October 5, 2009

• ElectricPoetry: The Cycle of Abuse with new poem

  

  BEHIND THE POETRY: I wrote a poem cycle (a series of poems dealing with the same subject) titled "The Cycle of Abuse" on 7/24 and 7/28/05. I posted the complete cycle of seven poems here on WhenWordsCollide on 7/28/05 just moments after completing the last poem in the cycle. These are among some of the most difficult poems I ever wrote, and include a piece dealing with abuse I suffered in the workplace when I was in my late teens. I just wrote another poem in this cycle this morning, and while I won't post all the pieces in this post, I am going to post two from the original cycle, followed by the new poem, "Social Networking Menace", and then the final refrain from the original cycle.

  Here is what I wrote in the introduction to the Xanga blog entry in 2005:  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

  II: Modern Schoolgirl

  07/24/05 12:48 p.m.

  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

   

  VI: Last Date

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

  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 hidden from their stares

   

  VIII "Social Networking Menace"
  (part of the Cycle of Abuse)
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  10/05/09 6:15 a.m. pdt

  Only fourteen
  and frightened constantly
  Father left when he was seven
  Mother drinks, and seldom comes home
  Sis and bro are little, and get in the way
  Sitter is no help, always texting
  Only fourteen
  and upset at the world

  Video world awaits after school
  (on those days when he attends)
  He's king of the old PS2
  Grand Theft Auto, Final Fantasy, Ultimate Ninja, Mortal Kombat
  Lost in places where he kills his fright
  Where upsetting images
  replace upsetting times

  Mother is yelling about something
  Always yelling, or passed out
  in front of the TV
  The video screen in his room is blank
  The PS2 is old stuff
  He's bored, and mad, and pissed off
  Sis and bro are making noise
  Mother is yelling
  Got to get out of here

  Family PC is in the den,
  sitting unused for a while
  Internet access is active
  and Sitter sometimes uses it
  (when she's not texting)
  Halo can be played on the PC
  but it stalls a lot, and it's old
  Only fourteen
  but internet savvy, and primed for
  a dog to kick online

  Internet world awaits after school
  (on those days when he attends)
  He trolls the social networks
  As xKillerx or slicemup or whatareyoustaringat
  He's not afraid anymore
  hating, and hacking, and trolling, and berating
  spamming, and commenting, spreading vitriol
  Nobody's safe
  Not the writers, nor the commentators
  The musicians, the instigators,
  They're all fodder for his
  stifled imagination
  and spiteful online ways

  Nobody knows his age
  Nobody knows his pain
  Everybody hates his rage
  Everybody hates his disdain

  He's the ultimateninja452
  hacking into the peaceful lives of all
  on the network
  His profile pic is scary
  And his comments are known
  throughout cyberspace
  He's feared, and loathed
  and he loves it

  Only fourteen
  and already a
  menace to online society
  Years pass
  in an abusive world
  where he is king
  Mother finally stops yelling
  and maybe passes out for good
  Sis and bro are taken away
  somewhere, but he hardly cares
  When the plug is pulled
  he goes out the door
  and into the dark night
  of happenstance

   

  VII: Refrain

  7/28/05 4:56 a.m.

  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?

  • 10:07 am
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