Today’s prompt was inspired by “Jackson” –   a newcomer to Poetic Bloomings, and dear friend of Marie Elena’s, whose harrowing week led to feeling betrayed by her own body.  Thankfully,  a looming malignancy was discovered to be benign.

There are times in every life where things happen that defy logic or go contrary to our sensibilities. There are unexpected events and then there are betrayals. We can be betrayed in many ways: friends turning against each other, a renege of a promise, an untimely discovery, the betrayal perpetrated upon portions of our society, or by blood cells/illnesses upon our bodies.

Write a poem that delves into some kind of betrayal.


A Father’s Love

In a battle for his own life,
Leukemia disassembles his cells,
One by one.
When did counting breaths take precedence
Over counting cells?
When his son’s diseased lungs
Began sucking life
Instead of oxygen.

© Marie Elena Good – 2010

(My apologies for posting an older poem – written in November of 2010. It is about my Uncle Jim and his son “Punk,” who passed from this life to the next within ten weeks of each other. I simply could not have admired them more.)



Cards once held close to the vest
are now worn on my sleeve,
leaving no doubt that life is a fragile game.
Gone are the days of invincibility;
your stamina and agility have seen better days.
You’d be crazy not to play the cards dealt
if you felt you had a winning hand.
But as you stand, others close to your chest
cuddle in before the end of days; not ready
to lose a friend, a lover, a side-kick;
not going to surrender the life of a wife
Sick of losing to this destructive joker so badly;
my poker face remains, sadly. And still no answer
to this ravenous cancer. Just glad to say,
you’re not cashing in your chips today.

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

217 thoughts on “BETRAYED! – PROMPT # 65

  1. Marie, Walt, you’ve both given us much to think on and consider. With each stab of pain another blessing rises to take its place, if only in knowing that this moment is still with us and one can live a lifetime within a moment.

      • Indeed. Walt and Marie, Tears welled as I read both for they are powerfully written as only first-hand experience is able to.

      • Thank you, Marie. That means a lot. Though I must say, I’m one to feel blessed each day with all of these lovely people I can call friends.

        And thank you, Henrietta and Marjory.

        Also, so that you know, I invited another poet to come play with us. Her name is Kaia. I don’t have to worry about your reception. And neither does she.

  2. What Tracks Must I Cross

    pining through
    tumultuous rapids
    of each other
    you are —

    the rumba side of sheeted rain
    the thunderous chill of aggression uncorked
    a rainy season of treason tears
    a teetering raft in gusty buran

    skywritten in flashes
    your name in lightning
    we are opposites
    to be demagnetized
    the fraternity of us
    expelled in the dawn
    what tracks must I cross
    to find the crossroads
    of you

    © ~ Randy Bell ~


    Let me move forward
    with grace, calm, and dignity,
    though the pain is great.

  4. (Poetic Form – Japanese Lantern)

    “…For You…” *

    eyes have
    betrayed me.
    I only see

    *(Thank you, John Denver)

    • I wish to change my poem:

      “…For You…” *

      eyes have
      betrayed me.
      I see only

      *(Thank you, John Denver)

  5. Pingback: Adopted « Metaphors and Smiles

  6. ~Adopted~

    How could I allow that sensation,
    that familiar old feeling to sneak in?
    Are you acquainted with this sentiment?
    It’s the one that negates freedom.
    I can almost pin-point the event,
    that single relinquishing moment
    when I began embracing a prison of gloom
    rather than remembering the telling-timber
    stained with each of our millions of cares;
    carried so that we can harbor courage,
    souls mightily empowered from within.
    Splintering weight endured compassionately
    so that each frown can be alleviated by faith,
    our every fear can be erased by grace.
    We can select to walk with a spirit of Light,
    assured that our burdens will be borne,
    knowing that there’s One who will not betray.
    We can choose to be adopted by Love,
    healing as each chink and link breaks away.

    ©Hannah Gosselin 7/22/12

    • Amen and amen! Thank you for this reminder, Hannah. As usual, your pen writes with such beauty and grace.


    • Breath-taking, truly breath-taking!

      ‘rather than remembering the telling-timber
      stained with each of our millions of cares;
      carried so that we can harbor courage,

      Yes, hallelujah. thank-you for reminding us.

