Flowers...

Dreaming of Home - Poem

Dreaming of Home

I had a dream once of running so

fast and free and far, 

to find my way back home.  

With feet that never lost their way… 

legs never aching 

and breath never seemingly as lost, 

as I myself was in my waking day.  

I dreamt of sturdy feet and steady hands, 

moving in precise time, 

and a mind and eyes both keen and sharp, 

always watching the world and the way 

ahead for ruts and cracks and wrong turns. 

With the pounding of my feet 

matching the rhythm of my heart, 

I’d meditate on the movement and stillness 

of my breath and in the world all around.  

I ran through streets, across bridges 

and down roads knowing where to go.  

Only to find the truth at the road’s end. 

That the journey was what the dream was about, 

not the home found at the end

I Hold My Breath

I held my breath again today. The stale air a testament of what has become the world between us. Neither of us knowing how we should act or react or be so, instead, we just become overtight rubberbands

Ready… To… SNAP… And I hold my breath… ‘Til the moment passes. Passes, like trains on different tracks Going through the motions, but in opposite directions I’m so tired from all of this holding All of the baggage we carry and hold on to, too long… So tired… Of all the tracks going nowhere, And never together I sometimes wonder if I’ll forget how to breath and die from lack of oxygen, I’m afraid I’ll just suffocate. Buried under all of these unsaid words but then I wonder am I already suffocating? is this already death? I already don’t breath, no fresh air has passed these lips in what feels like an eternity, no life should feel like this, no death should feel like this, no one should feel like this...

And the moment passes...

and I breath

~Sherry Lore 2018

And My Favorites... My Ugly Ducklings Who Became Swans...

Goddess Woman 

I want to love the ugly one, the terrible ones, the not so pretty, but they did their best ones just as much as the rest of the others out there ones, but these... these, are my swans. The ones that I thought were going to turn out horrible, who I'd just about given up on and somehow they turned it all around on me and found a beauty that was wonderful. 

Mother Earth and the Bird in the Sky

A few more coloring pages... just as random

Elemental Star Coloring Book Page

Doodle 1 

Color On!

Doodle 2

I love to doodle and keep busy with my hands! It keeps me from thinking so much and lowers my anxiety, but the adult coloring books get so boring and, being the perfectionist I am, I criticize every wrong color or mark outside of the lines I'd make.  So, I found a solution by creating chaos of my own in my own design.  No way to compare to anyone else or to judge me except me.  

Doodle 3

Here are a couple of my homemade coloring book pages (I know, already colored, sorry). But, that wasn't the point... the point was, it isn't perfect, it isn't even spectacular, it's, well, very, very me... kinda random and thrown together but a little zany and bizarre as well.

Another poem...

Void

I hate that cold space,

that voided place we come to

at the end of our hurt

When the words end

and the silence begins

and the coldness fills

in the distance between

I hate the empty hole

that part of my heart’s whole

that’s been sandpapered away

with indifference’s tools

Taking, talking, lashing back,

then I’m taken aback

by the willfulness of it all

You go, I go, we go

where we should never

and are left hanging by threads of piano wire

garrotted for the music we make together in anger and rage,

red and black and purple and blue

like the marks I give myself when we’re through

But we’re silent in the end

and the void seeps through

I hate myself for feeling pain

and punish myself for feeling nothing

~Sherry Lore, July 02, 2016

Random Scenes of Autumn's End...

Berries for the Wild

The Death of Flowers

Sunset in December

Blessing of Love

Photo -Antique Rose by Sherry Lore

So, I couldn't find the card I bought over a month ago. Heck, I can't find my mind, my voice or my sanity most of the time. So I found a card that had a blossoming flower on in that was blank and wrote a cheesy, but loving, sentiment in it. I love you, you know who...

Anniversary

I am not changed by you or from you,

but with you

Like the earth and moon

your pull attracts me, moves my ocean’s tides

and I hold you steady, in an orbit,

We dance of pushing and pulling

a starlit spin that lasts our lives

I am not made by you or you by me

but nurtured and renewed

Like the wilting bud that life has already cut

closed and confined,

You are soothing water and I am allowed to open

You fill me with so many possibilities

and I bloom

Sherry Lore - Sept.22, 2015

For a friend... Another older poem... (warning explicit)

I could have swore I put this one on here already, but maybe I didn't.  Originally meant for spoken word but I never had the courage to get up on a stage and speak it at an actual reading... Which ironically led me to writing the previous poem as I was about to post this one.


