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Thursday, August 13, 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.       

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

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

Saturday, August 8, 2015

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 

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