The Axis (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, Aug 15 2009

The sadness

just

carries-

same as always.

The same ache,

and there’s no one

waiting.

We are worlds apart,

galaxies between.

And somehow

that doesn’t dull the drive,

the curiosity,

the hunger,

the need.

It doesn’t slow the sadness

at my axis-

that which I spin upon-

can’t separate myself from.

Who would I be

without this?

Would I stop moving?

Would I combust?

Would we…

Of course I can’t ask that

we still have lightyears to cross.

We have so much darkness to navigate,

so many rocks and ice and  flames.

I can’t do anything with this

but repeat it.

All these arrangements of letters and words,

to say the same thing.

Of all the things that change

this isn’t one.

This is

strange gravity,

pulling, spinning, ignoring me.

You are

so far,

so much.

I can’t touch anything

without the greatest efforts and manipulations-

just for seconds of hope I squeeze from your stars.

I miss everything we never are.

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Poems of Notebooks past, poem 3 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Jul 1 2009

I wrote this when I was 14, in 8th grade. The title is Empty.

Buried in the happiness
of everyone but me
Drowning in the caring words
of friends and family
Sinking in a sea of love,
entangled in another’s arms
And still I’m empty.

Can nothing fill the spaces left
by hatred and betrayal?
Will nothing take the place
of all that I once had?

How can my pain be iridescent
when I hurt so bad?
Can no one see through all
the emptiness in me?

What could take the place
of all that I could be
If I weren’t so empty?

As I cry into the void in me
I float of my waves of insecurity
And crash on the shore of broken dreams.

I lay in the moonbeams

Translucent heart.

Empty.

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Qualified Mental Health Professional: Year 2, Month 6, Day 14 (by Rebecca Chasteen) Friday, May 22 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a work-related poem.

Qualified Mental Health Professional: Year 2, Month 6, Day 14

We laugh about crazy- that word people use,
they’ll claim it, jokingly.
I wonder how much they really see
from the farm shack
at least a mile off the road.

I take mental notes:
strip joints
social workers
drug addictions
jail time
mental hospitals
baby-daddies
and assaults with
an axe
a hatchet
a shotgun (and moonshine).

I laugh when they laugh,
shake my head
and then
the sadness:
abandonment- the poverty of childhood,
the rapes
the worry, the abuse, the heartbreak
how can so many stories play out the same way
has no one ever learned anything?

And finally
we go over the plan-
how to be alive again,
how to be more
than anything they just said
how to let go, press on
how to move through and beyond
every place they’ve ever gone
and how I won’t judge a single word,
a single mismatched shirt.

I question for the thousandth time
why
I don’t think it’s pointless
why I’m not scared
why I’m there, wondering if I’ll really help.
But at least I’m there,

dust flying around my car
as I dodge potholes,
hair drenched in smoke
and yea, there it is- hope,
the knot at the end of the rope,
the “I can play the harmonica”
“I’m a loving grandma”…

They don’t call this job what it is-
acronyms with credentials and degrees
it all comes down to one word:

belief.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/22/AprilPADChallengeDay22.aspx

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Fridays Then, Fridays Now (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, May 10 2009

For today’s prompt, I want you to write a poem about Friday. Do you like Fridays? Despise Fridays? Of course, you can also write about something that happened on a Friday–or write an ode to Fridays. Or, as you know, I’m all for seeing you attack this from an angle I haven’t thought of yet.

Fridays Then, Fridays Now

Fridays were
G movies
with mom and Rachel,
air popped popcorn
with melted butter
soggying up
a few
best pieces
that we would scramble our little hands
to get

Fridays were
sitcoms,
and sleepovers,
too much shock tart candy,
Mad Libs,
and making Ouija boards
out of Lisa Frank desk sets

Fridays were
getting mom to drop me off
at the dollar movies
and pick me up 30 minutes after the movie ended
so I could hang out
flirting, acting grown and cool
(until I crawled into the blue
and wood-paneled station wagon)

Fridays were
football games,
boyfriends,
and scrawling their names
beside ours
with hearts
then inevitably marking them through
to make room for the new

Fridays were
dates
ice cream sundaes
parked cars
a dozen little beginnings,
just as many endings

Fridays were
loud,
blurry,
expensive
indulgences
with friends that
also didn’t go away
for college