Where the Beauty is
where the beauty is?
why do we only see the beautiful ones on display, 
perfect as complete perfection, photo/makeup/cosmetic correction can make them stay...
replay, forever young, caught in some perpetual still life like on a canvas, 
flawless, braless with ever perky nipples and bright white teeth polish, 
bronzed skin and too tight everything, my god how the world must sing 
whenever they strut their shit all around and bring 
the rest of us less than perfect ones down by saying... nothing

according to the magazines, there go my dreams, 
all in a too fat, too flat, where the fuck's my shit at, 
reality in play, myself is where I stay,
stuck, in 6 weeks you can be like them, in six months you can be like her, 
in 6 years you'll be like you... cause that's the cards we're played, 
the genetic makeup, life breakup, reality shakeup is 
that the impossible really is just that, 
the beautiful really are just that, 
and inside I'm just that

so wake up all you magazine covers, look up and take notice all you trend setters, 
stuck up, rich bitch, fake ass, wanna be real but gotta fake it fuckers
this... is where the beauty is

~Shery Lore
8-1-05

The forgiveness of paper

I always wanted to do spoken word poetry, 
but paper is too forgiving.  
It's so easy to pour onto paper 
what you think, 
how you feel.  
To become what they want... 
expect, hope, fantasize... 
to hear.  

If there is a misspelled word: 
bitterness, anger, frustration, blame... 
there is always the spell check. 

Or if there's a typo: 
misunderstanding, miscommunication, 
misappropriation, miss-everything... 
there is the backspace key.  

And if all else fails, 
and the words are too much: 
too far, too long, so long... 
there's always delete.  
And start again.

Paper is too forgiving, 
I've imagined how it feels: 
scribbled on, removed from, blotted out.  
And then discarded once it's been read, 
or not.  

I mean, how much paper is recycled 
that's never even been touched... 
till it's tossed in the shredder to be 
reshaped, remolded, reconstituted... 
to become something else.  

How many poems are written 
that never even get read.  
At least words spoken out loud 
have a chance if screamed... 
or whispered... 
loud enough, 
to get heard.

Yes, paper is too forgiving.

Sherry Lore
Sept. 2015   

On the Edge of My Soul: An experimental writing exercise

"As a body everyone is single, as a soul never." Hermann Hesse

I’ve always wondered what makes up a soul.  Dr. Duncan McDougal thought it could be quantified into 21 grams.  I can only quantify mine as lonely and dark at times .  I’m trying hard to focus, but the everything around me, including me, is so out of balance that I can’t function properly.  Too much computer, to little humanity.  Too many walls, not enough world.  It’s all a giant hazy perspective that my soul is screaming at me about.  You know, that nagging voice of reason, yearning, hope at the back of your head.  No, not the ones that tell you you’re a failure, you’re pathetic, insignificant, hopeless.  Those are the reflections of all the pain and anguish you’ve gone through.  Ironically, they are usually more of a reflection of others pain, forced and inflicted upon you, as your own.  

I sometimes wonder how much of a mirror the soul really is.  I always imagined it like a reflecting pool.  What you see is partially what is inside but also what is outside, reflected back.  But, instead of being completely separate from everyone else, we’re more of reflecting pools, we reflect and refract all that’s around us; intermingling with the waters around us.  If all we surround ourselves with is ugliness, how do we not start mirroring some of that back.  How do our waters not become tainted.  If we surround ourselves with beauty, how do we not mirror that back, our pools clearer, cleaner and deeper than before.  But for every ugliness, pain, jealousy, doubt... that is put upon us and that we put upon ourselves, our soul becomes marred, tarnished and scratched… polluted, cloudy, shallow; less reflective and interactive, more murky and dark.

So, today, I need to remember to polish my mirror, or... share my water with something beautiful. 

And here you are.       

Poem - Poetry

Here is another older poem done for both written and spoken word... Enjoy!


