Volaric Limerick (republished)

There once was a Tea Bagger named Volaric

whose positions seemed quite barbaric

his congressional run

was really no fun

And his politics seemed quite generic.

© Cherie R. Boeneman 2012

*If you use this limerick please give me credit

Vultures (Haiku)

Prehistoric birds
vultures circling the dead prey
scavengers supreme.

Waiting to pick bones;
Ugly: they look like what they do.
Like men in D.C.

Squirrels and Nuts

Squirrels bury nuts

and later cannot find them;

not unlike Congress.

Worms (Haiku)

Slimy worms burrow

Into dark dirty places,

like politicians.

Poems and Reality

When I posted a recent poem on another website, I realized that judging by the comments, that people thought it depicted an actual event. Often times, my poems DO reflect, quite directly, a recent experience. Sometimes, however, they reflect more of a state of mind than state of events. The nature of poetry is that it can travel anywhere, be anything, take almost any shape. Poetry is as fluid as the mind that creates it. In that regard,  poetry may be the most accurate reflection of the poet's "mind print."  Just as everyone has a unique finger prints, I believe everyone has a signature mind print, a  thought process unique to him or her. Some folks think rather concretely and their poems reflect that. Others are more abstract. The challenge for me, has always been to try to create OUTSIDE the box my mind is in. My ultimate goal with my best poetry is to break through the boundaries that tend to limit me. I encourage readers, then, not to be too caught up with what event or person a given poem refers to because, sometimes, an event or person may just be a spring board into something unique. It may reflect a secret wish or not at all. I will admit, it always DOES reflect something going on in my mind but that doesn't mean too much because my mind has been known to wander in very unlikely pathways, something like a trip through The Looking Glass. It is my contention that the best poetry almost always involves that looking glass to some extent, a chance to bend the mind to acknowledge and perceive a different reality, a way to shouting to the reader: "Don't be so fucking literal!"  

Silver Fox

He is a silver fox
appraising ice blue eyes.
Silently slinking, stalking,
standing and waiting.


The prey is unaware
of his stealthy presence
as she calmly continues 
writing, creating.


Smoothly he approaches,
silent as the moonlight's
shadows within which he moves.
He starts debating:


When should he start his play?
Not wanting to scare her
the sly old fox steps in front
before stating:


"Would you care for some wine?
The Beaujolais is fine."
His prey smiles and then stands up, 
he is baiting.


She waits for his approach
as he slips in beside,
she turns to face him fully,
options weighing.


She reaches up to kiss
him and run her fingers 
through his hair and stroke his ears;
love awaiting.

Crazy: How It Feels

Like limestone bricks
pyramid upon soul
ever downward pressing
heaviness distressing.


siphoning breath; 
oven melting madness,
sad, sanity stealing
persecuting feelings.


space-like vacuum
sucking life from the room,
remaining viscous brain
sliding down whirpool's drain.

The One

Who is the One?
Is it you?
Is it a friend?


Who is the One?
Is it he,
one who offends?


Who is the One?
Is it she
who does contend?


Who is the One?
it is all;
who walls ascend.


Who is the One?
It is God
Who transcends.

Fear Not

Fear freezes

feelings fast.

Anger acts

against all.

Hopelessness'

heavy hold.

Loneliness

lingers, lives.

Depression

decides: die.

Caring calls,

creates choice.

Loneliness

languishes.

Hope holds, halts

heavy heart.

Relief rests,

releases.

Fear fast fades

feelings free.

 

Running...

Tired but wanting to run
away, far away
from myself, everyone.


Tired of the deeper pain
sitting in my soul,
creating a bloody stain


Tired of being a weight,
burden on you all;
wanting a different fate.


Wanting to be like you
not like who I am;
needing to be normal too.


Wanting is not getting
I realize that;
it really is upsetting.


Wanting, yearning, crying
to be what I can't;
leads me to think of dying.


Dying: a way to run...

Shattered Soul

My heart is broken,
love is impossible. 
my soul has shattered,
all music has died.

Truth is no longer,
belief irrelevant.
what's real is in flux:
I feel dead inside.

The moral is this:
Don't trust anybody,
they all deceive you;
will all make you cry.

Rely on yourself.
Then if you are let down
you will always know
that at least you tried.

Believe in yourself
and maybe One Other.
Hold to your values
they'll help you decide.

Let others be friends
but never let them in
so far they can hurt:
take them all in stride.

Choices

It's amazing to me
the way you see things.
You see the forest
but not the tree.


Forests don't just occur
but for single trees.
If one pine gets sick
so do more fir.


Yet you value the whole
at the cost of one.
You save your career
but lose one Soul.


You'd let one person go
To keep it quiet.
Politics is all:
amity's foe.