    • Excellent depiction, in light of current events, and how we are all impacted by them. Love the positive turn at the end — especially those last two lines, Hannah! So simple, so very important. Nice work! 🙂

    • “…our every fear can be erased by grace.
      We can select to walk with a spirit of Light,”

      What a postive encouragement in a subject that can direct to negative thoughts.

    • These words give hope to the despairing, faith to the doubting.

      Well Said, Hannah. –
      that each frown can be alleviated by faith,
      our every fear can be erased by grace.
      We can select to walk with a spirit of Light,

  7. I put this one in for fun, for those of you old enough to remember Nixon and Ford…


    I hear our little man resigned
    and no one even seemed to mind.
    I heard that there were quite a few
    who said, “Its what he ought to do!”

    So now a new man takes the floor.
    Few have heard of him before.
    It seems like someone missed the boat:
    No one even got to vote!

    I wonder if Ford is worried now.
    Well, he’s stuck with it anyhow.
    I hope that he can do the trick
    and not mess up like “Tricky Dick”.

    He’s really going to need support
    if he is going to hold the fort.
    A basic political trust was lost
    at tremendous national cost.

    How can Ford turn around and say,
    “Don’t worry Richard, its okay.”?
    Well, Nixon might be off the hook,
    but I believe he IS a crook!

  8. Here is a more serious effort:


    I carefully weigh life’s priorities,
    (the life I am living is mine)
    then find they are being adjusted
    to suit someone else’s design.

    Resentment will build when another
    takes over control of one’s time,
    because time is more precious than money.
    Usurpation of life is a crime.

    I am being required to donate
    what I am unwilling to give.
    For another’s convenience I forfeit
    the way I’ve decided to live.

    So please don’t tell me I’m selfish
    in asking for time of my own,
    and don’t tell me I’m foolish or lazy:
    time offered to you is a loan.

    For mine is the real decision
    of what I am willing to do.
    Remember, my time’s only borrowed.
    It doesn’t belong to you.

  9. Today is the day where we think of the 77 people who lost their lives last year up in Norway. Betrayal, that’s one of the many emotions that I feel.

    We sing a song up here in the north and we especially underline this last stanza. Please be free to translate it on Google Translate. Here’s Nordahl Grieg’s last wonderful stanza and I’m so sorry that I’m not able to translate it – it gets too emotional for me and I’m not sure that I can get it right.

    Here for you: The last stanza of “Kringsatt av fiender” by Nordahl Grieg:.

    Dette er løftet vort
    fra søster til bror
    vi skal bli gode mod
    menneskenes jord
    Vi vil ta’ vare på
    skønheden, varmen
    som om vi bar et barn
    varsomt på armen

  10. A poignant piece that I remember from before, Marie — so simple and sad. And Walt, love your metaphor — and you work it so well from start to finish. Nice work, both! 🙂


    There are no flowers and hearts
    or satin, lace and happily-ever-afters.
    I walk through life alone,
    betrayed by a dream.

  12. Pingback: Betrayed By A Dream « echoes from the silence

  13. It is hard today to do more than press love to your hearts, Marie Elana and Walt and Hannah, and Norway, and Aurora and more. Perhaps a prayer? As a Quaker, I would call this “Holding you in the Light.” I believe that the Islamic way is “Surrender to God.” I feel like another Job, wanting to let my anger at God flow upwards into the Light—-but meanwhile, I send love and strength–whether your will is to accept or to fight.

    • I believe that anger is better directed at God’s counter part. God is NOT the source of bad stuff or pain.
      He is the source of love – enough love to (Like a parent) allow his children to do stupid things, He did not make us to be puppets for Him to control with strings.
      I believe He also weeps for the sence lose of lives.

  14. Jackson, I’m so glad to hear it turned out okay…I feel like I was betrayed by the wheat-field we walked through earlier this week…I’ve been sort of sick and my legs are covered in hives!

    Only the Temporal Betrays…

    We may be betrayed by our strongest desires
    Our wants may lure us to sundry heartaches
    So-called friends may gather like vultures
    To feast on the carcass of our mistakes
    Oh, tis a wretched and raw, ruthless scalpel
    As we weep ‘neath the knife of bitter betrayal

    We may be betrayed by the words we have spoken
    Or by the words of a trusted friend
    I’ve stood at both points of a promise broken
    There is no honor at either end
    Betrayal is galling spittle in our face
    But oh, we are never betrayed by grace

    We are not creatures of casual coincidence
    Though faith-leaps may seem like ash-heaps of trust
    We are not bound by cold, calloused consequence
    Pain, horror, grief are the torments of dust
    Oh, blessed truth we reach to embrace
    For we will never be betrayed by grace

    By grace we are saved; betrayal’s damnation
    Can never reach into the arms of the One
    Who gave His Only for our salvation
    His One and Only belov-ed Son
    Betrayal tests faith as it points to a place
    Where we grasp the assurance of His steadfast grace

    © Janet Martin

    My thoughts and prayers are with all those affected by the Colorado shootings (which hopefully is all of us on some level)…as they struggle to cope with the shock of massive betrayal.

      • Thank-you Hen. Have I ever told you how much I admire and appreciate all of your words here, both poetic and encouraging comments! You are such a ray of sunshine in this garden. God bless.

        • Oh, Janet, what a kind, thoughtful thing to say! I Love combining my love of words and music here. Everyone’s voice is precious — I might pull a word, or a line from a poem; or, as in the case of the John Denver song above, just the Title, and it evokes a poem, or a few words of encouragement, straight from the Heart. What a GOOD way to Live life! So, Thank You for brightening my day, as well!!! Hugs & Blessings to you and yours!!

  15. a lighter approach to betrayal…

    Empty and Cold

    Tonight you are a cantankerous rapscallion
    Elusively haunting the fringe of my thought
    You seem to delight in playing the villain
    Antagonizing me by your formless naught

    Last night a soul-mate, tonight you betray me
    Vexing, perplexing aloofness of thine
    Come darling, come and lay down against me
    Feed me the choicest delights from your vine

    I must learn not to trust you; but I am your victim
    Ever returning to gobble your crumbs
    Always forgiving your mindless betrayal
    I’ll drink the wine from your vine till I’m numb

    Muse, oh Muse, tormentor of poets
    What is this lure, this power you hold?
    Last night we danced, making beautiful poems
    Tonight the dance-floor is empty and cold

    © Janet Martin

  16. Even the Earth I Walk on is Thirsty

    Gone is the fresh green promise of early spring
    The grass is withered and brown, the flowers
    Disappeared back into the earth from which
    They so eagerly sprung
    Fields of corn, , their stems blasted from heat
    Are pictured on the evening news.
    As the announcer reads the rising prices for
    Even more scarce supplies of grain.

    Have we been betrayed then, by nature?.
    No, the cycles of bounteous growth do not
    Last forever. Neither do the seasons of hunger.
    Small comfort to those who watch their
    Children go hungry. Small comfort to those
    Who must decide between buying fuel or food.

    Listen to the wind as it howls over the barren earth.
    Watch the dust as it swirls into the shapes of
    Tiny tornadoes.
    Study the night sky as heat lightning flashes
    From within the bowels of the clouds.

    Through the afternoon, the sun glares in
    Of all the prayers, promises, supplications
    Intoned by puny man.
    Nature rules, the seasons turn on the paths
    That are set for the ages. Man, for all his bluster
    Still powerless in the realm of the natural world.

  17. The Rug

    You came to me, you said
    “A chance for change.”
    With you came your friend
    To be welcomed as you.

    You took my home as your own,
    Given freely, a loan of honor.
    Long work days for me
    While you and yours played.

    Talk of old times, some not so good
    Filled darkness hours at day’s end,
    Only to begin again without respite;
    Months lingered without change.

    You’d said change, though none
    Revealed itself to me then,
    Except that I would no longer
    Play parent and provider.

    My request for your absence
    Was honored as stated; with you
    Went a prize of mine, procured
    For a someday display.

    Navajo use their weavings each day;
    Mine would have hung, never trod upon,
    Had it had that chance to grace my home,
    Instead of stolen as another’s prize rug.

    You came as old friend, you left as thief,
    Taking with you more than native weaving;
    Grinding betrayal of friendship’s honor
    Beneath disregard’s brutal heel.

      • No need to grind teeth. Really. I no longer feel about the incident, other than pity for another. Of course, it took a while to get to that point. Still, I’m glad I made it that far.

        I’m glad you thought it beautiful. Thank you.

      • Annette, please do not allow this old experience of mine to color your day with anger. I’m glad that you appreciate my poem, but it was not written to create anger, only an emptying of the incident, that I no longer need carry within me.

        If you take up anger from it, you do yourself an injustice. At least, I think so. Be easy. This episode has only the power you give it to disrupt and influence. It no longer has power to do that for me.

    • Love that last stanza Claudette! Great choice of words. And good for you to have released the angst as well. Forgiveness is the way to go 🙂

  18. I’ll return to read everyone’s as soon as I have a spare hour today. I’m going to make time today, if I get little else done.

  19. “Single impressions”

    Mine was that we were Scarlet
    Macaws nibbling on the mineral-
    rich clay walls in the Amazon,

    entwining our single legs along
    cliff basins, shredding the hard
    facades we each wore with one

    voice of belief. This I believed,
    this I impressed upon my heart
    and friends, one echo together,

    two singing as one. Until one
    became three, a hidden nibble
    here and there, two pair of

    entwined legs swimming with
    pink dolphins, two bedded with
    painted monkeys, one fishing for

    piranhas in black-water huts
    while my sheets, soaked in the
    sleep sweat of blood-sick, bone-

    sick, home-sick, disintegrated
    in the heat of secrets.

    gotta run to a family thing
    be back later to read.

  20. Pingback: POETIC BLOOMINGS – PROMPT # 65 « cloudfactor5

  21. Watch Your Step

    Infatuation betrays like
    sheet rock in the attic.
    Without the joist of commitment,
    it may look like the real thing,
    but it ends up falling through.

  22. Betrayed

    Believed in the
    Easter Bunny,
    Tooth Fairy and the fat man in the
    Red suit with all her heart
    And when the truth was revealed her
    Young heart shattered, for-
    Ever wondering what other lies
    Dropped from her parents lips.

  23. Betrayed

    Believed in good outweighing bad with an
    Eternally optimistic outlook on humanity –
    Then a few misspoken words followed by
    Rare lack of ethics in others
    And a raw reality, no
    Yearning, no hope could
    Endure or overcome – and she was left

  24. Betrayal (double shadorma)

    She listened closely
    to his words,
    his yearnings.
    She touched his arm, her
    fingers lingering

    as she leaned toward him.
    Jasmine scent
    sent shivers.
    He became a betrayer.
    Which one felt more guilt?

  25. Betrayed

    How, oh how, could you do this to me?
    I firmly demand that you set me free!
    What’s that? I’m your prisoner? I think not!
    I won’t stay in this horrid spot.
    Yes, you did catch me off my guard.
    I know you think you’re quite a card,
    But it’s your fault I’m in this pickle.
    How else could I be so fickle?
    And yet you’ve no pity for my groans.
    Ah, the betrayal of you darn hormones!

  26. We all make choices.
    Sometimes we betray ourselves,
    and then blame others
    for results that are not good.
    (I know, I do it myself)

    Life’s full of choices.
    Some are good – some otherwise.
    “It takes Two to Tango”,
    so says the old cliché,
    Someone leads, others follow.

    Betrayal hurts – Bad.
    I can sit and be sullen,
    let ‘it’ control me,
    Or take control of my life,
    I am learning…”Don’t wallow.”

    * * * *
    The time then (must) come
    to lay aside all the ‘crud’
    we (I) hold in our (my) minds,
    as “a rightful injury”,
    and move out toward a new hope.

    • “… and move out toward a new hope. (dream)”: Yes! And, enjoy each and every moment of that Beautiful dream, even though it, too, may not last…

  27. Pingback: Broken Record (Sun Scribs, Bloomings, Whirl) « Sharp Little Pencil

  28. A “threefer,” three prompts in one poem. Marie, you poem was particularly touching to me, such loss in one family in that short a time. But here’s one about romantic betrayal, also posted at my blog, Peace, Amy

    Broken Record

    Once I prayed for a lover who would
    treasure me, pleasure me, measure me by
    no other standard but my own.

    Together on the porch swing,
    humming that Simon & Garfunkel tune
    (and what a time it was it was…)

    Me, the deer who steered clear
    of headlights, and he, my
    melancholy golden boy.

    Long sweetsweat hours of
    erotic coupling, rolling, gripping,
    souls afire, blinding, shining oneness.

    Picture him as he stays to graze,
    then strays to the next aster-speckled
    pasture, scent of honey drawing him away.

    Betrayal, best rendered in coal black,
    ebony spray to cover the mirror and the
    rosy glasses though which a love

    was seen blooming in pale, fragile hues
    of pink and yellow, delicate colors
    of columbine swaying in our meadow.