One Friday
was the wedding rehearsal

Fridays were
falling asleep (mom-to-be)
watching MTV
while Jason worked 3rd.
Or I would stare into
internet worlds
with an old classmate’s
music page filling the silence
with something I never could manage to hold

Fridays are
G movies
with my husband and Natalie
we do pizza
that leaves soggy marks on paper plates
and has me scrambling
to wipe little hands
before they grab my arm-
or my couch.

http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2009/04/10/AprilPADChallengeDay10.aspx

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chasing men (by Rebecca Chasteen) Thursday, Apr 16 2009

chase the bitterness with something sweet,
that’s what she does when she’s chasing men.
switch it up
when she can’t catch the buzz

chase men who break her
with men who make her feel good again
and ignore the fact that feelings fade
and ignore the risk of getting drunk on him
and starting to get wrapped up
whisper love

till she comes down
and sees it all in sober light
chase down the lies she was told last night
get that disappointment out of her mouth

chasing men never ends
the constant intoxication impairs too much
and creates false realities
that anyone not so wasted
can’t see

chasing men like she believes
she’ll ever get one that keeps her high
chasing men like there’s a perfect fit
chasing men till she loses too much
chasing men till the men give up

chase him before she loses hope
she needs someone at the end of her rope
she needs to believe she can find one
that keeps her feeling all the good stuff
the right way

be ready to chase him,
cause he may not stay.

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It’s called a high because there’s a low (by Rebecca Chasteen) Sunday, Dec 28 2008

He was high when he said “I love you”
and you had waited so many years, it was intoxicating
you didn’t catch the smoky words
as they undid your belt
and slid dark denim down your thighs
in the aftermath, you ask yourself
if he’s humoring you and always has been.

It’s the same,
your father sleeping beside a charred sawmill
everyone knows but no one will talk about the substance
that was there,
you know
the sawmill killed his father.

And what about the girl next door,
sipping clandestine bottles
while toddlers fall off of swing sets.

I don’t really think it’s a coincidence.

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Kite Running, Worshiping Lilies in the Valley (by Rebecca Chasteen) Saturday, Dec 6 2008

Kite Runner

I wish you knew
the way I walk around
thread spinning as you kite away
thinnest strand
I tied to you that first time…

silly girl
who lays herself out
and expects so much more
knowing full well
the bed you made a long time ago
in hunger and desperation
even so
no one wants a train wreck
weren’t you the one who said that
you don’t want to have to salvage or sift through ashes?

you’re always a child
in need
and hopeful
spinning threads
to keep everyone you ever loved
or ever imagined cared for you
within strand’s reach
so no matter how far
they’re always pulling on your heart.
—————————————————————————————-
Lily of the Valley

I hate grieving the living,
sitting beside that glass
leaving fingerprints,
foggy breath marks
full of words

I’m so tired of telling you goodbye,
of resolutions I can’t keep
passing white flags screaming
“Retreat!” “Retreat!”

no matter what I tell you
or myself
mourning slips from my eyes
all the time
haunted by
conversations we don’t have
and places we don’t go

and every time
I start to feel okay,
I find a way to
open a wound

because there are already times
I start to forget the little things
that made it real
and I can’t go back

I can’t act like I don’t walk around
full to the top in wanting,
like I don’t bear the weight
of what I’m missing.
———————————————————————————-
worship

it’s idol worship, my head bowed on your chest
silent prayers
while I memorize the way it feels
to be the one in your arms

idol worship, kissing the corners of your mouth
while you smile at me
silent prayers,
that my offerings will keep me here

as much as I want to believe…
even I can see
this beggar, kneeling

it’s pathetic

so I swallow
the rest of my words

you are careful, but kind enough, composed
the moment’s gone, as moment’s go
every pore I could open to soak you in
misses you

while silent prayers fall into hands that held you

idle worship
in those places you were;
on watch

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Craving (by Rebecca Chasteen) Wednesday, Dec 3 2008

It’s quiet, waiting

right behind the trees

eyes between the leaves

waiting for

just the right ear

to pour this into

word after word

that’s all I want to do

no one comes by

alone

no one questions what they’re shown

no one turns

when I rustle the leaves

not the ones I want, at least

Hungry,

I eventually

grab the wrong one,

hide the words

and run

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