I had to share my note about this poem so that next year when FB asks if I remember writing this I can say, yes, that was the time in winter (cold for us in East Tx 2019)that our heat and air conditioning caught fire 🔥 and staying in my home because of my animals during the low temperatures was crazy! But, it was a huge learning experience. This poem reflects my thoughts in the middle of the 5 days of freezing 🥶… the last line reveals my anger towards God or Elohim one of our gods.
Freezing hands, they are cold
The air from my mouth and nostrils is weak
The capturing of the sun goddess took time
But, it was accomplished like an animal in knots
A trap allures by temptations and it’s death slow
Why do you do this to the ones you love, master
Is your child utterly vicious and cruel
You let him have its way, huh?
You allow its perverse pleasures to manifest
You are the good one, right? Can you not be trusted?
Have you no strength or parenthood principles
Stop it! Stop it now! For you are the father of our lights.
You are the one song about throughout the land.
Stop your children from doing harm
Please, my hands are cold.
My breath is weak.
And life is moving on
But I pray that I’m not with you
BoJenn winter 2019
Sharing means citing,Thank you. I" do the same for you!
Weaving awkward words unbelievably infiltrated by a source
Who has bent reasonable human consciousness and time
Organizing underneath hidden conversations of the elite
Dictating to mankind frightening beliefs of death and scheol
Creating fear and hatred, and intolerance by falsifying lies
Freedoms eliminated; intelligence dissipated; imaginations empty
Colliding human beings, bending core character, remains nothingness
Grievances uninhabitable; the loneliness of the angelic godhead sits
Found are words that bend ears into manifestation matrix ideologies
Their pat verbiage we’ve acutely hypnotized and weaved like experts
Awaken to your own thoughts that were given to you so graciously
To hold them as yours and shan’t ever change a thing eternally
Your being is your gift; do not give it away; as you’re not a whore
Now stay where you’re at. Don’t move and eat only the finest fruit
Stay far from repeating their verbiage that binds you eternally
Speak you, and only you, and do it in love, for the Matrix will vaporize
Do not judge the fallen, but turn from that universe, and offer your hands
It’s not a place for survival. No.
The terrain is rugged and the waves are ferocious.
Learning to swim is mandatory for survival.
However the atmosphere is compelling me to open my wings and fly from the verbiage and voices of earth.
I must accomplish this
One task at a time
BoJenn @December 13, 2018
Sharing means citing,Thank you. I" do the same for you!
*This story is purely fictional and the similarity of human stories is merely created, well, perhaps some is real and the names and places have been changed to protect the innocent. The picture of Jeffrey Dahmer is from public domain and is nonfictional picture though this is not a story connected to him.
The story begins.
She sat reflecting on a cozy warm couch about the woman murdered, terribly mutilated by a man that she met on a dating site. She thought of her own experiences, of course she wasn’t cut into pieces and nor was her body thrown in different trash bins and she had no children, like the young woman who’s story was all over the news. But, at the same time, if one seeks their “soul mate” on dating sites than a risk comes with every encounter.
It was a horrible story and had the young mother made an early decision to screen her dates with an on-line security clearance, this never would have happened. However, like most woman, she herself was far too trusting and desperately wanted a soul mate,” and was willing to risk everything and go without a simple security check. The fear of loosing someone before there was a chance to discover love motivated the lack of discovery.
She knew this fear of loosing someone before love happened all too well. But then again, if someone is innocent they would certainly allow an investigation prior to dating. And, that potential date could also do the same and run a security check on her, as well. But, all they would find on her was “bad credit,” but then again, who would want to date someone who couldn’t keep a checkbook straight? But, she certainly wasn’t an axe murderer, nor had she been in jail, not even for one night. She was squeaky clean and quite prudish and shy. On-line dating provided a screen she could hide behind and become someone else bolder and more commanding, more beautiful and so forth…
And, the fact that she was deaf and blind wouldn’t be something she must reveal during their first encounter. No, that would be a sure turn-off if they saw the weir magnifying glasses she used to read and drive with. And, only dating sites would make this impossible for her. So, some things she hid from profile bios. She didn’t see her own deceptions and she never thought the men were or could be hiding their own. In fact ~
She believed everything male bio profiles stated.
“I want a relationship with someone forever.” Or, “I’m looking for a wife, a lover, a special woman who can love unconditionally, and who is romantic and loves kisses, and etc. etc…”
Of course, in her eyes, non of them lied or were deceitful, as she wasn’t either. But, the news article was a personal eyeopener for her. She must be more careful and risk loosing someone before a relationship had a chance to blossom and bloom.
The picture of Jeffrey Dahmer and other serial killers were in the next article. They seemed so demure, handsome, normal, pleasant, quiet, and intelligent deep thinkers and she found those traits attractive indeed. She realized her vulnerability and in fact she herself is attracted to men who bare these traits except, the hurting of animals…
How could they hurt an innocent animal! She felt again weak and victimized by her own naiveté’s. This is awful, stupid. This could be me one day.
The argument women should have to protect themselves to understand that serial killers, rapers, marryers, and serial people are often charming and the minute a person looks “to good,” or is a “Knight in white shinning armor,” then, here’s your red flag… Run and rum like hell… Away, far away.
This is about relationships that don’t function correctly.
So, she argued with herself whether or not she should continue trying to find HIM her soulmate online because of traumatic threatening possibilities, or be open to receive, Prince Charming.
It was a fact that she would never use a stupid dating site because her judge of character was keen in her own eyes. So, she believed and during the days she met her soul mate dating sites were new and on the rise. Social media was slim as the internet was just taking off.
As she sat reflecting on the eeriness of the story of the young mother, she also thought about the fact that many years ago, she was married to a man who had several alias’. Her ex spouses identity and alias’ were still a nemesis and perplexed her even after many years post their divorce. How he had been married so many times and his lies were so many, never straight, and to top off his fabrications of twisted stories, he always gave the reply, “My past is my past. We’re all forgiven and I don’t visit there.” At times he got ferociously angry when she “interrogated” him. That was his word, “Interrogated.” He would yell at her, “Why are you interrogating me!” His body language tightened. He bit his lips. His arms and legs crossed tightly either over his chest or leg over leg which couldn’t be moved apart due to control. His stare of disdain and threats were always present. He didn’t have to say another word. His body language said it all. You ask anything else and you’ll be very, very sorry. At the end of the relationship, he walked around the house with a shotgun. They slept in different areas of the house and that loaded gun stayed by his side. She uttered no words.
Then she flashed back to their earlier marital bliss, or never any of that, bliss stuff, but she had all of her five senses. She was neither deaf or blind in the earlier days.
Well, she answered herself, “Why is another woman’s name on a check book from your past and she signs her name with your last name?” The old checks were under old tax records and pictures and perhaps she was snooping, but it was justifiable as there were always rabbit holes every where that popped up all over the place. The check book was just one simple rabbit hole. The next was her name was written in his Bible but was erased out and under the name of a new woman…
“Because she fantasized about being married to me. She did that!” He yelled after she simply and mild asked about the name Rebecca that was shared on the checks with his name. Odd, but she dismissed the suspicions due to, why not, it kind of makes sense.
The box of his belongings still sat there and it became a curious place for finding clues and yes, there were more strange names and women that were on important tax documents dated years ago. The Bible also included another female name listed as an ex wife, but it too had been erased and she wondered why her name was never written inside as a spouse. After all she had been married to him several years. This Bible was his favorite and he read in it every morning faithfully so. She noticed he stared many Proverbs. One stared with fresh ink was * It is better to sleep under a leaky roof than to be married to a nagging wife. She asked herself is this one for me? Is he saying something to me knowing that I read his Bible every morning?
