Author Topic: Voice From The Grave  (Read 1344 times)

Offline ZooDoc

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Voice From The Grave
« on: January 29, 2009, 11:13:39 AM »
Voice From The Grave  

I was born on July 8, 1970.
Life was oh! so full of destiny.
I died on April 28 of  ’98.
Death had definitely sealed my fate.

Mom herself was only twenty-two.
Dad was just a twig of a boy, too,
At twenty-four, with his life in a swirl...
When “sweet honeybee” came into his world.

My four Ronalds:  #1 took Mom as his first wife.
Ronald 2 married Mom during all the strife.
Ronald 3 sprang from Ronald 2 in my early life.
And Ronald 4 was bio dad’s by his second wife.

I was a colicky babe, so my mom said.
My infant cries, she did totally dread.
A naughty child, with schemes in my head,
And ADHD, never wanting to go to bed.

Yes, I had emotional problems, was hard to please.
Doctors even diagnosed me with Bipolar Disease.
I learned to smoke at a very young age.
Sneaked into Dad’s liquor, yes, what a rage!

While Mom was putting herself through college,
Ronald 2 molested me…without anyone’s knowledge.
When I went to school, it was so much fun!
I learned many things; teachers’ praises I won.

But when we cut school and got into drugs
And alcohol and sex, and ran around with thugs,
My life was a tailspin; but I kept up my grades!
I went to college, and hung out at video arcades.

My favorite thing, as a drama major at school
Was to act in plays, sometimes even playing a fool.
I especially loved doing commercials for TV.
 Yes, being an “actress” was my cup of tea.

1988 brought a letter from the girls’ dean.
Was I in trouble?  My mind was like a ball-peen.
But it was a wonderful letter from Ronald.  He
Was bio dad, whom I last saw when I was just three.

I didn’t remember him, but Mom once told me
I had another father who “deserted the family.”
She said, “He’s a bad man!” if I wanted to know.
“He never paid support, never had any dough.”

But I was curious, so I decided to meet him.
He was quite muscular, not at all slim.
“Don’t hug me, I’m scared,” I said at the airport.
“But I still love you!” he began to retort.

“Gosh!  You look so much like your mother
At eighteen,” he said, lifting me like a feather.
At Fisherman’s Wharf, we went to Neptune’s Palace,
And then we visited without any malice.
 
He was rather handsome.  I saw family resemblance,
 And was glad that I finally made his acquaintance.
The prime rib dinner was delicious, filled with delight!
And the restaurant visiting went into the night.

Eagerly, I wanted to know why he deserted us.
He said it wasn’t true, that Mom moved away, plus
She told Grandma never to say where I was,
And that he was a miserable soul, a terrible cuss.

“Why didn’t you send support, or a birthday present?”
“I sent money, gifts,” he said.  A tear accompanied his lament.
“But Grandma never told you they were from me.”
He wept and sobbed like a little baby.

“How did you know where to send me that letter?”
“Grandma mistakenly revealed that you were feeling better
After you had the flu, while you attended Fullerton State.
So I contacted the school, to clean off the slate.”

“They said ‘Send a letter to your daughter via the dean.’
So I wrote the dean of girls, was courteous, not mean,
And explained that I wanted to contact my daughter
Because the family told her I was toilet water.”

Bio dad and I made friends on that amazing night.
We gave hugs and said love you’s before the returning flight.
The relationship was rocky, though.  We often did fight.
I was a brat, resisting affection with all of my might.

We did fun things, though, over the next nine years.
Building a relationship’s like discovering new frontiers.
He came down to SoCal whenever he frequently could.
Went to Disneyland and horseback riding into the wood.

I remember saying to him on that happiest of days,
While on the horse trail, following that maze,
“I wish I’d grown up with you!”  My eyes were tearful.
At that moment, I loved him.  I wasn’t even fearful!

We went to the beach, and all over the place.
Even went to church, a happy smile on his face.
Called me his blue-eyed blonde, gorgeous “baby girl.”
Sometimes I resisted his affection, like a knotty wooden burl.