Know the choices you've made
defines who you are,
The way you treat one
shows values weighed.


Whether I live or not,
you couldn't care less.
That tells me you aren't
the one I thought.


I'm as sorry for you
as I am for me.
I hope you can see
my point of view.


If not, it's a big waste
for all of us here
saw you as caring; 
that's now erased.


Please open up your heart
stop being afraid,
thinking you'll be hurt,
try a clean start.


Tomorrow's a new day
we can all start fresh
The past is the past
put it away.

Monday Night

I'm afraid of what the night will bring.
I'm terrified of what he'll say.
I so want this man's respect,
more than I care to admit.
His approval means everything
and I'm scared he'll say, "Go away"
and that he will reject
me and see me as unfit.


I'm scared he won't even look at me,
indeed admit I'm even there.
To be treated as unreal
would afflict me to the core.
Just to have him look over and see
me as a person,  be aware
I'm there would make me feel
that I am someone worth more.


It is sad to say I'm in this place
desperate for him to like me;
that I can't stand on my own,
accepting what he discerns.
I need to reach within and embrace
all the things that make me unique,
trust the need to stand alone
so that self-respect returns.

One

I do whatever I can,
whatever it might be;
a solo raindrop in the sea.


So, does it really matter;
anyone even see;
one single leaf on the tree?


One voice, one solo person
seems so very lonely;
grain of sand on the beach.


It seems so ineffective
pointless for me to be
a lone picket on the street.


The paradox is, of course,
that one voice is so unique;
like a comet's flash and streak.


And the other truth is this:
single voices join as We;
a chorus in one strong key.

Vertigo

Vertigo


If the psyche has an inner ear
mine must be infected
The unsteady whirling 
of my soul leaves me off balance.
Emotional dizziness, spinning,
always uncertain where the
merry go round will stop.
Never sure on my feet,
uncertain at best, and falling
headfirst into the blackness 
below me. Catch me, I'm falling...

Politics of Illusion

Like lines in the ever shifting sands
or winds that swirl and cannot be seen
reality blurs and truth is at risk
when politics blend with demands.


Magicians of circus reflections
bend truth and distort reality.
Shimmering figures make us laugh
sending us in different directions.


Sudden awareness that we are lost
shakes us awake; it might be too late
but we must try to find our way back 
to who we truly are - any cost.


Drowsy from illusion's sheer blur
The way back home not easy to see
Our voices must rise loud and strong.
Voting the only path back that's sure.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow has never been my friend
so I have no idea why I should
decide now to give it one more try.


Tomorrow is always round the bend
making promises to me, "You could"...
somehow always turning out a lie.


Tomorrow never comes in the end.
Hope is an illusion, it's no good
waiting around, so I say good-bye.


C. Boeneman
6/24/2012

Spiral




Jobless
Useless
Erased
Older
Aspie
Fighter
Trying
Bolder
Reaches
Stretches
Mockers
Colder


Endures
Persists
Defies
Moulder
Burden
Heavy 
Atop
Shoulder
Jobless
Useless 
Erased
Gone...


C. Boeneman
6/23/2012

A Tree in A Forest


I'm trying so hard
does anyone see me?
Does anyone think
I 've a right to be?


I talk no one hears
I write and no one reads
Does anyone feel
my tears as they stream? 


I get no response
I feel invisible
Can anyone touch
my hand as I reach?


There is no me
I think all to myself
Does that mean, I am
if I can still dream?


I feel like a tree
in forest so alone
falling quietly
no one can hear me.


So now if I go
will anyone miss me?
Does anyone care
if I cease to be?




Cherie R Boeneman
6/22/2102

Me

Yes, I know that I'm different.
Give me a chance and you will see
how good different can be.

Open your heart, open your mind
look past my social clumsiness
gaze into my eyes, see me.

See one whose heart beats as yours does
See me who bleeds and just like you.
Touch me and know that I feel.

Can you see that I yearn for love
or feel how cold alone can be;
Reach out and grasp my lonely.

I know it's hard to reach that far
outside your own experience,
I understand, believe me.

I have to reach that far each day -
just to look in your eyes and speak,
a frightning challege, you see.

Not knowing if I'm being weird
or if I'm fitting in with you
scares me and makes me leery.

It tires me more than you can know
and I can become quite depressed
sick to death of being me.

If someone would just listen, see,
how I think can be helpful to you.
I see things differently

What seems to be bad can be good
depends upon your perspective:
Weird or creativity.

So how will you choose to see me?
How will you react when we meet:
Welcome me or bully me?

However you act is a choice
that affects not just you but we.
Kindness we grow: cruel, I bleed.

C. Boeneman
6/16/2012