*(Note here Ronnie and Connie)
Now, in the old tax cardboard box she opened returns dated twenty years ago. In 1989 the top included his name and his spouse Ronnie McCarthy and the next years had a different obviously misspelled name, by the IRS, Connie McCarthy. Another anomaly that just raised and eyebrow as no one corrected the document obviously. An over site from The IRS… so she reasoned. And also began to think there were many, many, numerous incorrect legal documents and what is the likelihood that so many professional people could make similar mistakes. Something wasn’t adding up that two plus two no longer equalled four. And, the rabbit hole was small in the beginning; however, yearly it got more convoluted and just plain weird. The Bible and the cardboard tax box were early curiosities.
She told her family about the oddities she had found and they blew it off stating that she always had a vivid imagination and that she needed to quit being so suspicious and enjoy her life of influence and gifts and shopping sprees and beautiful homes and pleasantries that most women would never experience. Turn your eyes away and ignore as wealthy women do this so they can keep their lifestyles of luxury. The family smiled. We all do this honey. It’s just your wild imaginations. So, she did her best for many years to look away from suspicious behaviors and the many nights spent alone after being told tales of being at the office and working late, sometimes it was four to five days alone and that included Christmas Eves.
She had been married the first time to a man who’s family were extremely wealthy and were Virginia tobacco farmers. She knew and appreciated opulent living, but being physically abused was not a part of the family she cared to accept. She divorced him early and paid him to let her go in peace. It cost her an Alpaca rug and six silver Mint Julep tumblers. That was easy enough though her mother was pissed, she kept her physical self from harm and her mental state was temporarily in shambles, but she healed only to repeat the process with a pauper, and then the husband whom she reflects on. He was much more dangerous than the other two. He was dangerous because her family, loved him and saw no wrong doing and believed that she was the over imaginative, problem.
Then, the country clubs recognized her as being “his wife,” and she was elevated to a position of prestige with privileges of sitting at the front tables or being first for many things. She even won many prizes at events by social clubs for being his wife. Her friends were now his, or sort of…. That meant that she was not quite accepted into his circle of buddies and buddies wives. They had their own special very secretive group and she was invited to their parties only during holidays or when the other people of society were included. The other people were also left in the dark and more than likely knew somethings, but those somethings were never divulged to she, the new wife. Just whispers behind her back and fake smiles were felt. Her sixth sense was extremely keen and growing more and more as time passed and more oddities occurred.
Strangely enough, when she went to the country club escorted by her husband, his friends moved into her space when he left. They always had messages which were disconcerting. “You know, your husband really doesn’t want you to ride with him on the golf cart.”
“No?” She said. Shocked that he was so rude and not a Southern gentleman at all.
“No, he’s like me. Totally independent. He doesn’t want you tagging along.” Mr. Asshole left with a smile on his golf cart. She continued to read her book.
The time had passed after the discovery the cardboard box and the tax statements and she did as her family so graciously suggested. Maybe two years passed and since she was a wealthy working gal, she was approach by two men in a remote rural store in nowhere America. They were laughing and felt brave enough to say something to me after they saw my last name on my badge that I was wearing on my lapel.
*(note Henry McCarthy)
“By any chance are you married to so and so, Henry McCarthy?” They stared at her. Then they said,
“Oh, we thought you had red hair?” And they were quiet and waiting for a response fro her.
“No, I’m blonde and have been one most of my life. Red-head, huh? Maybe you’re thinking of someone else?”
“No, don’t think so. He introduced her as his wife.” They added seriously stating. The one man looked her in the eye.
“It must be a different McCarthy?” She said insisting they were wrong.
“No. He works for Tankard?” He cleared his throat. *******
“Yes. Yes, he does. He’s in a regional director. You probably don’t know him. He’s works out of The Ivory Tower.” She had a turned up nose and was in denial of their suggestions.
“Ma’am have a nice day. Sorry to ruin it for you. But, Mr. McCarthy from the Ivory Tower left The Hillcrest Country club with his red headed wife on his arm. She had much longer legs than you do.” He nodded and got in his decked out white Ford truck. “Good-Day.” He tipped his cowboy hat towards her and pulled out of the parking lot.
She was literally shaking. Her suspicions and fears were back again. Thinking to herself, was that planned? Did they hunt me down in rural boondocks grocery in Ten Buch Two to tell me my husband had a red head on his arm that he introduced as me? Did hey just say that? That man doubted that I am the wife. He thinks I’m a fake, wanna- be. He was questioning my authenticity.
She drove home literally not knowing what to say or how to act. Thank God he wasn’t home when she got back home. There was more time to think about what to say or not to say.
She called her mother and it was the same old story. “Turn your ears away and head. You see and hear nothing. You are innocent. Appreciate your life, dear. Go have tea with the ladies or afternoon drinks. Everything will be fine.” She mimicked her mother as it was always the same old song. Nothing was wrong but her daughter had an over active imagination.
And life went on as usual; however, one day she had to tell hime the story about the two men.
“Who were they! What did they look like?” Her husband was shaking his head. “I don’t have any enemies. Who are the men?” He insisted and was squirming in his chair.
“Two men in a white beefed up truck in the middle of rural nowhere. i was in a country store.” She retorted.
“What country store?” He demanded.
“I don’t know the name of it, but it;s at a four way stop in Slumberville. That’s all I can tell you.” And, thats all she could tell them and saying they had pot beer bellies was describing all men living in that area and they wore a cowboy hat, black and the other had a red ball cap on.”
“What writing did the ball cap have on it?” He counter interrogated.
“Not sure. He wasn’t doing the talking. Just the man in the black cowboy hat. They thought it was kind of funny, I guess or they thought I was lying about being your wife.”
His body language got tight again. Arms hugged around his chest crossed in front and one leg crossed the other has he sat in his grey easy chair tilting back. He seemed to be grimacing and grinding his teeth. He was pissed, no doubt about that.
She left the room, ASAP. The vibes were heavy and they were angry.
As usual, time in between was uneventful except when he left home Thursday or Friday and came back late Sunday nights, “On business.”
Christmas was coming and the huge grand ball for all the employees was almost there. This year she decided, because she always over-dressed to play it simpler. She purchased a beautiful gold delicately knitted top and black sleek crepe pants that slit up the back and were flared like a skirt. She had the perfect jewelry of gold that made her look like Princess Grace. And, they drove in the rain when the date rolled around.
The crowd mingled and there was several hundred people and an open bar. Slumberville Tankard hired three bands that year. One was a Motown band, the other pop and the other country. The party would last until one or two in the morning and that is how parties are planned there. Everyone looked like country movie stars or just stars.
“Honey I want you to meet … so and so and so and so…” until the hand shaking and the nods and greeting became wearisome. It was soon time for food but before the dinner was served, the open bar was packed and he left her at the table where their names were on cards. He was supposed to win a prize or two that year so they were strategically placed in the huge auditorium. She sat alone for a while continuing to nod to everyone who walked by. The time was getting longer than expected for him to get a couple of drinks so she turned to look in the bar. And there were only two people in there then leaning on the bar. Her husband was leaning on the bar talking to a woman with ~ red hair.
The woman’s hair about chin length like that man at the store showed her with his hand movements to chin length. She had on a royal blue midi dress made of velvet which was slit up the back skirt and the back swooped low which revealed her long slender back. He heart stopped a minuet. He saw she was looking at him and her. He signaled he was coming soon with two Bloody Mary’s.” The woman with the red hair and blue dressed slipped over to a man who had his foot on the wall starring at them both. He was more visual than she was. She got up from the chair and went to the bar. Her husband introduced the woman as Sheri and also said, “This is Shari’s husband.” And, Sheri’s husband never looked up to greet her nor did he take his eye off his wife nor the situation.
