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Tag Archives: Anger
Matches II
Another poem popped its head up when I was logging out…
Playing with Fire
My angry brother-in-law
once found a pile of
spent matches
at my parents’ home
when my sons and I
were house-sitting.
He raged until he discovered
the culprit,
my 16 year old son,
who, like all teens,
had a penchant for
playing with fire.
“This house,”
my brother-in-law raged
“could go up like a torch.”
My son and I exchanged
glances.
“What are you,” he bellowed,
“A kleptomaniac?”
Without laughing,
(one must give him credit
for keeping a straight face)
my son replied,
“I’m sorry, I must be.
I won’t steal any more matches
in the future.”
“Better not.”
“What would we do without you,”
I said, as I smoothly shuffled
my son out of the house
to thank him for not
lighting any more fires
under his uncle.
Think First
I am a thinker. I think a lot, about a lot of things and most especially when emotions are involved. That may sound counter-intuitive, but I have learned that thinking with emotions is just a mistake. One tends to make rash decisions that are regrettable.
I don’t like to get into fights, I rarely raise my voice and rarely get angry. I guess I have a very slow fuse. However, that does not mean I have no temper, no emotions. It just means I try to think things out before I act. I can be impetuous, but try to rein that in. I do, in fact, have a temper, and inevitably regret causing a ruckus when it finally does escape. If I do something rash, I try to apologize as soon as I gather my wits. I treasure my friends too much to let something stupid I’ve done stand between us.
So I try not to talk when I’m angry or hurt, I need to think things out before I can put words to what is happening. I tend to withdraw to think, and go over things in my mind, to see if I am being unreasonable or if I am being foolish trusting someone else who is being unreasonable.
On the other hand, once I have thought things out, I am rarely still angry. I have learned to let things go. Anger at someone else does not hurt them, it hurts me. A Buddhist quote says:
“Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.”
And I truly believe that. I don’t hold onto that coal, I let it go and let it burn itself out.
Lately someone I know is angry with me. I know that I’ve not done anything wrong, but something I said was one reason another person decided to behave poorly toward the first person, and the first person blames me. They refuse to speak to me and are grasping that coal with will, and all I can see is that they are being hurt by something that could so easily be dropped. I don’t think I did anything wrong, and the first person can’t be angry at the second person who is in authority over them. So the first person is mad at me.
I want to help, but I can’t. It is frustrating and saddening. I hope that eventually, when they DO drop that coal, they aren’t too hurt to remain angry with me. I think my lack of a dramatic response (“O.M.G. I am so sad, I will be sad forever.”) is making them stay angry, but I can’t help it. I won’t be party to drama. I can only worry about me; I have no control over someone else’s actions.
Thank you, patient reader, for helping me get that off my chest. If you have any suggestions for dealing, please do let me know.
Discovery
Written for Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides prompt – the prompt today was discovery. I don’t have much time at the moment, but will try to revisit the idea later today.
Will you hold, please?
Discovery
A discrepancy in a bill.
I call and call again.
I speak to people from
other countries,
repeatedly,
and try to remember
their names.
I keep notes.
One said he was named
Jack Dawson.
In a fit of sarcasm, I said,
“Oh really? You survived
the Titanic after all,
Jack?”
(The joke went over his head.)
And on hold
again.
I wonder if one can get
cauliflower ear
from being on a telephone.
I remember the days
before 800 numbers
and online help desks
and internet accounts
and I remember
letter writing campaigns,
which somehow, though
just as frustrating,
were more satisfying
and probably took
about the same amount of time
to get resolution.
Plea poem – What Were You Thinking?
The prompt was to write a “plea” poem. I blame the mood of today’s poem on the migraine I had yesterday. Leaves me feeling a little weary, though life really is good. Be warned, though, reader, my positive self is still sleeping with many pillows in my quiet bed.
***
What Were You Thinking?
You let me go,
me and our three sons
(one was only six months old)
and you refused to help us.
(At least, without a court
order.)
You flew over two thousand miles
to take my car, though you
at least
allowed me to take the
car seats and strollers out
when I caught you at it.
You begrudged every single penny
the court made you pay
to care for your kids.
Is it just that you wanted me
to suffer? Even though you
were the one who
cheated?
Is it that you wanted to
simply wash your hands
of my part in your
history?
You tried to make me feel
like I was the bad one,
like I had done something
wrong
by not falling in with
your plans
as I did when we were married.
But my loyalty no longer belonged
to you.
You no longer had my trust.
My heart no longer held
you within.
And you could not comprehend
that I had given those things
to you freely,
you thought I was simply
dumb.
And I look back now
from a distance of twenty years
and wonder
what you could possibly
have been thinking?
I could never have abandoned
my children
to fate
regardless of the personal cost.
What was wrong with our marriage
was you.
Used heart: once broken, but still functional.
April 29, replay
I say “replay” because the prompt today, the penultimate day of the April poem-a-day challenge, was to write a poem based on a favorite line or image from a previous poem. I chose Just an Animal from last week, and chose the line: “Saving Both of Them.” Plus, I always love stories of salvation.
Madame Vigee-Lebrun and her Daughter, Jeanne-Lucie-Louise - 1789
Saving Both of Them
Something happened to
Betty’s daughter
when Betty was in prison.
(It was an 18 month stint for
moonshining during the
prohibition, was all.)
And while she was gone, her
little girl stayed
with relations
in Missouri while
Betty survived, somehow,
in Washington state prison.
When reunited at last,
Betty found her little girl
somewhat grown
and full of anger; an anger
that never left her
for the rest of her life.
Betty went on anyway,
trying her best
to love her girl,
but never again
reaching
her
heart.
But life goes on,
and girls grow into women
and Betty’s daughter,
at age 15,
presented her mother
with a granddaughter.
And then she left.
And Betty took that girl,
and loved her
and raised her as her own,
saving both of them.
***
(As a side note, a year later, my aunt was born, and raised with the first baby, my mother. The woman in the painting looks remarkably like my Great-Grandmother, Betty.)
April 12, Something ___________
The prompt was to make a poem beginning with something. No really, “Something _______.” I had a little trouble, but remembered someone telling me that I am a pussycat until I am really angry and then, she said, it was frightening to behold. I had no idea I could channel the furies, to be honest. I don’t think of myself as an angry person, but every so often, I admittedly become furious over something important. And honestly, is there anything wrong with true righteous indignation? ^_^
###
Something I’m Feeling Isn’t Right
Aaarrrrrgh!!!
I’m feeling something
right now,
and as the emotion
burbles
and
boils
like the
witches cauldron
in that Scottish play,
I’m beginning to realize
maybe
I know what it is.
Outrage springs to mind
but that’s not quite it.
It’s probably un-
familiar
because it’s so
rare.
People say I’m the nicest
person they know,
but that I become
un
rec
og
niz
able
when angry.
Yes, I think
I’m feeling a bit
medieval…
Waves Crash
Not going to explain this except to say that T does not have anger issues. This is not about he and I.
###
Stormy Tides
The waves pour inland
with high tide
and stormy seas.
Their rage and force
venting themselves
on the sand
and stones.
The rocks are solid,
standing
until they crumble
at last
with the force of
one-too-many
angry
tides.
They stand firm.
(I stand firm).
Waves crash
(words crash).
Tides batter
(words batter).
Firm, strong, and solid
until that
last
day.
One would never
guess
that they quiver
inside
like I do
when you
rage
at
me.