    Uproot it all now, fling it into the coals
    of after the afterglow. Let lost love
    crackle until only powdered ash remains.

    Once I prayed for a lover who would
    treasure me. Golden was he indeed,
    and golden still, shining out of my reach.

    © 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
    Triple prompt: Sunday Scribblings asked for Treasure, while Poetic Bloomings wanted Betrayal. Those two concepts seem like star-crossed lovers at times. Then the Sunday Whirl gave me words: Swing, Gold, Melancholy, Rosy, Pray, Spray, Powders, Glasses, Erotic, Pale, Fling, Strays, and Cover.

  29. Lovely: “…rosy glasses through which a love was seen blooming in pale, fragile hues of pink and yellow, delicate colors…”

  30. Pingback: Betrayed « Magical Mystical Teacher

  31. Pingback: People Change | Hoofprints In My Garden

    • Hmm, I need to get with the program. It looks like I should have posted the poem and not the link …. so here it is:

      When we were kids
      we cantered imaginary horses
      on the playground,
      explored abandoned lemon groves
      and newly framed houses.

      When we were teens
      we jumped over logs on borrowed horses.
      We threw ourselves,
      cold and shaking
      from diving through the waves,
      on sandy towels
      and tanned our salty skin.

      When I was older,
      I scrubbed the floors,
      bathed the baby,
      and waited for her visit.
      She never came.

      Years later we met;
      husbands and children in tow.
      We circled each other like cats;
      –her claws were out –
      she smiled with her lips
      while she cut me with her tongue.

  32. An old photograph
    Of a young woman
    Deep brown eyes
    Flowing brunette mane
    Thin, fit, energetic, smiling shyly
    I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from her
    And yet, there is some insecurity
    in those young eyes
    Wondering if she measures up
    To some unrealistic standard

    She was told that she was beautiful
    More than once
    She thought she was plain

    Now… looking into the mirror
    Who is that middle-aged woman
    With crows feet and dull eyes?
    Mousy brown hair
    A body that has been
    Affected by gravity and
    less than an active lifestyle?
    Wondering if she ever has or
    ever will measure up
    to anyone’s standard

    Then, the mammogram
    The ultrasound
    The biopsy
    Thanking God that it was benign
    And being thankful for
    Who and what she was
    and has become
    finally understanding that her body
    hasn’t betrayed her

    Those eyes with the crows feet
    Have seen her children grow up,
    Have seen love
    In the eyes of her man, soul mate, best friend
    Mousy brown hair?
    She can color it
    Those gravity-affected breasts
    Once nursed her babies
    The laugh lines on her face
    Prove that she has had
    Much to smile about over the years

    She decides to listen to her heart
    She measures up in
    The things that truly matter


    Betrayed by bankers’
    grasping hands,
    by politicians’ imbecility
    compounded by our own docility,
    the world economy,
    doomed by duplicity,
    slides helter skelter
    to perdition

  34. Pingback: Treachery | Vivinfrance's Blog


    Moon Over Atlantis
    By: Meena Rose

    Two Priestesses … Two Healers;
    Two Wizards … Two Sisters;
    Anaris … Daneris.

    Full of life and vitality;
    Children of the Prophecy;
    Keepers of the Holy Light.

    Attracted by the equalizing fog,
    Daneris turned her back on the Light;
    The powers of Gray grew strong.

    An earthquake- the land protested;
    A volcano- the blood of Earth spilled;
    The Prophecy of Creation lay shattered.

  36. Pingback: Poetic Injustice | Two Voices, One Song

  37. Marie: It matters not when the poem was written. Poems by their nature are timeless and boundless in their effect on the reader. When every cell in one’s being screams outrage at the need to help in the face of the impossible, there comes a moment when a “crystalline crack” is heard. The sound of acceptance coming to collect its price.

  38. Walt: Wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve takes tremendous courage. The poker face for the outside world… please remember that it is OK for you too to seek solace in the face of this relentless disease.

  39. Betrayal

    It’s always an ambush
    And always from behind

    One minute you are looking
    at the shore
    Struck by the rogue wave
    with such force you swirl
    in a foam clothes dryer
    Ending up
    face down in the rocks

    But what is worse
    is that nauseating feeling
    of foolishness painted in stripes
    across your entire body

    That boulder lodged in your chest
    stays with you a long time
    after the storm has past

    • Thank you, Lolamouse. I hope folks here will click on your link to read. Well done!

      Marie Elena

  40. Playing it Cool

    A deep cooling breath to chill my blood
    Trying to ignore the desire
    Dancing in your wanton eyes,
    Praying that my cold front
    Lingers, but your touch
    Sets ice on fire,
    My own

  41. A Weed

    It’s a cowlick that goes against the grain,
    a shock of weed that’s rooted in my head.

    Deceptions, this grand deceiver that swims
    against the flow and expunges my thoughts.

    It muzzles my pen and siphons my ink speckles
    to blue dust as it rambles about in my head.

    Manicure this garden, control its rhythm,
    tidy it and trim it, clipping its edges that wander,

    and keep its tendrils under wraps but once a weed
    takes root in your head, a plague, a pestilence

    to your thoughts, it’ll devour your words
    by the hour. My muse is betrayed, riddled
    to the root by a weed in my head.

  42. Holy moley, what a lot of comments! Had to go for short and sour today–Walt and Marie, as usual amazing poems, that go right to the heart, speaking of which…

    Beaten Not Stirred

    If you leave without word or
    Reason and believe
    It’s a kinder way to part
    There may be an organ in your chest
    But it will never be a heart

  43. A Glass of Wine

    It is a good day
    for a glass of wine —
    red —
    a sunrise walk
    on the beach,
    and again at sunset.

    A sunday drive would
    suit this day,
    a route to nowhere
    while exploring everywhere.

    Food should be had —
    southern in style —
    pancakes for breakfast,
    raid the ever-full pantry
    and fridge for lunch,
    enough to feed Cox’s Army
    for dinner…chess pie,
    banana pudding,
    blackberry cobbler…..

    Memories will be explored
    this day;
    grandchildren’s love, screened
    porches and rocking chairs,
    meals and mountain roads,
    pets and the ‘adopted’ kids
    children bring home.
    Too many to list, too many
    to forget.

    Holiday’s and vacations,
    time around tables
    and the kitchen island —
    eating while standing —
    homemade cheese popcorn,
    books everywhere, family
    pictures wherever you look.

    Short of time, all out of fight,
    betrayed by a body, treatment
    worse than results…the first
    time she was not happy
    to see her son. Not ready,
    not ready, not ready…..

    It is a good day
    for a glass of wine.

  44. Marie, I really love the poem you posted. I can never think of the right word for those short, intense, right-to-the-point poems that are filled with emotion. I usually call them jabs, but that just doesn’t seem good enough.

    • Thanks Benjamin! With poets like you frequenting, we bloom beautifully for certain.

      Marie Elena


    (Cancer-a betrayal at the cellular level)

    “to protect and to serve”

    was your motto

    …in the beginning

    A natural marvelous wonder

    …in the beginning

    The very vibrant unit of life

    …in the beginning

    Now hardwired for destruction and ruin

    How could it be?

    that you quickly obtained such merciless ideology?

    given over, devoted to violence

    aversely set to take peace

    instantly ripping hearts of security

    fortified foundations swiftly broken

    many lives stripped of lasting unity

    It’s a hard thing to witness…

    one’s own demonized demented cells make history

    with authority to change the plot of human life

    so many books have been rewritten

    so many courses now derailed

    so many units of life misconverted

    countless ships anchored, couldn’t set sail

    so many chapters of loved ones sealed silent

    in meekness with nothing left to unveil

    It’s intolerable to bear

    severely twisted beauty

    altered wicked two faced villains (cellular)

    like sheep in wolves clothing

    that don’t spare the flock

    Once housed precious materials

    the building blocks of life

    now become intrinsic haven of minute terrorists

    striking deep in the homeland

    of self”s betrayal at the deepest level

  46. I had previously posted an uncensored version of this poem on here, but I was gently given a love note about my use of language. My sincerest of apologies to anyone who may have been offended or made uncomfortable by my use of foul language, specifically the “f-bombs.” Here is a more censored and, hopefully, more inviting version of the poem.