Once during the evening she had gone into the ladies room. Sheri followed her in there with a couple of women friends. Nothing was said nor any acknowledgement made by either women.
It was just another strange happenstance, thats all. The men in the white truck in nowhere America could’ve been right… Just another red flag, thats all. Clock it up to imagination like mom says.
For Christmas, a present to herself, she visited her first astrologer and psychic since she was getting nowhere with family or his friends. The questions were becoming exasperating and gnawing at her mind. Something wasn’t adding up and two plus two was definitely not four. She was hardly sleeping. The phone rang at odd times and he spoke quietly and would quickly leave the home stating there was a work problem.
During the reading in late December, the astrologer said, “Oh, you’re moving soon. Like within eight months. You will be moving out of town and things should get better for a while.
She agreed that something was not right in the marriage and that the deception was real. At one point she ran out of the session. She says the psychic will finish the reading and whatever she tells you, you can take it to the bank.
So the psychic was confused as she was thrown in the middle of the reading and was clueless, but she continued anyway. She verified all her fears; however, she said, “Your husband is very naughty, indeed, but know its an addiction and he really has no control over what he does. Actually, you are the love of his life. He’s just sick.”
Six weeks after the psychic reading he came in one day from work and said, “We’re seeing transferred out of the state. We will be moving to his grand Texas, back to his hearts desire. The psychic was right.
And it’s here in this story it must be said that their home in which they bought and purchased in Louisiana did have a ghost to top off all the craziness and made her seem madder than the hatter. The ghost was rather aggressive at times, he, the ghost, through crosses across the room many times and while she had packed to leave Louisiana and was resting quietly on the plush carpet floor having her eyes closed, a glass table was dumbed on top of her while she was alone in the house, not a sound, not even music or TV or a radio. Just silence. She knew no matter what, she has to leave. He appeared in mirrors and wore red flannel shirts and a red ball cap and she called him, Her Redneck Ghost. The ghost didn’t seem to like her, but on the other hand, he did many things to gain her attention. Perhaps he was trying to tell her something and she wasn’t paying attention?
However, before the move there would be other instances.
Her son came home in between breaks from college and it was Spring Break. College kids keep late hours and so he also slept late. Meanwhile, she took her younger daughter to a party in town which was fifty miles away and she was to be there early because all the young women were going on a boating journey and a sleep over at a cabin in the woods. So, it was 6 AM when they were scrambling to get dressed, fed, packed and there, 50 miles, by 10 Am.
Suddenly at 06:25 the phone rang and on the other end was an angry woman who demanded to speak with her husband, “Now.” And, assuming positively it was his work, he jumped out of bed, un-showered, unshaven, and in shorts and said,
“I have yo go to get new tires.” He ran out the door, It was a Saturday and he was always busy playing his sport on Saturdays, all day and sometimes into the night.
Okay, I said. Chalking the odd woman on the phone demanding to speak to him, the fact he went out hurriedly without showering, shaving and doing his routine of very excessive hygiene practices and also saying he was going to get tires when a tire store wouldn’t be open until later, just added one more odd event to her marriage of curiosities. She went about her business getting in the car and arriving on time at the boat dock and wishing her daughter off with plans to pick her up “tomorrow.” Since she was near other stores, less rural, she did some errands, picked up her paycheck and proceeded home, but she did a drive by the tire store and his luxury truck was not there, no sign of it. When she arrived back her son was now up and was amxious to tell his incredible story of the night before at the house. This was around 2 PM and she had been gone over 5 hours.
And, there was no sign of Mr. MCCarthy. Her son said he had not seen him all day. Mom and son went into the backyard to sit on the swing. He was so excited to tell his mom, the story.
“Mom, I cam outside at 3 Am to have a cigarette and while I was sitting on the swing in between the trees, I saw a women. When she saw me she went and hid behind that one.” He pointed at one of the trees that sat about 18 feet from my bedroom window. He said, “She glided, between them hoping I wouldn’t see her. She had a white long dress on and her hair was up in a bun or a pony tail. It was dark so I couldn’t see her to well. She had a high color on and it was buttered all the way up to the nap of the neck. She was holding something in her hands and up to her chest.” His eyes were huge and he was talking so rapidly. “I think it was a ghost.”
At the same time, the mother was thinking of the odd call that came at 0625 and the rapid disappearance of her husband whom had not yet returned after 6 hours of having the “tires changed.” She thought of the odd story her son was telling her and the hour that it occurred, could there be a link? Was this the same woman who was in the backyard and who called at dawn? Was this an apparition?
It had rained the night before and the backyard was completely fenced. So, and inspection had to be made of the perimeter. How could anyone come into the backyard without the sensor lights, the dog barking and past her son?
Oh, the fence on the side was broken. The wood at the top of the fence was broken off and on the neighbors side of the fence were two large paint buckets turned over where the fence was broken and to top it off there was one footprint in the mud. And, she knew a ghost doesn’t need paint buckets nor do they break fences to enter private property.
Two nights after that and two moths before moving, her son told her another creepy tale. “Mom, I was up at 3 Am again and was standing on the front porch.” There was surrounding the front a beautiful Souther Porch. “I was standing outside when a sports car backs out of our driveway (behind the house and not seen if standing on the front porch) and pulls out. When they saw me outside they took off over the grass in the front yard.”
“What type of car? What was the color?” She asked trying to sort more little erroneous details.
“I think it was red. I can’t be sure. And I think it may have been a Mustang or something like that,” he tried to clarify, but he said, “It was dark outside.”
The front yard was inspected for tire marks and yes there were some, but very scant and left very little marks. It did drive across the front yard.
And, that was another oddity and her mind was just imagining things, again.
They moved to Texas and they had now been married three and a half years and they both seemed very happy then. He was thrilled to leave Louisiana, though she was more hesitant to leave friends, all she could think about was making him happy.
The move was actually happy and pleasant. New jobs, new people, new beginnings so she honestly believed. Though she made many terrific friends in Louisiana, Texas would probably be just as warmly special. Leaving behind the best of friends, she would never forget them, nor let them forever depart. She promised to call them and they her, as well.
Soon, after the move they were invited to a huge golf tournament back in Louisiana and it was all paid for and so was the hotel, all expenses including (the wife), who would be attending all the ladies events and was specially invited to join the women’s all day shopping spree on the river where the shops were often fun … So, she bought a huge wardrobe spending a few thousand on clothing and jewelry to dawn herself in the way an honored wife should look.
She was ready to go! Their way had been paid by a husband and wife who seemed remarkably wonderful. She was excited to see them and family left behind there.
At the women event she won, as usual, a trip for two to Las Vegas, and several other monetary gifts. She looked stunning as she was petite, blonde and had apple breasts, but packed an attitude that was unusual. A little quirky, fun and really quite prudish, which was hard to interpret by the on lookers. She smiled a lot and forgot about the craziness she lived in. All that weird stuff always faded away and she saw only goodness. She and her husband spent lots of money, gambling, eating, drinking, shopping and buying others the same. To give up this lifestyle, one would have to be insane.
They all went out that night. She had a gold gown on and gold sparkling high heal sandals. her blonde hair was in an up-do and her toe nails and finger nails were finished that afternoon after the ladies luncheon and before all the women gathered at the pool. Of course the spa was quickly booked up for massages, but there was a reservation made, for her, before the pool party where then Bloody Mary’s were served freely. After the pool party she stole a little nap and at 7 PM she dressed to meet her husband, Mr. McCarthy at the ballroom at the country club.
