Thursday, July 26, 2018


the poetry of the children tears my flesh
spirit journeys of a newer time unknown
in dreams all empty nights long
the lost children
the ones whose poetry is untried
their bare limbs torn from mothers
torn from homes and lives
torn from the breasts of those
who only wanted to give them more and better
the abject tortured poems cried in the dark
innocent/not innocent

the death of journeys
death of hope
the echoes of the heart
the deepest memories
the never
home land forgotten
left behind with older dreams
with Nothing but barren dust filled streets
and tumbling cots
wizened shrunken faces
of the dreamers of an older time
when it might have been a memory
a spark the tiny distant star of remembered

haunted sleepless obscured night skies
stars lost in lowering bleakness
no moon to give us back
the songs we left that place with
and disembodied footfalls
loud voices
words not understood
and then the tearing and the screams
and then the blackness falls all round
the poems of children forced together
with no language
raped and broken
on the lathe of hell
the horror of those moments
when we believed the good
the open
the loving arms
the arms now tearing
no whispered loving sounds
but taunts and hideous laughter
as force gives up no names
no identities
no longer innocent
nightmares without names or faces
the screams filling all orifices
leaving no room for light
the holes left in bodies
deep wells bottomless
in the night of cries and evil almost-whispers
like grinding gears or ripping clothes
deadly whispers calling ugly names
and putting hands where hands should never be
soft untouched skin
deep gravid eyes
wounded with forgetting
wounded with the need for oblivion

what will become of these children
calling out their agonized refrains
in the deepest time of night
where dreams go to die
the promised borning burning
torched by invective
the delicate skin
the trembling flesh
the words ripped from center
by naked claws
ever since the mother was torn away

where is the mother, the father
do they not love me ever any more
why don’t they come
where is that lullaby
that song that let me sleep
why did they go and leave me here?
with just this crying
endless crying
words are told to me but all is din
voices layered and overlapping
hard hands and harsh impatient touch
names lost
exchanged for numbers

I, in safety
and plead for torture to stop
there is no remedy, no sanctuary
and the poetry of children tears my soul
I am complicit
my age will not forgive me
I am not forgiven
tears fall from my eyes
and mingle with those rivers and lakes
of sobs laments unceasing streams
weeping for what’s been taken
there’s no giving back
it’s gone
fragile lives melt into other lives  
and older times
forgotten times
the young hatched from these caged birds
know no sacred touch
no love
can words half remembered
buried deep within
the memories of long ago
when mother held them
mother’s soothing bell-like voice
sang sweet unworded nothings
into tiny shell-like ear
the promises
lost promises given
can forgotten words still heal?

we can only give them poetry
and broken promises
but maybe poetry will be enough

© 2018 pamela twining

Monday, June 4, 2018

Tipping Point

knee deep in our democracy
have we reached critical mass
that the weight of souls crossed over
tip the scales on behalf of the love
the creative
a tipping point heavyweight spirit migration
do they look back or only gather
playing writing drawing singing
hands off
the machinations of the living

for how long
without intervention from the stars
diamond dust of universe scattered
cross the cosmos
critical mass

Fame monster corporations
like psychopaths
wreaking havoc because they can
wreaking death of tomorrow
in the toxic remnants of what we’re allowed
heaven scented hell

after our walk there were no babies left
sandpaper father
dead man’s shoes
kali yuga dark age
a band of poets creating insistent pockets of Light
in the encroaching
standing shadowless like silence
like Ouroboros consumes itself

angry shores
so much hate
it crawled around the edges of their hearts
gripped tight
manifest destiny manifest aggression
terrorized with information
they got into bed with death
despised and mocked of history
they can’t escape themselves
the monster shouters
who tell us to create more dead
for their delectation
making children afraid of a blue sky

my Name is Resistance

© 2018 pamela twining


Monday, April 9, 2018

The Lucky One

                                                                                      for Artie & Lucinda

his eyes always saw so much farther
than my dreams for him could see
the seeds of his going born into the small body
that slipped so sweetly and humbly into my book of days

we gave each other Life
i, him, beyond his time and he, my open heart
i was his tree
and he my baby-child
he was my teacher in the short days
of our Awakening together
and sweeter lessons never learned by me

no doubt no release from pain
the loss of his eyes and his breath and his little ways
heart shattered like glass
              how will the pieces ever be gathered together?

cry in the cab of the truck with the radio cranked
Scream! let it go let it go let it go!
at least as far as the damn tether will Let it go
             soul tethered by an unbearable Love
             in the wind of a planet gone mad

my arms hold the slight weight of him
only glamoured on earth for awhile
and memories drown me
a rip from the gut a screaming meemie of a crazy moment
and tears are washing in the middle of traffic
               no release just adequate disguise
               in the rain in the pouring rain

the blade of memory cuts deeply
the almost-sadness
colouring my days for all time
                in mind’s eye he is curled
                next to my pillow humming
                his ancient songs into my ear

© 2018 pamela twining