Remember

I remember you, Dad

Today, on what would have been your 81st birthday

And every day

Happy birthday on the other side

Love today and always

~Cie~

I'm hoping to get permission from the creator of the above ribbon to be allowed to use the design as a tattoo.

OctPoWriMo 2015: Day 17: Dancing In The Web

Image copyright Olha Shtepa

OctPoWriMo 2015: 

Day 17: 

Dancing In The Web

Caught in the middle of your web of self-hate

Injecting yourself with venom each day

You used me as a bandage for your wounds

I wanted so much to be your savior

I tried to free you, but you put up your defenses

Caught in the middle of your web of self-hate

I tried to love you, in return you abused me

I only wanted to make you stop

Injecting yourself with venom each day

I wanted to be your only love

You fooled around with so many other girls

You used me as a bandage for your wounds

~Thalia~

Cascade, a form created by Udit Bhatia, is all about receptiveness, but in a smooth cascading way like a waterfall. The poem does not have any rhyme scheme; therefore, the layout is simple. Say the first verse has three lines. Line one of verse one becomes the last line of verse two. To follow in suit, the second line of verse one becomes the last line of verse three. The third line of verse one now becomes the last line of verse four, the last stanza of the poem. See the structure example below:

a/b/c, d/e/A, f/g/B, h/i/C

Notes:

Is it pathetic that I'll be 50 years old on Halloween and my first girlfriend broke my heart so badly that I've never been able to have a relationship since? I suppose it might be. 

I don't want people feeling sorry for me or thinking my life has been wasted. It hasn't. I've had fun in spite of the inevitable visits from the Black Dog. I'm a bit of an introvert, but I do have friends. I'm happy being my niece and nephew's favorite Auntie Thalia. I've just always been afraid to try to get into a relationship again. 

I met my girlfriend when we were both fourteen, but we didn't get involved until two years later. It was all on the down-low, although I think people suspected. Being out wasn't even an option in those days, at least not where we lived. I dreamed of going somewhere like San Francisco where we would be accepted. 

She believed that she could somehow be "cured" if she just "lost her virginity." She fooled around with guys, and it didn't cure her. She blamed me for holding her back and fooled around with other girls to spite me. She called me all kinds of ugly names. She physically abused me. She flaunted other girls in my face. I believed if I just loved her enough, she'd come to love me in return and we could live happily ever after.

I broke up with her on my eighteenth birthday. I knew she could never love me back because she hated herself so much. It was the hardest thing I ever did. I cried every day for more than a year afterwards.

I didn't long for her to return to me. She did far too much damage for me to ever take her back. I stopped loving her a long time ago, but the legacy from our relationship is me being unable to open myself up to love again. 

She died nine years ago from an overdose of X. I don't believe she ever stopped hating herself.

Beliefs such as "homosexuality is a sin" and "we can cure homosexuality" are so destructive. If anyone takes anything away from my story, let it be this. People are people, love is love. Let's support each other rather than tear each other down. Life is hard enough.

I forgive you, Ingrid. I wish you had learned to accept yourself.

Peace,

Thalia

OctPoWriMo 2014: Day 30

Copyright: mkistryn / 123RF Stock Photo

On the Day Before

On the day before the end came

There was no discernible antecedent

We knew the time was soon

That was inevitable

But there was no precursor to the event itself

Nothing to preface its coming

We believed that there was still a little time before you left

But while we went home for the night

Your wife, your son and daughter, and your only grandson, the only child of your daughter

Leaving you in the hospice center to rest

The door to the other side opened in front of your weary eyes

You walked through

Free at last from the deterioration

Of your badly compromised body

~Cie~

For my father

May 31, 1936 - November 28, 2010

Notes:

My father suffered from vascular compromise leading to stroke, congestive heart failure and vascular dementia over a period of six years. He was a college professor and he was committed to his daily workouts. In the end he became wheelchair bound, confused and frightened. 

Don't let stereotypes about body type fool you. Hypertension happens to people of all body types. My father was not obese. In fact, out of all of us in the family, I, who am a larger person, did not have hypertension onset until I was in my mid-forties, and it coincided with the raising of the dose of thyroid medication, which contributes to high blood pressure.

The most important point is, check your blood pressure at least once a week even if you're healthy, because hypertension can happen to anybody. Machines are available in any drug store and in some grocery stores. 

I'm using the "Unda Nether" or 666 Typing Monkeys account, which is an account available to all members of the team. I created it because some of the team at times feel vulnerable, even when using a pen name, due to our particular brand of mental illness. This allows another layer of anonymity. However, in the end I opted for transparency.

Your Prompt:

On the day before…..