    And Then There’s That Constant Betrayal

    I keep saying I’ll check the mail.
    New tags, a wedding invitation, I know that stuff is in there
    but I keep not looking.
    Some betrayals are speakable yet you can never think of the right words.
    Some are self inflicted.
    Maybe most are.
    My brain, it’s always not working fast enough.
    I want to remember all those things I can’t remember.
    What did you look like? Now, I can only see your hair as shaved.
    It’s almost always too quiet or too loud.
    They teach the patients in rehab to personify their disease,
    to get it out of the brain by naming it
    and writing it a “tell off letter,”
    telling Arnold all about how hurt you are
    and how, you’re sorry, you really are,
    but you just can’t be friends anymore.
    It’s not me, it’s you.
    And maybe you too. This is a “tell off letter,” after all.
    Then you aren’t allowed to blame
    at least that part of your brain any more for its betrayal.
    Roughly 10% of the Spanish I learned remains.
    Even less of roller blading.
    Granted, the whiskey didn’t help things.
    One part will never trust the police again.
    But after 2011, one of the new parts recognizes resentments
    as flashes of red, turns them into pigeons.
    Hello, overpass. We have so much to discuss.
    As you can see from the radar, it’s about to go down.
    More beeps than non-beeps.
    Still we stare down and say nothing.

    • mike, you’re a gem. Thank you so much for your understanding. I’m thankful your poem retained its meaning and that fabulous voice of yours.

      For those of you who may be scratching your heads, #4 of our guidelines (listed on our Welcome page) states:

      4. WHO MAY POST? Poetic Bloomings is open to all poets, regardless of skill level, point of view, or age. As such, we encourage members to “keep it clean.”

      🙂 Marie Elena

  47. Posted this in the wrong place yesterday. Oops!

    My eyes cannot
    stay open tonight. For weeks
    I have longed
    to pull back
    the thin sheet that separates
    me from anxious
    dreams; the kind
    where I’m waiting tables in some
    vaguely familiar place
    and people are
    waiting for me to take
    their dinner orders.
    The guilty panic
    starts setting in just as
    I remember that
    I haven’t worked
    at a restaurant for years.
    Still, I feel
    them waiting for
    me, just as I wait
    ever more impatient
    for just one restful night.

  48. Diamonds

    I shot a movie, once,
    about a jewel thief
    who hid behind a mask
    always hiding himself
    while tending to his task.

    I shot a movie, once,
    and the heroine was
    a strong woman, like you,
    who laughed at anyone
    who told her what to do

    I shot a movie, once.
    I wanted it to be
    funny, but in the end
    I was left with two hearts
    that no plot twist could mend.

    I shot a movie, once,
    from our getaway car
    you with your diamond ring
    me with my vow, our life
    already dissolving.

  49. Pingback: Friday Freeforall « Margo Roby: Wordgathering

  50. I know this is very late and an oldie to boot but I only just saw the topic and thought I’d post it anyhow!

    Tell Me Why Oh Why Oh Why

    I watch you baby boy as you stumble to the door
    Sobbing as if your heart is truly about to break
    Apart; you are screaming hysterically once you
    Get there and shaking your wee head like a much
    Older person, as if in disbelief, you try to fit your
    Chubby baby fingers between door and jamb
    An impossibility but you keep at it – you know
    Your parents, but especially your mama, went out
    That door just minutes ago and you heard the outer
    Screen door slam shut as well, a sound that sets
    You off all the time these days

    The doctor says he thinks you are experiencing
    Night terrors and extreme separation anxiety
    I am not sure what I think – neither of my children
    Suffered like this and I feel so helpless in the face
    Of your pain; I pick you up to try and comfort you
    And you arch your back and stare at me with so
    Much “why?” in your baby blues it is like being
    Sprayed with pepper spray or at least how I
    Imagine that might feel

    You shake your head at me and strain your arms
    Toward the door again – your mother has warned
    Me of this behaviour so I knew it might happen,
    Would happen, I guess – I just didn’t want to believe
    It; I decide to try and distract you – take you to your
    Room, dump out the toys, and all your books – you
    Love books – you look at me like I have lost my mind
    And I see more “whys” as you raise your eyebrows
    Looking the very picture of your Dad, skeptical except
    For the huge tears and the unchecked sobs, your throat
    Growing raspier each second from so much screaming

    I ask you if you would like some juice and finally
    You look interested in something; take the big-boy
    Sippy cup, grab your blanket, glare at me as if
    I am the betrayer of all betrayers and climb up
    Beside your Grandpa on the couch, lay your head
    On his lap, sling your cup back like a real boozer
    Close your eyes and proceed to pass out

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