Victimised x 2

My refuge is in the centre of silence

because

outside

of me

in the place of words

I remain isolated and alone

as

there is no belief

in

the unimaginable event

I

used strings of syllables

to describe

for

they disturb tender ears and hearts

after

the physical (act)attack damaged my body and mind

 

your shock

behind the wall of your doubt

was the second violation

of me

 

so

 

it’s now

that I am

again

helpless, powerlesss

and mute

 

like when I silently negotiated

the theft of my sex

for my life

 

but you can’t hear me

because you are judging me

for surviving

 

© Marjorie H Morgan 2017

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#metoo – a letter to …

A letter to …

I have learnt a lot about the use and misuse of power since I first met you. I was not a child at that time, but I was still innocent, in the ways of the world at least. I was unfamiliar with the art of seduction, you obviously had an advanced degree in it, and you used it on me.

Why was I taken in by your flowery words, and chivalrous acts? I often wonder why. I didn’t see through the sheen of your lies, they were disguised by your patina of kindness, concern and thoughtful acts. Yes, I was naive. You knew that instinctively. It seems like I was a game to you. This is my life, not a game. I later learnt that I wasn’t the first one that you abused, and sadly, I’m pretty sure I won’t the last, either.

I have avoided anything to do with you, or the church you serve, for many years. Then, other people started to speak out and I silently whispered, “Me, too.”

Now, I’m not hiding.

Today, I decided to look for you. I wanted to find out what you are doing. Sorrowfully I discovered that you are doing the same thing. I’m afraid that you really are doing the same thing, to other people like me. You are a predator; there are no nice words to describe you, just the plain truth. When asked, the church says that what you do is normal, they accept the predatory sexual proclivities from its pastors. They reject people like me who rock the boat. People who they don’t see as normal – anyone who doesn’t tow the official line in silence.

I will no longer be silent. The church organisation is your scaffolding, so you continue to collect trophies and destroy people’s lives’ as you go. I know you are in America now, and I fear for the vulnerable souls in your path of destruction.

I thought you were different, being a man of the cloth, but I was wrong. No, you were wrong. You knew what you were doing, you had a plan and, with practised perfection, you carried it out with a smooth smile, a twinkle in your eye that matched with your designer suits, silk ties, and pocket handkerchiefs.

Hundreds of people were enchanted by you. You could control a congregation like the conductor of an orchestra. I was also fooled by your act. I was taken in. I was taken, without knowing what was happening until it had. Without having a voice. Without understanding how this could happen to me. Again.

No. You weren’t the first who saw my vulnerability. You were one of a few who have peppered my life with incidents I have hidden away, because I felt wrong. Yet, I wasn’t the perpetrator of the crime. Yes, you are a criminal. You all are, because you took what wasn’t yours to take. You stole innocence, childhood, and peace along with the remnants of trust that still existed in my young life.

What you left was a rawness. Physical pain, aligned with an everlasting doubt about myself. And because I couldn’t believe it, especially in those early days, I frequently revisited the timeline of knowing you. I analysed it from every angle and tried to see what I didn’t see before; a way out, an opportunity for the unspoken words that I now know how to speak.

You are evil, selfish, wicked and destructive.

You are wrong. You did me wrong.

You did me wrong.

I’m not staying silent any longer. 

You no longer have the protection of my silence to continue your crimes.

Marjorie

Mini rulers

the children in your circles –

especially newborn babes

are the ultimate

power lords

and they rule wearing nappies

they dictate the hours you sleep,

the noise you may make,

they have sway over the type of work you do,

they influence the area you live in,

their future, perceived happiness, decides when, if, and where you go on holiday

and they manage it

all without saying a word

their speechless rule

begins

with

their first act of control

the physical rearrangement of the anatomy of a mother’s body

then, like aliens, they

separate from their temporary host

and extend their reach into every part of the family’s life

they are

mini wordless rulers with maximum power

© Marjorie H Morgan 2017

Untitled (2017)

Without you

I’d not be here, now

so, thank you.

You have taught me so much,

but now you’re gone.

I’ll never forget you.

Like engineers who daily perform miraculous feats

and build bridges across

the greatest expanse of waters

connecting distant lands

we created something great once,

in the past,

and then we danced together

in the setting sun

awakening at dawn

to feast

our eyes and bodies

together.

Each day was the best lesson

learning was never like that

at school

life, lived

together

opens the mind

opens the heart

life, lived

apart

opens the mind

closes the heart

… for a while

until another teacher

connects on the way

through life

and the engineering

work

of love

and being

begins

on the new project

that is always planned

and that old song

is heard anew

life, lived

together

opens the mind

opens the heart

 

Without you

I’d not be here, now

so, thank you.

© Marjorie H Morgan 2017

Advertising

Complaints are frequent

when

commercial entities cross boundaries

of decency and good taste

to advertise

their wares

yet

we

oft

remain

silent

upon encountering the brass person

on the street

in our homes

in the mirror

who

does

the

same

thing

behaviour is an advert

of personality

catching the attention

and anchoring in one’s mind

honed from childhood

we become skilled

at

promoting aspects of character

that are appealing to others

burying less favourable actions

for later discovery

once the audience

is hooked

buyer beware.