Poetry
(for spoken word and written)

Words, Thoughts, scenery
nothing but random memory
passion in me
Slippery soliloquy
Sounding possibility, 
chance derived, probably 
I mind it like I find it
Deriving, aligning, designing…  bit by bit
Thrown together, fantasy is what I take, I make
all the words strung together like so many pearls, I break
all the rules and boundaries
Giving me power, and power frees
the mind, my mind, my body, my soul, decrees
That I do what I please, 
with ease...
I tease... the words, the form and find the heart
just one part, 
the start
of the whole, the body, the soul
of sound, its bound
within me I struggle to make it resound
and this is what I found
I finally see, what's deep within me
I'll be... Poetry
and I'm free

by Sherry Lore

Here are some older poems I thought I'd share

I decided to put some of my poems on Hello Poetry and came across a few poems that are older but that I've never posted here before.  Some are angry, some are hopeful, and some are better as spoken word.  Anyway, I thought I'd post a few.  I know no one really reads this anyway, it's mostly just for me, but I hope anyone who does, enjoys and remembers these are words from different time periods of my life.

 ~ Sherry Lore

Dark Forest

The Scar
(I Know... Mommy, Step-Daddy, Boyfriend and Me)

I don't trust myself 
with a razor today
I might slice to fast, 
I might cut too deep
The bruises are all 
I can give myself now 
a consolation 
of my past memories
Self hate made 
into physical reality
I feel the scar 
pulling at me

I feel your fist punching 
into me, 
no sorries or worries, 
just guilt trips and stories
I see your tears, 
I hear your words, 
you've had it hard, 
you've had it rough, 
you've had the whole world 
against you from the start
Men betrayed you, 
women resent you, 
self-pity and loathing medicate you
Like the only one who can feel rage is you, 
like the only one who should feel ok is you
I know your shame, 
But I feel my own,

and run, the floor pounding against my feet
I stumble into the silence of my own private hell

I smell your breath,
aqua velva, cheep wine and beer, 
I hear your slurred screams, 
BITCH, SLUT, WHORE, CUNT 
I feel the flush, the excitement, the fear, 
I see your face, 
a mask of desire, frustration and rage,
empty and scared, 
like an animal starving and caged
and then feel the vibrations of your fists 
punching empty walls too near
I know your shame, I know your pain
But I feel my own,

and fall, from the top floor of my temple in hell... the dream 
where your chased by the unknown, unseen,
Choose - capture or death... 
capture or death...
Death... 
and 
I 
fall

I feel the hands grabbing hold of me, 
molding me, throwing me
I see your face looming over me, 
threateningly
I feel the loneliness seep into me, 
set me free 
You isolate me from what little sanity 
I have left, 
you steal away my soul
You belittle me, cheat on me, break into me, 
violating all I have or control
I know your shame, 
I know your pain, 
I know your blame
But I feel my own,

and I dive, 
into 
myself 
as far 
as
 I
can
looking for the quiet piece 
within me that still 
holds what little self
 I have left

you took it all, 
So... I search for the silence inside

I can feel the knife cut into me, 
hear my pain, feel my screams
I see the scar, over my heart, 
thudding gently in time
so small, a reminder of all I've endured
 for others shame, 
all I've endured 
for others pain, 
all I've endured 
for others blame.

I know their shame, 
their pain, 
their blame, 

I made it my own
A physically manifest, eternal reminder, 
for ever a part of me, 
mine alone
I made my own

Sherry Lore-December 2002

Storm night

Do you know

Do you know how it feels to be 

yelled at

screamed at

bitch slapped

all that

Hiding in a corner praying that it's over

Do you know how it feels to be 

called names 

shameful things

head games

things you can't bear to hear

Do you know how it is to feel

dirty and unclean

terrified, scared, mean

angry enough to scream

fuck you to all the world and fuck you, to you too

Do you know what it is to feel

like the bad words stick to you

running you all through

ripping at the real you

rip and cut and fuck me too

Do you know how much I just need to take a bath

wash away all the mad 

rinse all the sad

scrub all the bad

be careful you don't wash away, too

Sherry Lore-July 2003

A Poem You've Already Seen

I sometimes wonder how different my world would be if I were completely alone.  

Papered skin stretched thin. Like autumn leaves after winter's hands have scraped them clean.  
I am a poem you've already seen.

Dusky dark life of hollowed spaces, 
my body filled with regrets and angry places. 
I am a poem you've already seen

Tears of joy and sadness fill air
a void of soul I expect to be there
but not made whole.
I am a poem you've already seen

Thoughts so primal, urgent passions
Racing, raging, our words... our worlds clashing
but saying, holding, nothing
I am a poem you've already seen

I sometimes wonder how different my world would be if I were completely alone, 
and I wrote the poem you've already seen

-Sherry Lore, March 2015