Tag Archives: poetry

Life is what happens…


When I was very young I was smart;

the smartest one in the class.

Sometimes folks thought I was a little too smart,

a bit of a smart ass.

In my twenties I was restless; new jobs, new men new towns.

I wanted to experience everything, see the world,

and prove I was no longer a child.

I was young, I was fearless, and some thought a little wild.

In my thirties I got married and settled down with just one man.

He loved my quick wit, my ready smile and he’d explored a lot too.

We built a life, worked on our careers,

and shared a love I thought was true.

Then when I was forty the girls came along.

My whole identity was engulfed by being a nurturing Godmom.

First the girls needed my care, next my dying brother,

and then my aging Mom.

Now I’m in my fifties and everyone is gone.

My brother died, my husband left me,

the girls are grown, and Mom passed on.

It’s not the life I would have chosen,

when I sit to contemplate and take stock.

But it’s the one I’m living

and there’s no turning back the clock.

It’s true what they say:

“Life is what happens while you’re busy making plans”.

Each decision you make, big or small,

brings you closer to the end.

I hope there’s much more to be lived

but no one really knows.

We simply have to carry on

and continue to enjoy our part in the show.

Advertisements

Happy Holidays!


 

I got a” Happy Holiday” greeting the other night

from a man I used to date.

He’d dumped me hard more than one time.

So why be nice now?   Isn’t it a bit too late?

I thought I wasn’t angry any more.

I thought I’d moved on and could feel no more pain.

But his holiday wishes put an edge on me

and they seemed particularly lame.

I wish for him several things

but none of them have to do with holidays or joy.

I wish he’d suffer at least as much as me.

I wish someone would treat him like he’s their toy.

I hope someday he realizes the mistake he’s made.

But it’s too late to change his fate.

I hope he forever wants what he can’t have.

I hope he tries but never has another date.

I hope his clothes never fit right again.

I hope his face breaks out in hives.

I hope he grows hair where men never should.

I hope he learns to hate being alive.

I hope his car breaks down every day.

I hope his bank account gets emptied out.

I hope his penis remains forever limp.

I hope his ankles swell up with gout.

I hope no one will be his friend;

that men walk away and women run.

I hope his misery never ends.

I hope he never again has any fun.

I hope his balls swell up and fall right off.

I hope the doctor can’t stop his cough.

I hope dogs and cats chase him wherever he goes.

I hope he grows numerous warts upon his nose.

I hope every day for him is worse than the last.

Meanwhile I hope I’m having a blast!

I hope he learns from his mistakes

no matter how long on earth it takes.

More than all this I wish for me

that I had never really cared.

I wish I hadn’t let him get into my heart.

I wish my pain had all been spared.


Does He Know?


by McKenzie James

 

Didn’t he know I’d always love him?

That I’d always put him first?

I would have always stood beside him;

stuck by him through better or worse.

 

I would have helped him reach his goals.

I would have kept him from the cold.

I would have picked him up when he fell.

I would have loved that man through heaven and hell.

 

We could have shared passion, laughter and life.

We could have held each other close every night.

We could have built something that others would envy.

We could have, we should have, but it simply ended.

 

Does he know what he is missing?

Does he know what we might have had?

How many people wander forever searching

and are never offered such a chance?


Illusion


I miss the way he looked at me as if he saw some beauty there.

He’d say, “Come sit and tell me all about your day”.

Then he’d hold me close and stroke my hair

as my troubles drifted away.

I miss the way he’d dance with me just because he knew

it was the one thing I truly enjoyed.

Dancing mattered to him not at all.

He simply wished to please.

Perhaps he needed more from me than just being there for him?

I miss seeing him across the table as we sipped a glass of wine.

I loved the way he’d speak to me about his life and world.

I loved that when I spoke to him he seemed to hear my words.

I miss when he’d stop talking and take me in his arms.

I miss him making love to me and sleeping all night wrapped in his arms.

How can one miss what one never really had?

How could I have been so wrong?

Your mind plays tricks on you as you age.

Have we become too old to love?

Is it possible hearts broken so many times can no longer feel?

Is it possible none of it was ever real?

 

McKenzie James

November 8, 2011


Rain


Thank God for the Oregon Rain!

The wet days have arrived and they’ll hide my pain.

I can let my tears flow and no one need know.

How many times can the same heart break?

How many heart aches can one woman take?

I tried to hold back and not get hurt again

but I opened myself up to more of the pain.

I asked all the right questions and I did everything

I could to make it work out

yet I still find myself alone on the couch.

Is this all there is?  Is this all there will ever be?

Just me and Bob alone watching TV?

Never a man who wants more than sex?

No one ever again who I trust has my back?

Men must not need love the same way women do.

They must prefer being alone to being with you.

I feel like joke, a middle-aged cliché;

the woman searching for love while the man walks away.

I’ve been determined to live; to not run and hide.

I’ve tried my best to keep an optimistic heart.

But now I want to get off this ride

and stay under the covers the rest of my life.

I’m tired of soaring to heights

only to crash once again on the rocks down below.

There are only so many hits a woman can take

before the pain begins to show.

I loved you a bit.

You couldn’t stay and let it grow.

You loved me not at all.

I should have known.

