sen's blog
poems I've written, poems I haven't written but love, rare thoughts, and writing about writing.
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Blessed Beloved: The Crucifixion of Jesus (early poem)
Posted:Dec 2, 2021 7:27 am
Last Updated:Dec 4, 2021 2:30 pm
This poem happened during the lowest point of my life after 3 failed suicide attempts. I went on a retreat to a nearby monastery. It was such a peaceful experience in the midst of so much pain, that words can't really describe it. This poem is about one amazing moment during morning vigils. I do not identify as Christian, but this poem still happened.

Blessed Beloved: The Crucifixion of Jesus
written August 11th, 1996

At the 9th hour
Jesus hanging on the cross cried out
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Am I not your blessed beloved?

I know of a
whose reality was anything
but blessed and beloved
who sat in the stillness of a monastery
watching the lights dim in the sanctuary
as the monks knelt in silent prayer

before the sun has risen
in the early morning
the soft light brings into focus
the simple crucifix at the front of the sanctuary

her eyes focus on the crucifix
on the myth? or man?
who died a horrible death
with nails through his wrists

the who hurts so badly
finds someone like herself
in the eyes of the man not myth
who experienced such hurt
and yet is God's blessed beloved

she looks into his eyes
daring him with all the hurt there
but he doesn't look away
because he has also hurt

he has hurt so badly he cried out
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?

in the eyes of the he understands
that God so loved the world
that he made his blessed beloved part of it
he made his blessed beloved man, not myth
for only by having experienced
can God reach out and truly say:

I am the all powerful myth
but I am not some God on a pedestal
I am also you.
My has died
not to become God
but to become you
so that you can look at him
in all his pain and glory
and recognize that you are also
God's own blessed beloved.
Good girl (ptsd related)
Posted:Dec 2, 2021 6:35 am
Last Updated:Dec 3, 2021 6:16 am

Good girl
written February 27th, 2021

I have always been
a good girl.
It was a role
that fit well.
I took whatever
said I should be
and tried to be all of it
to prove - to show - to hide.

Certainly nobody would hurt
a good girl
and I was
such a grown-up good girl.
What could there be
in the life of
such a good girl
that I couldn't take care of

It's certainly the face I presented
and all the things
that didn't fit
got put
somewhere else
because it was absolutely essential
that I be
a good girl
and that nobody notice
all the things that were wrong.

Such a grown-up good girl
even if it was wrong
it must not have hurt
because I always
took care of
everything and everyone
until one day
I didn't anymore
take care of anything
or anyone
or myself.

But really in all of that
the whole point
was to not need
because nobody and nothing
was taking care of
the good girl.

Comment: (which will not post below, so here it is.)
This is poetry as therapy for me. It came out as a flood one day. I have tried to rewrite it and it loses it's power for me when I do, so here is the unedited version. It feels very raw and very true.
Him (ptsd related)
Posted:Dec 2, 2021 6:14 am
Last Updated:Dec 3, 2021 6:16 am

written July 8th, 2021

This is painful stuff, for to post. I need to get this out of my "In Process Notebook" and into the "Finished Notebook." For part of ptsd is avoiding anything about the trauma. I don't even want to him my father, but that is who this is about. There are not graphic details of trauma in this writing, but there is some graphic language. I would avoid it if words can trigger you. Please feel free to skip this one and move on to something else.


The other day, I stood in the kitchen, and had velveeta on saltines, a snack indelibly associated with, him, like the big hershey bars with almonds, that he kept in the cupboard over his junk drawer filled with screws and nails, with the shoe polish for our Sunday shoes kept below.

I can smell the shoe polish, unexpectedly real, that drawer and the shoe polish, and my soul recoils, instinct to flee as far away as I can get. There are memories, of him, that I have practiced remembering, until I don't flinch, at the thought of him, in my home - in my mind - in me still.

This isn't one of them. This one comes crashing through me, like a tidal wave, the love and the hurt. If it was just one, love -or- hurt, it would be bearable, perhaps, but that is not what this is, one or the other.