The Louisiana and Texas crowd gathered in a nice size room holding 300 or more people, husbands, golfers, executives and wives. There were no girlfriends invited. Everyone was sparkling, dazzling and so superficially polite and correct. The dinner was Prime Rib or chicken and the entertainment came after the husbands were awarded and after more prizes came and then the music. Those kinds of nights were absolutely perfect. She felt like she was Princess grace and he wore her on his arm as though she truly was a divine creature. She loved that part of being married to Mr. McCarthy.
Later, everyone went back to their luxury hotels and agreed to go gambling. She changed into something casually comfortably elegant as did everyone else and they all met up at the bar before spending more money. But, money was like a fountain and it flowed smoothly without any interruptions. From the bar everyone branched off and went to their pleasure as far as gambling went, she thought.
Not being a gambler, she decided to walk the mall, shop and retire early for the night by herself. A soak in the hot tub in the center of their hotel room and a movie was her plans.
Suddenly, she was face to face with her husbands finance’s wife. The bombshell woman asked her to go for one drink at the bar and she accepted the one drink offer, which turned into three or four. They stood at the bar together having small talk about husbands, children and the usual, personal plans and dreams. The woman was a voluptuous wife with auburn hair and very well dressed. She was lively, carefree, enjoyed drinking and was flamboyant and sensual. She could see why men were drawn to her and she saw a warm and tender side.
It was getting late and she was getting anxious to continue with her original plans, soak in the hot tub and watch a movie. But, her new friend kept talking lively and was definitely tipsy.
“Hey,” she said. “I want to tell you about what we do for fun. Now, don’t tell anyone. This is our secret?”
She nodded yes, and she had a feeling, a notion of where this conversation was going. “Go ahead, tell, me. I need all the help I can get in our marriage.”
“Really? How so? What kind of help do you need?” She alluded to having my answers.
“Oh, romantic. We need sensuality and the animal desire for each other, again.” She spoke directly with wanting to know more. She wanted to hear what the exec’s wife’s suggestions were for a marriage without physical interactions.
“You gotta be sexy.” She nodded.
She always thought she was… sexy. After all many men had pursued her and she knew she was not lacking. “Okay, go on.”
“You and he must do things that keep your marriage thriving.” She smiled her sheepish withholding impish sneaky grin.
“And, what is your suggestion?” Now she was getting somewhere.
“Well, must husband and I swap partners.” She stepped back and waited for her response.
She knew it. That was what she thought all along. BINGO! She found one answer. These men traveled together and lived in each others back pockets. BINGO! “Really, you swap?” The other wife thought she would be shocked. She wasn’t. She knew the hook and saw it coming. After all, her first husband who’s family were the tobacco farmers was really into wife swapping. She knew couple swappers lingo. She saw it coming. The looks, the leads, the eye and the suggestions and questions and then the hook. The seduction.
The trail of conversation leads one way. It might be spoken using different smiles, words, thoughts, but it’s all the same sales pitch and she knew the sale very well. BINGO!
“Tell, me,” she asked the woman,”Why would you want to do that? Why be married? Why not be single?”
“Because, Because we love each other and enjoy swapping. It’s what we do and I don’t see anything wrong with it.” She spoke boldly with conviction.
“I see and I do understand your situation. I was married to a man once who demanded the same sexual activities. I began to hate him. he began abusing me physically and I never seemed to live up to his idea of perfection. He wanted to dress me for the other men and women, my hair wasn’t long enough, blonde enough, nor was I fat enough or thin enough. I couldn’t make him happy. For me, swapping would not be an option for marriage. But, saying this, will say, each to his own ting.” She arose from the bar stool. “I’m sleepy now, I’m going to the room.”
“Oh, I’ve offered you!?!” She stood in shock thinking she had said, way too much.
“No, no you haven’t,” she assured her. “Its just I’ve been where you’re at and it’s not for me.” She smiled and turned to leave the bar.
She had to cross the four lane downtown street of the city in the dark by herself and it was raining. But, she made it to her room; however, she didn’t make her bath, nor turn on the TV. No, she sat in the dark sitting in a chair thinking about what had just occurred. What had happened? Is this what he and his friends do when they travel together? What was that romans ultimate goal? Did she think I would agree and go with she and her husband or did she make deliberate plans for the four of us. A gloom fell over her. She felt like their whore. They paid for the expensive weekend and she ruined it for her husband.
The hotel opened very soon after, It was her husband. He seemed rattled and his night was cut short as his plans were to gamble all night, but here he was asking her, “Whats wrong? Are you all right? Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“Thinking. I’m thinking.” She kept her answers deliberately short. There were no truths shared in this marriage.
He asked no more questions, but he went to bed cuddling her tightly. That too made her wonder why he was so cuddly that evening. He usually was a don’t ever touch me person. Don’t ever touch me! So, why now? This made no sense, but she took advantage of his generous affections that night. He seemed as if he wouldn’t let her go, never. She felt loved by him which was rare. She liked his comforting side.
They didn’t say goodbye to the couple who paid for the weekend. They were not around for breakfast and it was now time to hit the road home. They had a two hour drive.
Home and back for a week and the next weekend would be another huge golfing tournament in Louisiana at the old country club with old friends. She couldn’t wait. It was New Year’s Eve and of course she had to buy the right outfit. His family would be there and so would her own personal friends. This was going to be awesome!
The next weekend they were off to Louisiana again. She came later in her own car as she had to work, but still soon she would arrive. She drove as fast as her huge SUV would travel 2:45 minutes. She checked into the hotel and made a call to meet up with henry in a couple of hours for a meal at the country club.
Henry didn’t answer his call. She waited and Henry didn’t call back, either. She called him again. No answer, no response. So, she drove out there believing she was interrupting his game of golf. Henry was nowhere around the country club as she greeted old friends, his friends.
“Have you seen Henry?” She asked his buddies and their wives.
“Oh, he’s around somewhere.” This was the common answer.
She went in the bar and there he was sitting with a group of his old cronies, drinking.
“Don’t you check your messages? I thought the plan was to meet up?” She tried her best not to sound pissed or interrogative, but it was hard.
“I told you no such thing.” He took a sip of beer as the others chuckled and the creep that always told her that she wasn’t welcome to ride with her husband was the chief humiliator. But, she will win. She was determined.
She saw non of their humor to be particularly humorous, but sly and hateful.
“Well, are we going to eat?” She asked him.
“I ate already. Go help yourself. They have ribs down the hill and crawfish out back.” And there was no “I’ll go with you.” So, she went bravely by herself and said hello to those she knew.
On Saturday, the women’s’ luncheon, then shopping, visiting, the party, the dinner and the awards followed by a band that played until 2 AM. She had a new outfit for every event. She visited Beth before all of it began and her best friend went with her to the luncheon.
She had already told Beth about the woman at the previous event and what she said. Beth just listened and never gave her opinion. She made jokes, but was really a very good friend.
She and Beth walked into the luncheon wearing their Junior League outfits. They chose their table with Bloody Marys’ and sat to chat. Beth said hello to a few of her friends in the community. The show began.
This year it was a tremendous magic show put on by a Professor of Mathematics at a local University. He was kind of like the old Kreskin. He bent a spoon with his mind. He called women out of the audience and told them things about themselves that no one knew. Some of the revelations were horrifying for some of the women, she assumed, if it had been her,she certainly wouldn’t want others to know those kinds of secrets.