McKenzie James

September 26, 2011


Crazy In Love


I’m ready to fall in love;

head over heals

crazy in love with you.

 

I’m teetering right on the edge of the precipice

but I’m afraid to make the leap.

I’m waiting impatiently for you to catch up.

 

It’s a long way down if my timing is wrong

and you’re not there to catch me.

I’ve traveled there alone once before.

 

It’s a painful landing

and a long, treacherous climb  back

out of the abyss when no one’s there to greet you.

 

But I’m ready.

The sound of your voice,

the touch of your hand,

the smile on your face

have me bursting my seams with joy.

 

I want to stop holding back and leap

free falling into your arms.

I’m ready.

I’m waiting.

Let’s dive in over our heads together.

 

McKenzie James

September 22, 2011


No Fault Collision?


No Fault Collision

No one’s perfect

we’ve all got issues

some we work with

some we just can’t change.

I like my men either simple,

or complicated but self aware.

If you know that you’ve got issues

don’t drag unsuspecting women into your snare.

But you say “no fault collision”.

You say both parties share equal blame.

How is a woman to know

when you’re languishing for days in her bed

that you’ve got issues in your head?

That you can’t cope with your sexuality or passion

and you’ll soon walk away

to date a woman who doesn’t tempt you

so you don’t have to deal with the pain?

I trusted that you meant your actions.

My soul and body were in that bed.

My actions told the truth about my passion.

I had nothing to hide, you had nothing to dread.

Yet you say “no fault collision”.

You say both parties share equal blame.

But you must have known

because you’ve repeated it

so many, many times before.

You had to have known we couldn’t make it

but you failed to stop and let me know.

You’re old enough to know your mind,

you’re old enough to know your game,

you’re old enough to take responsibility

and stop passing around the pain.

Yet you say “no fault collision”.

You say both parties share equal blame.

Well I say someone is to blame and fault

lies with the man who knew the rules of the game.

McKenzie James

July 12, 2011


Adding a little levity to the site…..


The Car Ride

My sister drives

My mother rides

and I sit in the rear.

And all throughout

our shopping trip

this is what I hear.

“Are you feeling cold?”

“Yes, I saw that house sold.”

“Then I’ll turn up the heat.”

“No problem with my seat.”

“Do you want a coke?”

“No, I don’t smell smoke.”

“Then shall we get something to eat?”

“Really, you can smell my feet?”

“We could stop there if you want.”

“It must be these new sandals I got.”

Each with one deaf ear,

talking away as if they can hear.

I sit in the back a smile on my face

enjoying the way they communicate.

My sister, as always, attentive and anxious to please.

My Mom simply happy her girls are both with her.

Me just content to ride along with them both

knowing these are the days that I’ll always remember.

McKenzie James

July 9, 2011

Stolen Trust


Stolen Trust

She was a pleasing child

her young body mature beyond its years

and men who should have cared for her

desired her instead.

Like any child she craved attention

from adults inside her tiny world.

She looked to him for comfort and direction

and was coaxed instead to join his secret sin.

A simple tale of youthful trust stolen time and time again.

Her journey was launched and as yet it has no end.

She daily feels the pain and owns the shame.

The reminder of the frightening game.

At age fifteen abused again.

So different yet so much the same.

This time a stranger, violent and strong.

A different man, the same old pain.

Years later she watches as others maneuver through the dance.

Observing lovers as they banter and play.

Where is the line drawn? What are the rules?

Is it just another version of the secret game?

She knows a man who’ll soon be 60 who craves a sweet, young woman of 23.

He lusts to rub his aging penis between her full breasts and thinks it will set him free.

Should he not be offering to share his wisdom and giving her sage advice instead?

Should she be taking counsel at his knee, or lying with him in his bed?

She cannot understand, no matter how often repeated,

that sex is simply sex to men pure pleasure deemed their right.

Their souls are simply left outside and rarely join the night.

Yet her spirit cannot be separated no matter how she tries.

Whether freely given or stolen her soul comes along for the perilous ride.

If lust and power rule the night and fear and shame the day,

how can she rely on a man to move her soul and yet hold it safe?

She longs to partake freely with a man she can trust.

Will the time ever come?  Will the pain ever stop?

She was a pleasing child

her young body mature beyond its years

and men who should have cared for her

desired her instead.

McKenzie James

July 6, 2011


Conjoined Twins


Conjoined twins

That sparkling, sunny, blond haired, blue-eyed boy

brings pleasure and delight to all he meets.

He turns to greet a friend and there just on the other side

is his dark and brooding brother

For you cannot meet one without the other.

Joy and pain, share the same time and space.

Reach for either and feel a twinge of its brother.

Entwined together keen pleasure and sweet pain,

Embrace them both to reach the heights of great delight and wonder.

I wish to know the boy of joy

I wish to know him well

To relish and indulge in his treasures.

To experience him fully and soar to his gratifying heights.

But he is interwoven with his brother

and they both share my journey.

I gladly reach for them and hold them to my breast.

I cannot, will not, choose.

For pain and pleasure are not opposites or enemies

but two sides of the savory bliss.

To love one is to love the other.

I cannot live with only one brother.

McKenzie James

July 3, 2011


%d bloggers like this: