows peak. They did not yet know it would also represent the smoldering that would occur within me. The explosion that would level a town. Now at that moment it was a long way off, but the flames had already been fed. You see they did not name any girl in the village until she reached the age of 5. You may think it was due to disease or just perchance unfortunate deaths of the young citizens of the village. Notice though that I said girls. There was reason that we hardly made it to 5 years. That reason was the men of the village, well, the men's brutality and the women's acceptance of it. Now I've already told you that it was the girls that died in great numbers before 5. I suppose now you'd like to know why. As if it matters. Would it be easier to accept a wholesale slaughter of the girls when the food grew sparse, or sexual brutality by sick men that often went too far too fast. In ways that a toddler girls body couldn't handle. Perhaps it was just that the girls, upon ability to walk, were given the gathering jobs in woods thick with perils and hungry beasts and frequently didn't return. It could have been any one of these things or all of them but I'm not going to give you the pleasure of knowing so that you can reason yourself into tolerance. I was named at 5, as I said, and was given a broom in the ceremony. This was the ritual. What did this symbolize you ask? Servitude. Not magic not a clean slate but servitude. That was the woman's role in this village. The only one. One day I was sweeping with my new broom at 5 and 1/2 and a beast approached me. It tried to grab me it tried to hurt me. I beat it with the hard end of the broom until it lay on the ground in agony still trying to move towards me. The stick was dull but I still managed to drive it into the beast through a hole that it already possessed but when I felt resistance I kept pushing until it was dead. My mother found me and the now deceased foe and quickly urged me to drag it into the woods. Women were not the hunters. Women weren't allowed to kill things. I asked here what I was supposed to do let it kill me? She only nodded. We cleaned the broom and though streaks of red still lived on it, it was hardly noticeable. Still she urged me to rub it with rocks to try to remove the stains. She locked me in the vegetable hut for 3 days so I could complete this task. When she returned the broom handle was clean and the garden spade was sharpened and hidden within the folds of my skirt. I would not be caught unaware again. She smiled with a smile of relief and told me excitedly that she doesn't think any one has caught on to what had happened. She said it as if our vegetable yield had been double what was expected. I asked her why she was so excited by that, why it wouldn't be better for the village to know. Perhaps this was a form of protection we could exploit, fear. It seemed a popular one amongst the men in the village. She beat me and threw me back in the vegetable shed. By the time I reached 11 I had racked up a total of six months time in the vegetable hut for saying things like that. So when I once again slipped up she sent me to the local inn instead, to help clean up there for 3 days. I shortly realized upon arrival what that meant. This is where the adventurers and hunters from other nearby villages would stay while on their trek. It was all men, of course. I had my trusty spade with me but the risk of being in a building full of men that all believed that same things was perhaps made it too high a risk if survival was my intent. The gods however smiled upon me. The man I was paired with was a drunken fool. He passed out swiftly and harmlessly the first two nights. On the third night he made a move but could not deliver on his end of the tryst. As he cried himself to sleep I settled in the chair in the room. As he left the next morning he complained to the woman who managed the Inn and just before my mother came to pick me up and she beat me. Just as my hand reached for the spade my mother arrived. I still wanted to slice her a good one but just as I had been spared, I supposed she could be as well. Besides I had this growing feeling that I should wait until It was absolutely necessary to reveal my defense. I felt the danger growing each day. I felt the band stretching tight and soon, it would snap.