She wanted him to call her out, but then again she didn’t.But, he didn’t. And the luncheon ended. It was a fabulous day with Beth.
As Beth and she were walking out of the country club, the magician said in a booming voice to (she), “Hey! I have to ask you a question.. I was going to call you out, but I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
She tilted her head and say, “What? What do you need to say?’
“Do you know why men cheat on their wives?’ She took a step back.
“What! ? No, no I don’t’,” She silent, opened her ears widely. “Tell me why?”
“Well, it’s not what you think. They don’t cheat for love. They cheat for the thrill of it.” And he was finished with that and she sat there with her mouth wide open.
“Beth. What did he just say to me?” She added looking back at the old retired professor magician, “Are you psychic?’
He laughed, “No, no I’m not psychic. I’m a magician. That’s all.” He laughed and walked away to his old car and drove off.
“You see?” She said to Beth.
“He said men cheat, because it’s for the thrill.” Beth replied.
“No, what did he really say?” She asked for something deeper.
“What are you saying? What do you think he was said?’ Beth turned the question around as she wasn’t certain of where the conversation was supposed to go.
“That man didn’t just come up to me out of the blue and say that. He knew something. He was tipped off by one of the women here before it all began. He said, I didn’t want to embarrass you, so I waited until I saw you privately. He’s not psychic. He’s a magician. He said that. He did it by chicanery. He knew what I was thinking before it all started. And the two women who hired him are my husbands best friends wives. You know the ones that I told you who leave me out all the time. They must have given him information.” She began to wonder why the women would be so cruel or find a joke from it. Did they know something they were holding back? All the questions began again, the rumination, the questions, the questions, the questions rolled over and over and over twenty-four seven…
Chapter 4 (Thinking and Pondering the loose ends)
Oh, the red flags were everywhere, but she kept the advice of her mother and carried on with the many unanswered questions, as her mother suggested. She did love dressing like a queen and she began to enjoy the hours and days she was left alone, to draw, paint and write. She thought all the time about the loose strings that always led to nowhere.
She began asking questions to anyone and everyone. The curiosity and the mysteries were killing her. Never had she lived in such confusion and vagueness. Her existence and marriage was similar. Was she really married or was she a symbol or a representation of a white picket fence marriage? Was her life real and was there any truths she could grasp other than a marriage certificate?
His hateful demeaner when he was around the house was disheartening. He loved to exasperate her as he used racial slurs and made fun of “fat” and “ugly” people. He laughed when he saw how upset she was. Once he got in her face using his index finger threatening her with the words, “In my house we say the word, nigger. You understand?”
She wasn’t raised like that. Growing up in The South, her family never used any kind of hateful conversation. To add, if anything like that was said, then she could be assured that her mouth would be washed out with a bar of soap. So, unkind phrases and words were not acceptable, at all. No, she would not use that word. In fact, while visiting his “Christian” family she said out loud after one member said a racial slur, How can you call yourself a Christian and hate like that? After all, the man who carried the cross for Jesus was a black man.”
When pulling out of their driveway, Henry McCarthy threatened her again, “Don’t you ever again speak like that to my family. They are good Christian people and good Southerners. Period. Do you understand?”
“Yea, sure.” She murmured. She was hoping Henry would leave town, soon. But, since he wasn’t leaving for a while she thought how different her families lives were to his. There was no comparison except they were Southerners.
Henry’s family were Way different. After a little investigation she found links to the KKK in his family. How could she be in this situation? What is her mother thinking? He always put on his Southern gentleman behaviors when he was around her family. He used the proper eating utensils and chewed his food with his mouth closed. He never talked with his mouth filled with food. He ate slowly and methodically and conversed in an intellectual and kind manner. He never sat at the dinner table with a T-shirt on or bare chested. And, if her late father knew this man was linked to the infamous KKK he would tell her she was in trouble. Her mother would have excused his racial slurs because he said it humorously and meant absolutely nothing, by it. Little did her mother know or maybe little did she care that her husband wasn’t joking, at all. He meant every word. he also realized her mother was quite happy with the fact that her daughter, his wifie, as he called her, was once again donned in beautiful garments and had a huge purse. There was very little she couldn’t buy, well almost. And, Money Can’t Buy Me Love, as it was once sung by The Beatles. She sighed. She was fighting a loosing battle and vague ghosts were all around her. Was she loosing her mind?
Henry really didn’t like her mother. He made fun of her pouty-toity personality. He called her a snob behind her back and accused his wifie of being A Yankee.
On the advice of her mother and friends she sought a therapist. After all, the family told her she was terribly imaginative and creative, but in a negative way. “Honey, you can manifest many things. I’ve seen you year after year, but it’s all negative. You need to create goodness and positive, and see things in a good light. Why if anyone had the powers to be a witch, it would be you. But, use your magic and make this marriage good. See all of your life as wonderful. Make your home the sanctuary that any man would want. You can do it. It’s in you. I’ve seen you in operation. Just wiggle your nose dear. Make it so. Be the ball, as you say so often to you husband.”
So, she followed everyones advice and sought a Phd psychologist to help her with her delusions and black magic. She was sarcastic at this point in the game. She saw him one a week for a couple of weeks, then two times a month, then once a month until the therapy was complete. His advice was “Run and run like hell.” He was a quote un-quote Christian Counselor.
She reflected on a conversation she had with Henry’s forty year old son. He asked her one day, “Honey, he called her Honey, How many times has my dad told you he’s been married?”
“Four.” Honey replied.
The son shook his head no.
She tensed up and though this was the perfect time to ask questions, as he was drunk and willing to talk. She clammed up. Fear gripped her when she had one of Henry’s bold faced lies actually hitting her in the face. This was the first actually verification of a hidden untruth, exposed by the light in his son.
For many years she realized it was then with his son, she should have interrogated him. But, her shy demure fearful personality did the controlling. It would be that quite characteristic that would keep her alive. The ability to be quite at the right time.
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Welcome To Winter Fairies and Return To The Forest
My poetry is dedicated to my family respectively: Jim, Babe, Carol, Elysia and Joel.
Also, I want to thank all of my poetry friends that I’ve made on FB. The list is so long of my FB friends and I just want to let them know that they are so appreciated…
Now, just a little note to you the readers. This is a long poetry story. It has to be lenghty as it tells a story about love that’s become volatile. Love ,that is abusive and perhaps dangerous, is Beauties struggle and “Beauty ” is a metaphor regarding the lives of domestic violence victims.
I’m most proud of Fairy Beauty who declares her win over The Evil Sh’man. I love her words to the audience, to herself and to him. She comes through as the ultimate victor in the case of domestic warfare.
Thank you for stopping by and reading the allegorical poems of Winter Fairies.
Oh and by the way, the word fairy or faerie have two different spellings and meanings. A fairy is good and kind and represents innocence while faeries are mischievous at times and are practical jokers and create havoc in their environment.
Evil Sh’man Speaks:
Hey! Come back here you Elfin Faerie!
Stop giggling, skipping and dancing, right now!
Caught again this time…
Feel the gripping of my grasp?
You Elfin mischief maker.
This time you’ll pay the price.
Last time… You’ve plucked my “C” chord.
Making sure of that…
Ha! You laugh, tease, taunt and twirl,
but now meshed between fingers of steel.
The last laugh; mine.
Little green Faerie neither sex surely known.
Doesn’t matter now
For between my fingers, thou art.
So, wiggly. So smart!
My eyes will not close!
The night approaches. Willing not thou clever plan.
I sleep not!
Sword drawn at my side.
Think Thou smart, do’est though?
Think ye shall wait?
Time your best ally?
Big green eyes look so sad.