Word prompts:

before

preface

precursor

front

antecedent

OctPoWriMo 2014: Day 1

Copyright: carlanichiata / 123RF Stock Photo

The Transformation

You made the transformation

Leaving behind the chrysalis that was your broken body

Your soul flew free like a butterfly

It was a good thing

But there are days when it saddens me

And makes me angry

That I can't talk to you any more

That I won't ever see you again

I suppose I'll feel differently when my time comes

And my soul breaks free of the chrysalis of my body

But sometimes it's hard to understand

Or to feel positive

You have this set of people saying you have to believe the way that they believe to be allowed into the butterfly garden

You have that set of people saying that there is no soul, and anyone who believes in such simply is delusional

Sometimes there's no comfort to be found for those of us

Who don't think that either of those things is true

In any case, it's all quite muddling to me

I'm always glad you're free of your suffering

But sometimes I feel left behind and lonely and I just wish I had an answer that made sense

You're beyond all of that now

Enjoy your transformation

Fly free

~Helena~

In memory of my father

30 Days of Haiga 2014: Day 11

Click to Enlarge

Original Photo:

Copyright: rolffimages / 123RF Stock Photo

Verse:

Dolly Marionette

Photoshop Manipulation:

Cie Cheesemeister

For My Father on Butterfly Releasing Day

Long gone from this place

Leaving only memories

Cobwebs in the sun

~Cie~

There was a butterfly release ceremony at Mountain View Park in Boulder today, sponsored by Family Hospice of Boulder. I purchased a butterfly in honor of my father, who died on November 28, 2010 after six years of progressive physical and mental deterioration following a devastating hemorrhagic stroke on June 4, 2004. My father would have been 78 years old this year. 

My son and I attended the service. We released the butterfly. I had intended to watch its flight path, but it was eager to go and flew right in my face, so I lost track of it almost immediately.

Following the service, we drove to Golden, where there is a memorial bench in the cemetery, honoring my father. We placed the carnation we had received on the bench.

Butterflies have a special meaning to us. When the family was gathered for Dad's memorial service at the cemetery, we hired a bagpiper to play Amazing Grace at the end of the service. He walked off into the distance as he played, representing the departure of the spirit from the living world. A butterfly landed on the bench for a moment, then flew off, following the bagpiper. I previously wrote a poem about this event here.

Dad taught me to respect all life, including the lowliest of creatures, such as insects and spiders. Thus, the photo of the cobwebs inspired me. He is gone from the world of the living, leaving only memories. I don't claim to understand what happens after death as I am not particularly religious, but I do believe that something continues after the death of the body. Spirit or soul is a good enough word for it.

~Cie~

For Dad on his 78th Birthday

Image Source

For Dad on his 78th Birthday

When his cool blue Chevy got t-boned in ‘72

He walked away without a scratch

In the summer of 2004

Four days after his birthday

He suffered a stroke

Things would never be the same

Another stroke

His body betrayed him

Worse, his mind slipped away

November 28, 2010 was his last day on Earth

~Lily~

My father loved comics, so I created this Flash 55 logo in his honor.

No, I did not draw The Flash. I just photoshopped in the words.

Shadorma: Shadow Memories

C) Jen from Blog it or Lose it!

Shadow Memories

Memories 

Of a ghost of a

Dream of a

Wish that I

So wanted to make come true

Was it just a lie?

~Lily~

This poem was created using a Mindlovemisery's Menagerie Prompt. The prompt word was Memories. A shadorma is composed of six non-rhyming lines (sestina or sextet) and the syllable pattern is 3-5-3-3-7-5.  It can have as many stanzas as you like, just as long as each stanza follows the syllable pattern mentioned above . 

I write the poem in memory of my father, who would be 78 years old today. However, it is not about him. It is about a love gone sour with someone who committed suicide a long time ago.

My father was a professor of English literature. He instilled in me a love of reading and writing. He died at the age of 74 after a long period of physical and cognitive decline. I truly think the worst thing he suffered among the many things that went wrong was the destruction of his mind. He suffered multiple strokes which eventually resulted in dementia as well as severe physical handicaps.

~L~

To My Father

 

To My Father

 

His name was Richard

He was a high school English teacher

He loved to work on cars

And motorcycles

He loved his wife and son and daughters

 

Its name is prostate cancer

It slowly stole away his life

Turning him into a shadow of his former self

But it never was able to take away

The love he had for his family

 

Or the love we have for him

 

~Wanda~

 

Richard Bates

September 10 1932 - August 28 2004

The Butterfly in the Cemetery

The Butterfly in the Cemetery

I don’t remember

If the butterfly at your memorial service

Was teal

Or monarch

It flew towards the horizon

While the bagpipes played Amazing Grace

Mom believed it was a sign from you

~Cie~

Dad

May 31 1936 - November 28 2010