I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

8 September 2011


Hating is easy. I do it seldom
and thoroughly. What is hard
is to bring yourself back
from that slow poison
after decades, when already
your limbs are twisting and crippling
and the spreading corrosion 
eats your face from the inside.

I know about hate. Gave my stepmother
thirty years of it. If thoughts could kill.... 
There were reasons. There are always 
reasons. Then I saw that it made me ill.      
The poison was all through me, 
ice in my veins. Gradually
I was becoming frozen.
It didn’t seem to be harming her.

I had to let it go. Remarkable
what you can manage
when it means choosing life.
I suppose I could have decided
to hate the alcohol instead,
but I wasn’t convinced she wasn’t 
a sadist anyway, even before that. 
And I like a nice wine.

They tell me she must have been
one of my greatest teachers.
On the soul level, they say,
we must have arranged all this 
between us, her and me. If so
I did a very good job of forgetting.
All I know is, I stopped hating.
That’s it, though. I can’t like her.

30 Poems in 30 Days: 6, hating someone or something.

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