The Burn Barrel

A tenuous ego sits waiting for memories folded warm and cozy…aware of their place in the shadows, amongst the mold and cobwebs of emotional death.
The artifacts of youth mark the precipice…without anchorment their purpose long forgotten imprinted remnants.
The dust of dreams coat the surface, penetrating fractures of memories hoarded… stored but never hidden. Always peering out.
Razor sharp tears of anger slash deep along the skin, an attenuate memory provokes
the quicken of flies’ legs, a tickle.
Yet, darkness awakens with the skin swathed in alcohol. Serves the flies’ larger hunger for morsels nestled in the ruptures…
The folds of shadows warm and cozy quell not the soundless gargoyles screaming on the edge of duress…remnant soft dust and dreams in the interstices.
The kindling of regeneration, rejuvenation, and transfiguration
ignite the remnants of dust and pain, building a blaze, releasing the heat of regret…
Welcoming the blessings to let go, as the warmth of transfiguration engulfs the soul,
embers rise to the ethers…illuminating the darkness, home to old fears.
Rise…rise…rise to the occasion, leave room for dreams, the nascent appearance of hope… the inkling of new purpose beckons.
Dust embraces the ethers,
Fear embraces the ethers,
Pain embraces the ethers, scattering and healing.
A heart warmed by the burn barrels embers…envelop relinquishment, envelop freedom, embraces blessings with inner strength for forgiveness
A new path…a new journey, continuing…

Author Statement
I was honored invitation to participate in the poetry project. However, I faltered in the execution of the poem itself until the framework of my artistic endeavors embraced the regeneration and rejuvenation of my personal connection to the five elements, and led me to find my voice. This poem reflects my journey. Sometimes you got to get through your fear to see the beauty on the other side. — Poppa Henry, "The Good Dinosaur" Writing this poem took my deepest feelings and fears out of deep storage, for which I am simultaneously grateful yet trepidatious. Truth: I have spent my life walking between two worlds, one in which everything was as calm and bright as outward appearances would show, where I sought adventure, and often found it. I have had several successful careers and, at 72, I am still “young” – at least at heart. I have a wonderful, colorful family, and friends around the world with whom I still communicate Despite my successes and triumphs, I have spent much of my life angry, ashamed, disconnected, and alone in the deepest sense of the word. When my wife passed away from breast cancer, my grief offered no solace, compassion, or gentle hand of support to hold a person up; so, writing became my best friend. Through symbolism, I exposed shards of my shattered childhood and my deepest pain. Being part of the Gatehouse experience in the beginning was an overwhelming period. The demons of my youth were woven into the very fabric of who I became as an adult. In retrospect my inner child was at the helm of my ship, and me along for the tumultuous ride of my life. Finding the Gatehouse was a blessing. Through supportive individuals, I began to journal again, expressing my inner turmoil. The process forced me to face my demons and gain the courage to put them where they belonged – in the burn barrel. The pain of my childhood betrayal will never go away; but I can talk about it without breaking down. The process is ongoing; my friends call me “the turtle” because my actions are slow and deliberate. All of the above does not exhibit how far I have come - the next chapters are still unwritten, because something wonderful is always about to happen. The poem I submitted for the Global Poetry Initiative stirred up emotional dust for me, at the same time releasing it. My wish is that sharing my experience of healing, however slow the process is, will be words that comfort others, chosen by those looking for a guidepost for hope. My poem reflects my journey, and the journey continues. And I am blessed…

I HEAR YOU

I hear you. I see you.
Something happened to you that never should have happened.
It wasn’t your fault.

Come share your voice.
Be heard.
Be believed.
Find trust and safety again.
I’m right here.
I hear you.
I believe you.

Author Statement
These poems started to come to me with ease in January 2019, about 9 months after I had a concussion. It was after 9 months of really slowing down and resting (because the concussion gave me no other choice!) that these poems started to arise. The first one I ever wrote arose when I realized how lost and disconnected I’d been for so many years. But now there was a turning point where I was starting to feel something different! I was beginning to experience joy, gratitude and health again. My first poem ("Light and Dark") arose when I saw this difference. Over time, these poems would come as “downloads” after I’d allow myself to feel emotions and hurts of past traumas. Sometimes they’d come during meditation or while being in nature. Other times they’d come after therapy appointments or after being in contact with a toxic relative. They came sporadically, sometimes months apart. The poems have been an outlet for me to allow my voice, feelings and thoughts to come through; and with no expectation or pressure on myself of whether I’d share them or not. They’ve been a part of my healing journey and process. I hope they help others too now in some way!

Resetting

Still, I find them in their prisons, but they love me...
I ask them to show me how they got there.
Their distress and nightmares become mine...
Some places we glimpse and run, they are too dangerous...
We escape to favourite places and bask in the warmth of safety and peace.
Mostly, we discover the need to assuage their wounded hearts
We rebuild their memories and fill them with love and tenderness.
They hide things still...they have so much shame...or I cannot see.
Even when we are stuck, we still bond...we swim in healing waters.
We fight, we rage, we tantrum, take vengeance...find empowerment.
We replay history and reclaim their losses.
They find safety, love, community, acceptance...
I sigh...reset...one hole filled.
That sword stops stabbing.
An organ is less tainted...some poison is sifted out
Those banal words and predicaments can be a part of my life
A moment relieved of possession...I am eradiated.
I smile...a freedom to exist, to stand straight and tall.

Author Statement
The poem is a reflection on my process of doing inner child meditations to reparent and reimagine safety and reclaim needs that were never provided. This poem is one of seven other poems reflecting on my inner child work and focuses on the phase where I was learning to use meditation to find pain relief from triggers. I learned my back pain is caused by an aroused emotion trapped in my body and that meditation could provide the underlying need that my emotion wanted to experience to find relief. This poem describes the process of finding my inner children in spaces of deprivation, rescuing them, and providing a safe space to meet their needs. The conclusion conveys my experience of releasing tension to find relief from chronic back pain and the joy of experiencing no triggers in a historically triggering moment. I have just completed a book of seven poems with a collection of drawings called “My Left Hand is Talking, My Right Hand is Nurturing,” that chronicles this process of using inner child meditation to heal and find relief of the symptoms of abuse.

INNOCENCE LOST

I was a child whose life had barely begun
You crept into my room and took me from by bed
I trusted you and you violated me
How could you

You stole my innocence

For many years I was afraid because I was too small
I knew it was wrong
“daddy’s shouldn’t do those things”
I thought my voice would not be heard
So shame kept me silent

One day I found the strength to run
But the flashbacks remained.
I saw you in my mind I could not shake you.
The visions in my head were overwhelming

Courage made me find someone who could help me heal
At first I couldn’t speak without tears getting in the way
The words wanted to come out but were held fast
As if trapped by a barrier.
I saw the words I wanted to say
But my lips refused to open

Shame kept me silent.

Eventually I found the words without barriers or shame.
It was like a dam had broken and the flow of water, was the words
The years have moved on and I’ve found forgiveness for myself
I know I still have some healing to do
But my past no longer has a suffocating hold on me
I rejoice in every new day
Because I chose to live each one knowing that I am here
I am a survivor

Author Statement

When I was told that I could write a poem about my childhood abuse to help others to heal and also myself, I didn’t know if I wanted to relive those memories again in such detail. But then I realized that if my writing these words could help someone else face their own trauma, then I had to try. It was hard writing those moments because I relived them as I wrote, so I thought of myself as a separate entity and was able to write the words without it consuming me.

In my early years

In my early years
Living in many tears
They unknown passed by
Which made me tremble
As much as the hands that came by

POEM ONE

Fearing with much dread,
Is my Life with its every breath.
Sure I am dying alive,
But don't want to end it now.
The sorrow and strange torment on me,
From head and within and unseen.
Pain getting me to the very edge,
My only succour lies in God above,
To feel with tenacity sick voices and aches,
In my soul and head and my life.
I fight and struggle to be at peace,
No one understands and no one sees.
Yet all assume I am rudderless,
Seeing not a chained prisoner but healthy dullard.
The mental ailments and soulful disasters,
Which has got every other sphere of Life destroyed.
Many times I am pushed to say goodbye,
To the constant torments but grace holds me back.

Author Statement

Given I was alone and no one around understood my pain or believed my experiences, writing was a deep exercise to shed the toxic weight weighing down my soul, and expressing my pain so as to keep holding on and as a means of healthy escapism. It is a bit cathartic.

Trauma

What happens to my trauma?

Does it vanish like a magician’s trick?

Or does it eat away at me burnt up-
empty and sick?

Or does it harden me brittle and quick?

Or does my trauma become sweet revenge of healing into wholeness I greet?

Commotion

Pow!
Went My Head On The Ground,
Daddy’s Words Remaining Foul,
Blood Rushed Out Of My Head,
Like Spilt Blood Of The Undead,
Call The Police Mama Said,
Shut The Fuck Up Before I Shoot You,
Y O U Get On The Bed.
Thats Our Child You're Leaving There To Die,
His Pants Unzipped Her Pussy Dry
Father Father, For You I Cry
Let This Man Have A Heart Attack
Let Him Fry.
Looking Down I Call… Brother
Whilst Daddy Pushing Me Down With No Hesitation
Ever So Lovely
Ever So… Beautiful
My Darling
Sun Filled Radiant Child
He Shrugs
Struggles Once More,
A Quick Moment Of Pleasure,
Inside …. Me,
Mine…,

Reshaped,
Scratched
Bruised,
Rearranged Uterus,
Still Swollen In Pain Now,
Cracked Up Coerced Voice
Hands Agitated,
Pinned Down,
Shaking
Body Breaking
Boom!! What Shattered
Glass Against The Ladder
Fast Moving Bullet
Came Faster Than Daddy Inside Me

Tears of Acid

Tears of acid run down my face
Tears of acid I wish to replace
Tears of acid run down my face
I wish to cry tears of joy
Tears of joy please run down my face
For years of acid I wish to replace

The Gatehouse