Love and hurt, together, shatter me, over and over, and I am broken glass, on that kitchen floor, all over again. I resolve, to practice this memory, practice him, until I can walk over the glass of these memories, keeping the smile on my face, and not want to flee.
Being we with
Posted:Nov 30, 2021 1:25 pm
Last Updated:Dec 2, 2021 12:05 pm

Being we with
November th, 2021

It can be a cold solitary world
but sometimes we are blessed
with people we can be we with

the sparkles and starlight
normally hidden inside
can burst out in dazzling displays

these lonely souls in all of us
can be seen for a brief moment
be known by another we are we with

some of these we may last
but most don't
seems to be the sad fact

so I wish moments of being we with
for you and I and we
moments we treasure and hold onto

for those long years we are we without
waiting for the alignment of the heavens
for a moment again of being we with.
Just a thought
Posted:Nov 30, 2021 6:01 am
Last Updated:Dec 1, 2021 11:18 pm

Just a thought for today.

The mind is an amazing thing. You can erase specific memories, but you can't erase the impact they have on your life.

I wish to always be kind to myself, and for you to be kind to yourself also.
Moments in my day
Posted:Nov 21, 2021 6:41 am
Last Updated:Nov 27, 2021 10:22 am

Moments in my day
written August 7th, 2021

I wake
and look out the window
at the morning sun
shining through the leaves.

I look out the window again
and it is the dusk sky of day's end.
The day has gone somewhere

I sit and stare out the
half-circle window.
Somehow I
have arrived here
so I stay.
I'm not sure
where or when I am.
I don't move.
I wait for someone
say it is ok
and hope
they don't notice
if it is not.

I am writing
about touching a man.
I write: "I grab him by the...."
and stop to think about what word to write.
One of the others inside boisterously says
It's an ass, grab him by the ass
it can't be those other words,
grab him by the ass!

I blush and don't write
"bottom" or "tushy" or "buttocks"
I write: "I grab him by the ass."
The other is satisfied
and lets continue on my own.

I am suddenly in the body.
I am in bed with a man.
The others don't let out
if it is dangerous,
so I smile and say "Hi."
He does sex things
and it does feel good, I think.
He has learned say,
"Are you ok?" every few minutes.
I say, "Yes, I'm ok."

I look through my binder of poems.
I know it is writing here every single time.
I recognize the handwriting,
but even if it is dated yesterday
I don't remember writing the words.

I am inside and hear
one of the others
I share this body with
I come out note
that I do not giggle,
because I do not giggle!
Then I go back inside
letting the one who giggles
giggle and be herself
in the body we share.
The real me
Posted:Nov 17, 2021 4:18 pm
Last Updated:Nov 27, 2021 11:00 am

The real me
written July 1st, 2021

I sit on a low bluff
looking out at the ocean in Goa
age 18 and away from home
for the first time.

I can see sitting beside me
a version of me who is
female - compassionate - loving
my skirts and my bangles
the anklets Shankar and Ana gave me
soft and round and surprised
I want to be intimate with a boy.
This is the real me.

I see sitting on the other side of me
another version of me
who is sure _they_ are the real me
male - logical - unemotional
calm under pressure.
My life is planned out
I will be an engineer like my uncle
interested in ideas and not people.
This is the real me.

Some "I"
sits on that low bluff
and sees both of us
for the first time
and it is a wonder.
There are no words for this yet
but these both are
the real me and in time
we will find more
of us.

This is the real me.
I want
Posted:Nov 16, 2021 6:18 am
Last Updated:Dec 2, 2021 4:00 pm

I want
written July 10th, 2020

I want blue skies
and sun on my face.

I want green plants
growing like crazy on the deck.

I want rooms full of books
like old friend and lovers.

I want someone
to wear perfume for at night.

I want to not be scared
lost in the past.

I want to be here now.

I want to always know
that I am home and whole.

I want all parts of me
to realize their dreams.

I want to be known.

I want to never stop wanting.

I want to want.

What do you want?
I don't want to
Posted:Nov 16, 2021 6:12 am
Last Updated:Nov 16, 2021 12:39 pm

I don't want to
written March 14th, 2021

I don't want to
is the poem that doesn't want
to be written today
I don't want to
think write cry.

I look through
my unfinished notebook and
I don't want to
process revise reveal.
I don't want to!

I don't want to write
the same words
again and again
these same things
battering at my mind
day after day.

I don't want to pretend
everything is beautiful
just (pretend to) be happy.
I don't want
to be here lost in my head.

I don't want to
is the poem
that wants
to be written today.
Dark rocks
Posted:Nov 12, 2021 5:49 am
Last Updated:Nov 13, 2021 5:13 am
white clouds nesting dark rocks
Cold Mountain, The Collected Songs of Cold Mountain

Dark rocks
written November 7th, 2021

Dark rocks rest
in a river bed
as rushing water
froths white in agitation
over their dark peaceful presence.

Dark rocks steadfastly witness
fish tails flickering
velvet deer noses drinking
and cicadas singing
as the moon sets
and the sun rises.

Nothing is lost.
Nothing is wasted.
All is known and seen
in the depths of a river
by dark rocks
together again
Posted:Nov 9, 2021 2:44 pm
Last Updated:Nov 11, 2021 7:02 am

the terrifying silence
crashes around
I'm afraid I will
be broken into pieces
that can't be put back
together again

I've done this before
pieced myself
together again
but I get so tired
of the fear that the
breaking will never end
Why there are cicadas - a tinnitus story
Posted:Nov 7, 2021 6:22 am
Last Updated:Nov 8, 2021 12:12 pm

Why there are cicadas - a tinnitus story
written November 1st, 2021

One day there was a small
who woke up in the night
to the sound of cicadas.
Her grown-up checks in on her.
The small doesn't talk very much.
She looks at the grown and rubs her ears.

Her grown-up asks, "Does the noise bother you?"
The small nods yes.
The small 's eyes ask...
Why is it there?
What does it mean?
Why does it never stop?

Her grown-up smiles and tells her...
Those are cicadas dear one
they knew that sometimes
you were lonely and afraid
so they came
hundreds of them
thousands of them
to keep you company
so you would never be alone.

If you wake
and wonder if you are safe
just listen for the cicadas.
I know they are loud sometimes
they just want to be sure
you know they are there
so relax in the sound
float in it knowing
you are not alone
and go back to sleep dear one.
Breathing space - poem and collage
Posted:Nov 4, 2021 12:39 pm
Last Updated:Nov 7, 2021 6:02 am
Breathing space
written November 3rd, 2021

Space stretches
into the distance
I send my breath
towards you

soft like a breeze
tickling your hair
embracing you
pooling around you
making this space

for you
to be
to rest
to feel peace
a breathing space.

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Most Recent Comments by Others

Post Poster Post Date
Blessed Beloved: The Crucifixion of Jesus (early poem) (9)Vsecrets49
Dec 4, 2021 3:28 am
Him (ptsd related) (3)MrWrong4RghtNow
Dec 3, 2021 12:48 am
Good girl (ptsd related) (5)MrWrong4RghtNow
Dec 3, 2021 12:38 am
Being we with (6)MrWrong4RghtNow
Dec 2, 2021 1:05 am
Just a thought (4)breathelessly
Dec 1, 2021 3:18 pm
The real me (9)YvonneMatured
Nov 27, 2021 9:36 am
Moments in my day (8)Vsecrets49
Nov 22, 2021 3:12 am
I want (6)MrWrong4RghtNow
Nov 18, 2021 1:30 am
I don't want to (4)MrWrong4RghtNow
Nov 18, 2021 1:28 am
Dark rocks (5)xLonelyCubx
Nov 12, 2021 2:36 pm
together again (10)Vsecrets49
Nov 10, 2021 3:05 am