Concerned for souls, are you?
Eyelashes ever so sweet and dimples warming pink cheeks.
One big tear begging release?
Ahhh…Turn Away! …
Eternal soul sucking fascination of Beauty’s green eyes.
AYE, Look away!!!
No gaze at she!!!
The promise of your love I shall not see.
The trigger’s trap catches not; me.
I DO NOT SEE!
Then Beauty Takes Her Leave as The Evil SH’man Sleeps:
Black night comes,
alone and cold.
Smart beauty sleeps warmed
By hands that fold.
In quietness the present enemy waits.
Beauty taunts not.
She need not…
For time be her friend.
Coldness aligns her side
And loneliness sang lullabies to her;
“sleep child sleep.”
The fight grows small.
Sleeps on the horizon; it calls.
Hearing distance voices my eyes rest.
The hills and a mountain melody lays sleeps fog.
Can you hear it, as well?
“Gently gently, sleep.”
Beauty crawls from fingers once tight.
Not to awaken the captures soul…
She’s played before..
However it’d grown old.
She plays well.
A champion for sure.
“Awaken not my game.”
“Comes tomorrow a fair shame is he.”
“Foe rest; later your dare…”
“Thought you had me?”
“You foolish sh’man.”
“Look! Who has who.”
“Thought you’d won?”
I’d not get away?”
Ah…Before Daylight shines…
“One last game..It affords me so…”
Whispers stories in midnight sleep.
You’ll think strange, “God’s” voice for certain.
Magical messages, images, songs and words;
“God’s!, not His at all…”
“Goody, goody for me.”
“One more time before nights end
Can bully jab my soul.”
“NOT!” Then; Beauty declares her win…
Her long fairy fingers reach for the harp.
The soul of her game?
To pluck his “F” sharp…
“Bold challenges,” said Beauty,
“HIS love I detest,
but, as He has made it,
I surrender my quest.”
Beauty, The King of Clubs, enter’s another battle with The King of Diamonds or The Evil Sh’man. One more round taking place in the courtroom of divorce.
The King’s Duel
The Final Question?
Can the deep insightful King of Clubs raise the final victory over the overachieving game playing often clever king of Diamonds?
Swords raised not a final nod. Eyes glaring steel blue and hazel green facial lines fixed not even a twitch.
Slowly woven like the Earth to the Moon moving like a dance made a circlular pattern on the floors of onyx black
The King of Diamonds so sure of himself believed no fight from the Club herself,
But the Club held dear the truth in her heart The Lord Almighty was there from the start.
Round and round so slowly they moved. The Diamond King’s lips snarled a smirk as he spit tw’ord ‘er shoes.
And the King of Clubs shot darts of fire her eyes told, “He’za liar!”
The one eyed King dazzled with diamonds galore
But, The King of Clubs kept her mind on the chore.
Over and around the blades slowly moved then picked up the pace without any shoes…
Cling, clang, ding and gwong the blades met rangling a song
“All shiny and strong, the song of a Savior, That life is a gift given by Him and though expect treasure we don’t always win…”
And so, The Kings welded their swords in the air cutting their skins and toppling their hair.
No whining nor whimpering came from the two but fierce wellbred bickering whipped whistled twang pue.
The blades never ceased the clang of the strikes, faster and harder beaten the life
Of one Diamond King and the other a Club but The Savior stepped in to straightened their thuds.
Now, it came to pass that The Diamond King tipped his hat, and gave up his crown, and that; was that.
And The King of Clubs Surrendered her heart at a cross on a hill~ decidedly smart.
For the hill is where all kings will bow made not of fools… but of heroes, Those, i am’s, of Thou art.
Fairy Beauty was captured because she was on a quest to find the perfect person to love her. And, because of her innocence, kindness and inability to defend herself, she is captured by a man, who is not for her ultimate good well-being. On the road of searching for a god-like man, she was captured by a sociopathic man….
In the poem, the man in the forest she meets, is a god-like man whom she created in her mind. It was a man similar to what she felt her father was and perhaps he is her biological father on her god-like quest for a great man to love and marry her.
So now, for poem 3:
The Forest Man
Like a drug; I’m compelled. An index finger points the way. The path covered in vagueness. Only trust leads my day.
The forest is my storybook. Few paths I’ve known. Some are smooth and uneventful. Some are treacherously bare.
Once a lesson completes. And a short respite occurs. The forest fairies find me. And, another adventure is assured.
My feet are weary from twists and stones. Tripping along the way. But nonetheless, the spirits find me. And again, I’ve nothing to say,
Excuses are lame. Whining creates more. So, quietly I proceed. Wandering, the magic roads of lore.
Passing through the brush. Carrying my satchel of prayers. Perhaps I’ll pass a man. A man who relinquishes terrors.
And I’ll look for him in the forest. There, pray he shall find me. Illuminate, our eyes will sparkle. Then, my spirit shall be set free.
Beauty does escape the evil sh’man; however, the road home is often filled with in trepidation as she is always looking over her shoulder watching and waiting for the reappearance of her captor. Her fears are at times delusional as she struggles with being tormented and falling back into his hands or similar hands. She knows that she is vulnerable because of her naivety.
Escaping and Returning to The Forest
Cold, cold, cold the morning; cold. Coffee warms my hands. Unraveling memories; seeming dull Still night dreams, do unfold.
Whispering… Low clouds covered the forest Eyes that see not before us.
But, follow the pale path Neath the weary feet. See it! There! Underneath!
Wet leaves covered the way. Then look closely if you may.
Sprinkled sparkling faerie dust Shimmers neath the leaves. And, if you follow the shining lights Those sights shall take the lead.
Following the strath of twigs and weeds … Growing near the path The wetness of the leafy stuff Still bares the night time mask…
Here, there, turns and twists Mark a path which won’t resist. All night long seeking an end. Running, skipping and stumbling on shin.
Searched, knocked, and sought Only not to find Any faerie myths… Oh, how my heart… Does pine.
I tired of your game, Oh, Faerie Running your path night long. Then decided I, Best to wander home.
And, vaguely remembering sanity Since safety departed me, Calling from the woods It growled ferociously.
Sad and disturbed Missed you again! And, lowering my face, Bares a fools return.
Hey, Look yonder!!! There! My Mims! To be greeted by their love!
The open arms of my kin.
My family who loves me dearly,
And they who prayed me home
Even despite myself. , Yes…
Even despite myself.
Special thanks to my Late mother, Babe, my Skipper B, my Dear sister Carol, my daughter Elysia and my son Joel. They “who safely, yea, safely prayed me home that night.”
Beauty is still on her journey with the help of her family to find sanity so she continues to seek refuge at home once again. She is still running from the shadows, the bumps and bangs in the middle of the night or day. She shakes from fear whether real or imagined.
Trying to Find Home
“Awe,” the radiance; so bright. Then, follow it, with all might. The road course shall lead by day Rocks, turns, stickers and curves Climb anyway…
My prejudiced thoughts; Lofty visions of you. Fiery images deflect a golden hue. Imagined you, bronzed, dazzling, and vein. We danced; then came the rain.
Caught too long there. Idol thoughts; so dear. Washed away; with my tear. My arms bound, and mouth sealed. Woven. Hey! What’s the deal?
OH, My God! I’ve Been Caught! The coven’s web intently taut! The feast I am. His delight. Oh, fairy friend! By the firelight! Here I am!
Now the spiders home virtually unseen, Vaguely tucks into that corner beam. But, see the dim light, growing so bright? A fairy severs the silk, so tight. And, falling from the web of fright.
