Hi Vonnieb
I write poetry too. I find it helps me ‘control’ my reactions to what is happening to me. The process of putting structure, form, rhyme, rhythm, etc to it helps me to distance myself from what’s happening.
This poem was published in The Poetry Cure, Bloodaxe Books, 2005, eds Julia Darling (who sadly died from breast cancer later that year) and Cynthia Fuller.
Tamoxifen
My doctor’s given me a massive can
of elephant repellent. I’m to spray
it, after washing, on my skin. It will
substantially reduce the risk, he says
of being trampled by an elephant
in Saville Row, The Side or Grainger Street.
I’m terrified of elephants, of course
but never have I seen one roam the streets
of Tyneside. That’s the point, my doctor says
as if their absence proves the potency
of elephant repellent. Problem is,
the spray’s a vivid blue and permanent
so I’d be branded like some miscreant –
my only crime, susceptibility
to elephant advances. Worst of all
I won’t be able to forget my plight.
And how can I be sure the spray will work?
And how long must I use the wretched stuff?
Five years … that long? What choices do I have?
I spray, and hope, and bear the mark, or risk
the onslaught of an errant elephant
one unsuspecting day. Well, thank you, doc
but no, I won’t be cowed: my life’s too short
to waste in fear. Five years is far too long,
the benefit does not outweigh the risk.
Instead I’ll stride out blithely every day
and if by chance I meet an elephant
perhaps I’ll have some peanuts in my bag
and as it’s said that they cannot resist
the taste of nuts, well, maybe I’ll survive.
Here’s another one I finished more recently, so far unpublished (well, except for here, now):
Personae
Who should I be in these relinquishing times?
A firecracker?
Full of fizz and sparkle,
dazzling, admirable.
A lighthouse?
Pulsing reassurance out into the night
(but beware the rocks that surround me).
A clown?
Eliciting grateful laughs
with my painted face and antics.
The Western Wall?
Sedimentary,
absorbing others’ prayers and grief.
A bandage?
Embracing my family’s wounds
as my own threads unravel.
A bear?
Hibernating the winter
to find the numbing snows gone
and the sun warm on my back.
A chrysalis:
I’ll discard flawed larval limbs
and emerge in a new image,
remade.
There’s another one I’d dearly love to add here, but I’ve submitted it for a competition and the rules prevent me from publishing it here (just in case!).
I think it would be really interesting to hear from other poets, too.
Alison x