Then it all came crashing down in the summer of 1990.
We cried an ocean of tears when I lost my dignity…
When I got the horrible news that I was HIV-positive.
The diagnosis made my knees wobbly.  I knew the causative.

My ex-boss from the restaurant got it from his ex-girlfriend.
It felt like a death sentence from a malevolent alien.
 My world slammed down, like a mighty sledgehammer.
I just stood before the doc, with only a stammer.

I was stabbed in the back, or so it felt.
At a Christmas party, in his hands I did melt.
His lovemaking was cruel, and his eyes showed it:
“If I’m going to die, I’ll not go alone, dammit!”

After three years of deteriorating health,
I was despondent, devoid of mental wealth.
As I slashed my wrist, ’cause I wanted to die,
I looked in the mirror with a “hopelessness” eye.

I survived that attempt; was put in 5150.
The only one to visit me was my true Daddy.
Yes, the one who “deserted” me all those years before,
Traveled many miles to be at my hospital door.

He gave me a story, said writing was his addiction,
That maybe it would help me in my personal affliction.
It was called “Legend of Toucan Moon,” a story about
A young Maya princess with a heart full of doubt.

She hated all war, human sacrifice, slavery,
And hoped to end those ills through her own bravery.
So she spoke with the emperor, her father so strong,
And convinced him that those practices were wrong.

But the girl got an illness in her sweet little head,
Something like a brain tumor, a misery to dread.
Toucan Moon traveled far, with eyes of determination,
In the scary jungle’s night, to an unknown destination,

To the cave of the Wise One to discern her destiny.
She made that trek, which seemed an eternity.
Inside the cave stood a gleaming, gold porcupine
That held hope beneath electric quills and spine.

Could she open that figurine and eat the wafers inside?
“Would they miraculously heal even me?” she cried.
Yes, she succeeded!  And not only that
She saved her father’s kingdom from an enemy, fat.

Large King Quatzl wanted to overtake the empire
By making war, and destroying it with fire.
But the child Toucan Moon rescued the day.
She even saved the kings along the way!

The story impressed me.  I was determined to live
The rest of my life, and for others to give
A desire for life, and comfort those who suffer
From terminal illness; maybe I could be a buffer.

Thanks to my dad, I had a reason to go on.
A mission in life, in me his story did spawn.
In ’98, I was on that comfortable bed,
And went to sleep without a worry in my head.
 
I felt happily fulfilled in my young, early life
(Though I never had children, nor was ever a wife),
Because I helped others whose wrists had been sliced.
A cause worth living for, like our good Savior Christ.

ZooDoc
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« Last Edit: January 31, 2009, 09:25:56 PM by ZooDoc »
ZooDoc, "Sculptor of Words"
"Success is a little like wrestling a gorilla. You do not quit when you're tired -You quit when the gorilla is tired." -Robert Strauss

Offline Jade

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Re: Voice From The Grave (Ode To Iris Maria)
« Reply #1 on: January 29, 2009, 12:03:35 PM »
I don't think I'll comment on the technique here - some others might.

I just want to mention that this poem tugged at my heart - I can relate in, oh, too many ways. And I get the idea this poem was not written as an imaginary exercise, which makes me want to cry.

Thanks for sharing, ZooDoc.
Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.
Cyril Connolly

"A coward is incapable of exhibiting love; it is the prerogative of the brave." ~Mohandas Gandhi

Offline ZooDoc

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Re: Voice From The Grave (Ode To Iris Maria)
« Reply #2 on: January 29, 2009, 12:15:07 PM »
You're welcome.  Thanks for caring.   :'(   Yes, Iris was my daughter.  Like Jesus, in her death she taught many of how to live.   ZD
ZooDoc, "Sculptor of Words"
"Success is a little like wrestling a gorilla. You do not quit when you're tired -You quit when the gorilla is tired." -Robert Strauss

keanog

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Re: Voice From The Grave (Ode To Iris Maria)
« Reply #3 on: January 29, 2009, 01:26:03 PM »
This is way to personal a poem to ctitic but just to say well done in a whole bunch of ways, this would have taken a whole lotta strength to write.

Good luck.  :)

xo