Still arms tangled by silk threads Pushing out bracing the fall The spider and the fairy brawl Wham, Bam, to and fro, from the deathly fight they bow Looking, whom’s, my fairy friend? Noticing it must be Joe.
Underneath the spider Joe waves thumbs up, You’re alright! Now run like hell! To the light! Run away little bait! For, the fate of the firefly might be too late…
By Bonnie Jennings 1/12/2010
While on the road to recovery of being a doormat personality, Beauty finds a new friend who comes to stay with her during the getting home and settled sate. And, it was then that Faerie Jo (JR’s) entered her life. It is true that Faerie Jo made Beauty laugh again; however, Faerie Jo had some deviant behaviors the Beauty was amused by. He made her laugh though she never experimented with his mischievous suggestions. But, Beauty does thank Faerie Jo for the recovery of smiles, amusement in life and deep hearted laughter she had lost while in the deep woods of fears.
Joe’s Seduction and Return to The Forest
lips of faerie red.
Failure to answer
You want to play!
I see in your eyes
By the way”
“At the end of the day
You’ve nothing to say?
Sing and dance with me.
By the time night comes
We’ll use the key.”
“The window thought closed
We’ll not use tonight
For as the sun sets
The door will shine bright.”
“And, just as before
When the Moon was full
You danced by the light of the fire.
And your life…not dull.”
“So come on Old Foe
I challenge you today
to come to the Forest
But, don’t forget to pray.”
Now Joe’s eyes
Her hair of red waves fell
Her waist little too.
Charming alluring daring
Joe seduced the weakening victim
O so sweet her voice
before Joe actually kicked-em.
“I can’t, I won’t !
Now, GO JOE!
far from me!
Out! You Elphin mischief-maker!
There! The window!
Now, LET Me BE !”
Pouty lips and bats of faerie lashes
A wink of Joe’s eyes
She extends her hand
“Come now, come nigh,
And do not say, good-bye.”
“My human friend
Please don’t cry.”
Joe’s fingers crossed
After her word
“You know you want to come.”
Joe’s clever tenderness heard.
Then their eyes met
Joes soul stronger by far
It reached out to point the way
To the forest
Weeping, sobbing and uttering,
For with you faerie
I SHALL NOT GO!.”
“You LIE, you CHEAT, You’ve NEVER TOLD the truth!
Away from me little demon!
For I a clever sleuth !”
“I found out your tricks
All slippery twists and turns.
You’ll not lead me to the forest
The fires there
Will not burn!”
Blink blink. Smile smile.
Joe’s gestures summoned otherwise
Lies, cheats, twists and turns?
“You know how you loved it?
“Hey, for now,
Why don’t we play?
Remember the time
Remember the day?”
“You chased me,
And I chased you
Around and about
And away we flew.”
“And, I gave you wings
So you could fly.
You wore them one day
And flew sky-high.”
Up and away
or top of the trees!
O, how you flew.
Then, crashed down on your knees.
You cried a little
Afraid to smash
But, I caught you.
Do you remember that?
By day we flew
through tops of trees.
At night we danced,
Howled while burned the fire
With the breeze.
The snow fell
white branches below
cold air on our faces
you didn’t say, no.
Confessing your fears,
Don’t make me fly!
Saying, Damn you fairies!
But, we took you so high.
But, once on top of forest trees,
cold air blew
threw majestic hair.
Then, smiles over took you.
You’d no more cares.
The human flew
Above The Earth,
And, safely returned
To the fires hue.
Tasting faerie brew
Though freezing; made warm.
Tasting our food,
Now, whats the harm?”
So, come now,
God of the sky.
Let us dance, cheer and sing
And, please, don’t lie.
For flying, your game fare
The faerie sort
So, stay if you must…
But, winter is coming
and near the first frost.
Kindling our fires
Don’t get lost.
The invite is yours.
Extends the Faerie hand
In Spring depart
From kindred land.
Think it over,
I’ll return once.
To ask you to play
to ask you to dance.
Quiet are you
Not so sure?
Your soul inside
And they judge you.
But, in Faerie land
All tiny feet
Wear the same tiny shoe.
“So, I’ll leave you this morning
To think for yourself.
I’ll return ONCE more.
When The Moon shall wane
Then, you should thin,
Follow the elf.
But, one more time
I ask you to follow
Before The Moon’s full light is gone.
Then, don’t dilly-dallow.
Joe moves to the window
Her faerie finger points up.
Then, her faerie wings take to flight.
But, before leaving from captives sight
Joe turns to wink
And salutes goodbye.
In the year 2011, Beauties mother dies and it is in her memory, that this poem was written. “Babe,” Beauties mother was life’s weaver of magic and good dreams. This poem is about Babe, who helped Beauty so many times. This poem is a thank you to Babe for her constant help in real life and beyond….
Autumn Weaving with Babe,
my weaver of dreams and magic 2011
Weave in and out skip two colors of dreams
Raise the level of forest green
now circle around the lights magic stream.
Yellows and oranges
Parfet and red
perfect strands of marbled threads
Dashing there yonder
up over Mars
bringing back a handful Stars
Wild horses charge
Black stallions at night
Taming the dragon with beacons of light
Casting them into fortune and fame
Causing the wind
Making it bend.
Lastly, there are many more in The Winter Fairy series of Poetry, but these are the most significant to the experiences of abuse. This poem is about the road of recovery. Victims have a tendency to repeat damaging relationships. So, in the recovery process, Beauty separates herself from any possibilities of dysfunctional relationships until she can learn to say, “No,” and she can recognize the “red flags” that charismatic abusers often present. Until that time comes, and maybe it won’t, Beauty rests, heals, and discovers her own needs for self love.
Eons advance and passed away.
Thought, theory, speculation and opinions, die.
Glancing through lenses, and squinting, at the sky,
Adam, pointing, at the twinkling specs, named the brilliant ballet.
So, following mankind, up the mountain,
And ascending a rocky path; we embarked.
My feet followed his, upward, to where the sky was arched.
His staff pointed, and the heavens, then filled me, as a refreshing fountain.
An advocate of The Father of Man, I desired what he sought,
Thus’ left the home of my family and upheld his zealous quest
Confidently, I abided and affirmed his every request.
Even, wore his belief’s; did just as he taught.
One day, dared I asked, Adam, the man of science,
How is Eve today?
And, if looks could kill, then Eve is dead, thus’ left us only, to pray.
Deceased, she is. He answered, with a chill of neglectful defiance.
Man of Science, I spoke so boldly.
At the mountain top; we stand
The stars, you named, and held, in your hand,
However, love you murdered, so coldly.
This day, I choose the mother
Her love, which first found me
Within the warm and welcoming spirit, in there, dwells she.
And, today, I accept non-other.
So, progressing and moving towards her;
Over, the cliff of doubt, rapidly grabbing her hem, I aim.
Because, after carefully, considering your treacherous, pains,
*Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Bonnie (Gay) Jennings, or Bojenn or Bonnie Jennings with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. All artwork is also the production and creation of Bonnie Jennings.
My email: Bonniegjennings@gmail.com
Thank you for reading. I pray you found insight.
God bless you.
Bonnie Jennings or Bojenn
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It all flowed together so smoothly. Like a perfect image, of a handsome desirable home, with a white picket fence surrounding this quaint cottage. Framed with beautiful flowers everywhere ~ so are many stories similar to this one.
This story, is of smoothing things over.
This story speaks of little white lies. Often spoken in humorous tones of voice, one hastily jests ~ Oh, well ~ we all do it. No, big deal.
Then, we mock phrases that aren’t truths either.Hell, it never hurts anyone.
