So Anxious In That Art

May we once again experience beauty

In the crabapple, Crabby Appleton villain

He withstood tests of time over 62 years,

Then small boy of seven watching with bent

Eyes, mother into mommy, into mom,

Never Dorothy, worthy woman, she was

Bitten by divorce, to be called as single

Parent, Two children “Whore, you whore,

Out, Don’t come back.” There was no stain

Upon my mother’s witness of my fathers

Cruelty, I witnessed what one called adultery.

Physical cruelty, emotionally battered, brother

Wondering at three, never knew why, saw

Mommy limp her way from California off

To Iowa with two small children, uncle

George, with trouble in his pants at home

As well as dad, so I learned at age sixtty sevnen

What men could do to women, push, thrust

Shove, and as a man of many shoves, feeling

More consent, Can women can batter too?

Unsure, he limped to South Dakota, to know.

Realizing this, my wife and I are through,

Through with thrust, not love, for us love

Does not bind as Crabby Appleton dissolves

Into cartoon character meant as only this

Funny creature drawn carefully by an artist

Somewhere lost in mindful past, lost as child’s

Memory winds sometimes in careful words

For dad, attempting to make inroads like

Communion together in his son’s church,

And living Christ teaches me to forgive dad.

Dad, after our Talk in California we were

Tight in the belly, in the mind, I say, “Dad,

It was me, yes it was me who called welfare

Autaorities and with meaness and hate in my voice

Condemnened you for a time in jaial, and I

Demanded as my 11-year-old voice cracked

With pain, demanded athorities do something

About the $50, and you who demanded

$25, only $25 sent in child support which was

Nothing but a pair of shoes, a gallon of

Milk, few caned goods, nothing to us

As we scrapped by.” You, “We shall never

Speak of this again, me who 10 months

Later wept for what I had said, “Oh, dad

That was 60 years ago, and I forgive you”

With tears in my eyes, I forgave him.

Charles Taylor C2018

Published by elgwyn

I was a University and community college instructor before retiring. I also worked in fast food restaurants, and retail stores. I am an ordinary man writing for because I want to write and because my education prepared me to write; BA English lit, MA English, EdS higher education, and MFA creative writing, free verse poetry and essays. Blogs are an answer to high-priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to self-publish his first 1000 copies of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass because in 1855 poetry did not sell. Most poets make a living in other ways than writing. Wallace Stevens was an insurance executive, and TS Eliot was a banker. Many writers teach, and always there have been writers who have written because they needed to express their thoughts and feelings. They wrote not necessarily to make money but to express "the old universal truths of the human heart" according to Faulkner. Here I reach a wider audience I missed than by self-publishing, and I stand a better chance to reach a wider audience for less expense than self-publishing. I self-published my first books, Winter from Spring, and Meditations on Gratitude; poetry and photo books which were easier to self-publish than to seek a not to seek a publisher company. This blog allows me to write for an interested audience because I write poetry and personal essays. I write for a friendly audience and present to you a slice of my writing. Perhaps you will enjoy what you read.

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