© Marjorie H Morgan 2017

A chain of kindness

When asked for help, and that request is well within your abilities, it is no hardship to acquiesce. Kindness is not hard to achieve, especially when the person asking also has a history of charity – just for the sake of it.

So it was a short while ago in my small world.

A friend, with who I have spent many pleasant hours just “being” asked me to help him put some thoughts into poem form. He said he was stuck. Stuck trying to verbalise the thought of being stuck in a chrysalis state but desperately needing to move on. We sat and talked in more about his idea, his situation, and then I took some notes from him as guidance. Together we discussed options about his request and I said I’d give it a go.

A while later, I had gathered his thoughts together and moved them around to create something that felt like it could reflect his intentions: I shared it with my friend and I’m pleased to say he was deeply content with the result.

That was the end of that, so I thought. But no, as with chains there are connecting links, pins, rivets and rollers that go on beyond the original single connection. What I initially thought was just between us two developed into something bigger than us both.

It was a few weeks letter that I’d heard from my friend again; he was ecstatic to share some news regarding our poem. I was told that he had shared it with a profession therapist, who in turn had asked permission for it to be used on the wall of her office, because it was her feeling that others could benefit from the sentiments within the writing – of course this was agreed to.

The next surprise was when my friend told me he had asked a graphic designer to visually represent the words that I had written – this was done without cost, as the graphic designer wanted to help this small project to expand. The chain of kindness kept getting longer when my friend wanted it printing, as the printer agreed to do several copies without charge for the poem and the process of its conception intrigued them (also, the kind initiator or this request was well known to the printer: his reputation preceded him, as reputation does with most people).

From an initial thought between friends over coffee and a chat in a local cafe, a few words have become a poem that is now being shared, freely, around the world.

It is fuelled by kindness as it continues to travels. It was recently heard of touching hearts in Australia after it was shared by a friend in Wales with another friend on the other side of the world.

When we sit and consider others, as we ask and freely give what we are able to into the world, it reminds me that we are all linked by a chain, and it’s so much better to be linked by a chain of kindness in words, deeds and actions than by any negativity.

The poem was about a butterfly flying, this poem has done just that and flown around the world: the whole concept emerged from single thought into a worldwide chain of kindness and sharing. For me that’s a beautiful and blessed occurrence that I am happy to be a small part of.

(Below are the simple words created in November 2016 – attached is the graphic representation of these thoughts.)

Butterfly, butterfly
let your wings dry
then always, always,
fly, fly, fly!

Butterfly, butterfly
dance each day
sway and sashay
do as you may

Show your self –
do not hide
the unique statement you hold
inside

Your body is a work of art,
aerobatic displays
are all a part
of the expressions
of freedom and joy –
your heart’s concessions:
do not be coy.

You somersault
as if
you care
for naught
but your nectar-filled tongue
and twirls
with the sun
lift you to soar –
fresh reminders of
the freedom
lining your core.

Butterfly, butterfly
fly
fly
fly
with bright strong wings
to lift you high
find pleasure in each new branch,
there is no reason
to look back and sigh,
there is no reason,
no reason ‘why …’

the chrysalis of the past
was the needed
womb of now,
change in life comes so fast
that joyful wonder
is the new fresh vow,
‘being’ constantly alters
and your wings sometimes falter
but
butterfly, butterfly
inhabit just now
that is the only way how …

Butterfly, butterfly
let your wings dry
then always, always,
fly, fly, fly!

© Marjorie H Morgan 2017

 

CR Butterfly butterfly IMG_3129.jpg

Orchids

Orchid

Orchids have taught me patience.

I have several orchid plants in my home and I now enjoy their life cycle.

There was a time when I didn’t understand them, but I’m constantly learning about the process of transformation that comes with living with orchids.

Everybody enjoys the flowering part of the life cycle, it’s there to see and revel in. It was the part after the flowers dropped that first got me. I thought the plant was dead, but it wasn’t.
I observed the long, lonely, empty stem and the thick green leaves that looked abandoned and I wondered what I should do. With regularity I watered it lovingly along with its still flowering companion orchids. It gave me no reason for hope, I was sure that its brightest days were over but I didn’t give up on it. Why, I don’t know as I didn’t understand what was happening to it. But I treated it the same as the ones I could see blossoming.

It seemed like months later, but on one of my many moments of being fascinated by the beauty and structure of the orchid flower, I saw that the barren orchid had spouted a new stem. I was over joyed. I literally said, “Wow!” I immediately wanted to tell people about this miracle, but I held back as I reasoned they would think me slightly deranged to be so happy about a single unexpected stem on a plant.

All that time, when I couldn’t see what was happening, the orchid was growing and changing – unobserved.

When it was the right time it grew externally, so that I could see.

The blossoms are on their way again.

Not everything of great value is always on the surface.
People traditionally expound the value of ex-ercise, we should also equally value in-ercise.

Go deep, be quiet, reflect, grow and then blossom when it’s your time.

I love orchids. I always will.

© Marjorie H Morgan