Or, does it?
Yet, the lies presented in a palette of vagueness are simply, tall tales. Non-truths created to cover the picket fence in more, and more white wash.
Layer after layer, white after white, one stroke, each time so delicately brushed, that was, in the beginning. At first, it was whispered. Spoken in deliberate calculated lies as his smile expressed his own pleasure. She didn’t notice his cold blue eyes, his narrow lips that slightly turned up in the corners. if she had seen him, as he truly is, then, she would see his pride. The story of hunting her soul, and the fact, he lived in the home with the blooming flowers, until the colors of their bouquets lost their beauty.
He chased away the bees in his mad jealousy. When the bees disappeared, then he too, only dreamed of the next garden’s odors. The next place to lay his head on a down pillow, and only the best, for it’s season of glory, will also wilt from the rays of the hot summer sun. For fall will come, and coldness of winter is on the horizon.
So, innocent was the white fence in her vain glory she portrayed, to all. The observers watched the paint covering her. She was unaware of truth, throughout the years. They knew her innocent naiveté would one day turn, the unsuspecting, from white into dark grey.
Because ~ after a while, after a time the painter, the creator of the tall tale, wearies. The sociopath is no longer amused by their adrenalin bursts. Their white lies aroused them like a drug, which no longer excites them. So, they become sloppy with their painting of fences. And, soon, their palette, once beautiful, appears, not so pristine, after all.
The passer-by’s notice the cracks left without white-wash and the inconsistency of the painter’s strokes. But, for some reason, they pass by the fence, they keep to their own business, and let the white picket fence, fade to a grey frail border that surrounded a charming cottage. It once bloomed an array of colors with aromatic flowers. Perhaps, they pass, by because their white picket fence rotted, as well, and their flowers had, too, disappeared. The fragrance of the blooms and the honey bees moved to pollinate a new-found quest, a new adventure.
And so, she asks, to whom does the vague ambiguities hurt? The answer is found when examining the fences. But, there hidden in the weeds, see, growing over the top of sour grass seen behind the grey fence is a strong red rose.
Painting by Bojenn
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“And Ruth was a lady. And ladies know when to leave.”
Fried Green Tomatoes
I am like Ruth
From a six year old’s eyes the pool was humongous. The fountain was the center and maybe I could reach it, I would have to swim like the mermaid my mother bragged, to all the pretentious competition. Life was like the caste system though no one dared accept this truth. Southern living and social structures in the 1950’s wasn’t far in comparison to India except the clothing, hairstyles and color of skin were an ocean apart.
Neville Pool was breath taking. An architectural ingenuity that marveled this child. It was heaven. Babe’s teenage playground, and Uncle Tim’s and Uncle Bill’s feed. It lured and provoked demure subtle seduction in teenagers. Even in the late 1930’s, it was sultry and hot and the Southern Wisteria vines draped the back drop. The aroma of Magnolias and Jasmine permiated Louisiana.
The fountain still spewed cool fresh water. Cleaning of sins with mouths wide open filling souls with fresh spring water ritualized the gardens youthful women of sixteen or more. There in the golden age, seen through an amber lens and pressed into a dust filled scrapbook life comes alive for the viewers. Neville Pool’s ghosts are displaying their stories and trying to hold onto life as it played out, then. It’s surrealistic whispers beg the audience to listen, to hear, and to tell the story. Step into my brown aged pages. Look back into time. There you will find romance and mermaids, the ponies at the track and men wearing white suits. Life is someones dreams and memories. So, it is the same here at Neville Pool in Monroe, Louisiana.
And, the pointed cups of their swimming bras were simply and innocently virginal. And, every man had one or two etched on the men’s bathroom wall. Well, this was understood and on Saturday night’s the men branded notches in their belts sharing stories of their conquests. Maybe true. Mostly, not. But, it didn’t matter, after all, it was just a tale similar to the largest fish in the pond tale. The sad part was the young male listener’s believed the fabrications. And on occasion acted out on those wild tales and try to recreate them as their own. Many of the young dames at Neville Pool fell prey to lies of the ego and some yeilded to physical man handling. Thus, forcibly giving up their tails of mermaids and unicorns. Southern gents sometimes take the childhood imaginations from little girls.
It was Christmas again and this time Uncle Tim and Uncle Bill invited these beautiful women to our Christmas Evening meal. several of us gathered around, young and old. I remember they wore a lot of red velvet and their hair was very blonde. They had large breasts that seemed to squeeze out from tight corsets. They were way too small for their bosoms. But, I found delight in all their colorful ways. Big Mother served dinner on fine Christmas China, silver, and handmade table linens and nothing was out of place or sordid. She always found presents even for the women in red. And, Babe was most curious like a child at the circus.
Mom thought for a moment of running away just to live the life of a gypsy. She always amazed me. Babe was much more free spirited than her mermaid child.
“Hmm… I can’t explain this to a four year old. One day you might know why. Gypsies always have music. They dance every night under the stars and they travel everywhere.
So, that’s why.””Oh.” I didn’t understand why she didn’t turn the phonograph on and go outside and dance. That made perfect sense to me. The traveling? Well, I just wanted her to stay home and raise her little mermaid. But, Babe had the wandering star guiding her. She couldn’t be content with anything mundane. It wasn’t in her. She wasn’t milk toast. This record she would set straight. Life was meant to live loudly.
Awe~ the summer memories of Neville Pool~I’m not certain if Babe was a debutante of Neville Pools. I don’t think she was and it doesn’t matter. She never snubbed her nose at Neville’s female sacrifices. No, when Babe became a sacrifice it would be private. No one’s tale but hers and the tongue that lashed vein glories would be cut out deep at night. One swoop while he slept and he would speak no more. Babe wouldn’t tolerate anything but cool operators. No one who had to shine their egos publicly would accompany Babe anywhere. This was a fact. They might as well slither off like a snake than meet the likes of her. Babe could beat the tar off Tar Baby any given day and boys knew this. Only real men dare entered the green eyed beauties turf.
At Christmas Eve Dinner again~
Her breasts poured out and bountifully from the crimson red velvet dress. Little mermaid just looked at her beauty.
Uncle Bill comment, “little fish, what are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen a woman before? Well …. Quit staring its impolite!”
The ladies of the night, giggled.
“Uncle Bill, she’s wearing the most beautiful Christmas dress I’ve ever seen. She looks like Marilyn Monroe.”
In Uncle Bill’s deep polite southern drawl he says, “yes, yes~ she is beautiful like Marilyn. ” Devilishly, he chuckled and pinched her red velvet dress where little mermaid shouldn’t have seen.
After all, this Christmas she was eight.”Mother, may I have a red velvet dress like theirs’ ?” Mermaid politely whispered to Babe.Babe said, “yes, I’ll make you one. You’ll look like a Christmas angel for certain!”
That Christmas Big Mother gave the mermaid a box filled with fabric. Red velvet material. Babe cut the pattern and made a fairy dress. No longer mermaid, but now, “Fairy Princess.” she even made wings and a halo.One
Halloween, years before Babe made mermaid a Medusa head piece. Mermaid loved the stories of mythological beings. Babe loved to read the fables to her little fairy princess and then make elaborate costumes to match. Sometimes mermaid wore them to school. Even though, the school children laughed at her.
Babe taught mermaid how to think magically. It was easy for Babe to think of mermaids. After all, gypsies, Medusa and mermaids were featuring characters in my mother’s many bedtime stories. Even women of the night were giggled at when Babe told the legends of Neville Pool.
*Although this story is a work of fiction, the medusa headdress was not, thanks to my creative mother… RIP, Babe
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