July 28, 2005

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  Sometimes poetry isn't necessarily "autobiographical." I have been formulating the following series of poems in my mind for at least four months, and wrote these in two sittings, one last Sunday afternoon, and again this morning. Only one of the pieces is "autobiographical" in nature, # V., which concerns a fellow worker, older than I, when I was about 18 in the retail industry. Most of these are written from the viewpoint of women. Some are in third person, some in first. All deal with the subject of abuse, which is a widespread problem that causes suffering and pain each and every day. A lot of abuse is blatant and unequivocably horrible. A lot of abuse is subtle and scars it's subjects irreparably for the rest of their lives. I won't say "enjoy" these poems because they are not to be "enjoyed". Learn from them, and do your best to stem the tide of abuse wherever it raises it's gory, gargantuan head. MFN 7/28/05

  "The Cycle of Abuse"
  A 'Poetry Cycle' by Michael F. Nyiri

  07/24/05 12:42 p.m.

  I: Toddler's Complaint

  Mommy, please don't hit me again.
  I try to be a good girl
  I try to do good
  but the rules change too much
  and you hit me again
  Mommy, I love you so much
  Teddy has a broken arm can you fix him?
  Teddy sad today
  The nurse at the school asked me
  about the hurts on my arm
  Mommy, I scared
  Please don't hit me again

  12:48 p.m.

  II: Modern Schoolgirl

  American Girl dolls and photophones with
  translucent colors and special ringtones for every internet friend
  Conversations sometimes last for half a day or longer
  Real friends are the ones who don't blog behind your back
  Don't forget to take the meds as the evening draws nigh

  Snarling spittle spray, gnashing pointed teeth, and small pinprick red eyes
  Crawling through the nighttime cinemas in tattered, worn out nightdress
  Barely escaping the catcalls of dripping blood demons
  Here, a corner, dark, cold, respite from ruination and hostile fear
  Pressed against the mossy undergrowth of palpable apprehension
  Another sarcastic scream from beyond excruciating exegesis
  She removes her small metal box,
  The one with the 3 inch dent along the side,
  and the faded image of Hello Kitty
  smiling insideously
  The small cache of cardboard protected razor blades
  Compartmentalized as salvation
  Signaling a bitter solution to guard against the
  shrill shrieks of surreptitous memory
  One blade is removed carefully, methodically
  First one cut, on the forearm, almost at the elbow,
  a small stark cut, drawing blood and comfort
  then another,
  and another
  precise, ladder steps back into sanity
  She climbs the hopeful steps
  as the screams recede in the distance
  the moss fades, and the sun reappers
  if only for a moment
  till she has to use the small metal box again

  1:41 p.m.

  III: Altar Boy

  Immovable shadows are cast across the Church garden
  Darkening the floral majesty with trepidation
  Insidious satanic terpsichory scuttles through the church
  Spoiling the Sacred Heart of Jesus
  Unheard Chants to the Heavens
  Obfuscated by the silent scythe of evil
  Even the confessional is suspect,
  As evil purpose sleeps in the rectory after prayers
  and sometime before the catechism of the cheeks
  Lighting a candle for Jesus,
  Dims low when the sharp sword of God penetrates innocent faith
  And prayers never seem to get answered again

  1:56 p.m.

  IV: All in the Family

  Sis and Bro sleep together sometimes
  Dad doesn't think it's improper,
  He usually sleeps with sis on Thursday nights,
  When mom sleeps with Bro
  This family is full of blissful love
  behind shuttered windows and anhydrous weeds
  behind cookie cutter complacency and common sense
  Loving with lurid purpose
  Loving with macabre abandon
  Mom was afraid of Dad once a long time ago
  but memories fade with repetition and dominance
  And she submitted to the shared familial bliss
  Little by little
  Until it all seems nice and normal
  and what is on television this week?
  Incest is best

  4:09 p.m

  V: Cellar Door Ode to Desire

  Desire is not magnanimous, nor cautious, nor patient
  It seethes, explodes, bursts with lightning quick speed
  Prodding away all paths of resistance and good sense.
  Desire teems with indignation, pride, envy, sloth, gluttony
  avarice and an unhealty lust for power
  Desire conquers life and does not settle for long
  Young, and partially naive, I welomed all experience
  and callowly ignored any hints of sudden insanity
  caused by rampant desire
  It can, and will strike with such suddenness
  that everything can change in an instant when it does.

  Carlos was the night clerk in the garden department,
  and I frequently worked alongside him,
  older, seemingly wiser, with a wealth of interesting
  stories and observations,
  a good mate to spend time with at work
  Carlos never talked about desire

  The nights passed without much incident
  until one summer, under the stars
  out in the garden department on a
  beautiful evening completed by desire

  Swarthy brown complexion with a winning smile
  an actor's baritone, and a ready laugh
  very friendly with all the box boys
  and maybe too friendly when desire stops by

  Look at this, exclamations,
  In the little storeroom behind the door
  on the counter, a magazine
  "whattaya got, Carlos?" and then,
  pressing up against my buttocks
  engorged with the battering ram of desire
  rubbing as if part of the training process
  for management
  "what are you doing?"
  "nothing"
  nothing that desire can't envelop

  Common sense, though, told me
  not to go into the storeroom
  again alone with Carlos
  even though I was still too naive to know
  of his intentions and actions
  even an intelligent young man
  can be oblivious to the machinations of desire

  7/28/05 4:43 a.m.

  VI: Last Date

  i brush my hair a hundred times
  silky, falling perfectly about the face
  my smile, enhanced a bit
  by just a small smudge of coral colored lipstick
  wispy taffeta, a swishing sound as I walk
  new pumps shining black reflecting
  pools of light in the dark night
  he picks me up in his candy red camaro
  and shepherds me to heavenly happiness
  until the clock strikes midnight
  and the night becomes ominous
  his niggling pleas, as long minutes pass
  become outright outbursts
  he holds my wrists against the back of the carseat
  his smile a crooked leer
  his hot breath, liquor fueled,
  blowing evil across my cheek
  i can't struggle much
  as he is stronger and more determined
  as each hellish minute ticks
  the radio plays speed metal in the distance
  he pins me to the seat
  i scream but it's no use
  we're out in the sticks
  with no other traffic for miles
  he was so sweet in the beginning
  he was so nice and never demanding
  until now some swarthy demonic force
  makes fools of us both
  and in the end he gets what he wants
  and the wispy taffeta tears
  and i can never brush my hair again
  without these thoughts emerging
  so i cut it off
  and begin to to wear the uniform of the
  forgotten
  dark, black, and hidded from their stares

  4:56 a.m.

  VII: Refrain

  The cycle seems to circle
  With such amazing ease
  No right or proper manner
  Does the pain and pall appease

  Generation after generation
  In the family, church, and town
  The cycle ever tightens
  And again it comes around

  Will common sense and decency
  E'er quell the fears and pain?
  As the cycle turns around and round
  And round and round again?

  • 8:01 am
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