What if I don’t remember?

la sénescence ne pardonne pas
La mémoire
est une faculté
qui oublie.

Senility is unforgiving.
Memory
is a faculty
that forgets.

*********

What if I don’t remember?

Every time

I don’t remember

a name, a street even a number

I do get queasy

inside my tummy.

what are my fears?

have my fair share.

driving about … anywhere

what if I lose my way out there?

I do get frightened

I’ll not come back

get lost in thought

take two wrong turns

and then I fear

I’ll lose my way…

but what about

my thoughts, my words

your face, your voice,

and all my memories?

that blasted

evil enemy

may visit me

some day …

and stay!

That shameful senility

may rob me of my dignity.

© Cheryl-Lynn, 2014/05/02

Submitted for: PookyPoetry Daily Prompts – What scares you?

Spring brings promise (haiga)

Photo: CLR - art by Mae Giroux, Oakville, Ontario — Photo: CLR – art by Mae Giroux, Oakville, Ontario

(haiku)

Promising sunshine

Days are longer, enjoying

enchanting sunsets.

© Cheryl-Lynn 2014/04/26

Giving is easy (haiga)

CLR 2014

Giving is easy
learning to receive with grace,
a work in progress.

© Cheryl-Lynn 2014/04/26

Kevin helps a friend being bullied – Walk so Kids Can Talk presented by BMO

Kevin helps a friend being bullied – Walk so Kids Can Talk presented by BMO.

Holy C Melan

deadlygothicdesigns.webs.com — deadlygothicdesigns.webs.com

Her nickname is Melan,

she is of sly, slithering species

tantalizing in her distinct bouquet

mesmerizing in her discrete array

of victims of her choosing

dripping bliss as she`s oozing

her prisoners of despair

suffer anguish in her care.

Hallowed in her divine

prowess she will define

the true painful meaning

finds her prey ever demeaning

suffering the wrought of her ability

winning casualties of her torment

sinking teeth of Ms. Melan C. Holy

whilst innocent souls lament.

© Cheryl-Lynn 2014/04/05 All Rights Reserved

Too often the powers of depression or long dreaded visits of melancholy can bring a person down. Not everyone has to be diagnosed with clinical, situational or other forms of depression to relate to these feelings of despair and I thought this poem describes the tormenting visits of this Melan C Holy baby.

Originally submitted at Stigmahurtseveryone

You are stunning!

I looked at the clock and noticed there was an hour left on my shift. It was a busy evening alright. But I like that because time passes quickly. I had done two hours of Live Chat and I was now back on the phones after my dinner break. It is odd to call our breaks anything but “breaks” because we can have lunch at 2p.m. and dinner/supper at 10 p.m. depending on the shifts we work and how we have arranged to make sure the service is adequately covered.

The phone rang…

“Hello, you’ve reach a counsellor.” I could hear faint sobbing, soft whimpering…

“Take your time, it’s okay; just take all the time you need…are you safe?”

I hear a weak “yes” and she tells me her story. She was just discharged from hospital for her eating disorder. She weighed well under 100 pounds…I winced at the thought of her wasting away and thanked the Great Spirit that she was, in fact, alive. “They fattened me up so much I can’t stand it!” she wailed.

The change for her was difficult to bear. She needed support in slowly accepting her “healthy” body. We talked a bit about what she could do to distract her thoughts and then she shared some sad stories of her past. Such sadness I choose not to share here, but this is what I wanted to remember … her fight to live even if for a brief dangerous time in her life and how she tried to become invisible…literally.

We explored her passions. She was an artist and singer/song writer. I was blessed hearing her sing briefly and for a fleeting moment, I could hear her smile…what an angelic voice…such beauty, it managed to transcend through the wires of telecommunication. She promised to try to focus on her beauty…voice, passions, art, inner and outer beauty and would call back if she felt overwhelmed.

When got I home late that night, I could not help but imagine this beautiful person and wrote a brief message I imagined sending to her:

Image source: Thestir.cafemom.com

Do you know that you are stunning?

the last few years, I could barely see you

so frail were you, hugging seemed daunting

what if I’d crushed your bones,

you were really so very tiny;

I remember seeing you back then…

the wind was blowing and I could swear

it was pushing you farther from where

I was sitting on the park bench waiting

watching, silently observing you wasting

away and praying for a miracle.

That was a while ago my friend,

now the miracle did transcend

you are beautiful just as you are.

Pity you don’t yet see that far long

but hopefully in due time

with your gifts of beauty and song

you will sing the words that rhyme

and you will finally see

what’s so clear to me.

I pray someday your insight

will see your beauty transcend

as well as in the light

of day…blessings, my dear friend.

© Cheryl-Lynn, 2014/03/14

Inspired by my original post at StopTheStigma You’re Beautiful

A Grandfather’s Last Letter To His Grandkids

When James K. Flanagan passed away on September 3, 2012, he left behind something absolutely amazing. Months before, he wrote a wise letter of advice to his five grandchildren, unbeknownst to them. With permission of his daughter, Rachel Creighton, the letter he left behind was posted online. This is that letter.

Even if you didn’t know James, his words are worth reading… they’re life lessons for all of us.

Dear Ryan, Conor, Brendan, Charlie, and Mary Catherine,
My wise and thoughtful daughter Rachel urged me to write down some advice for you, the important things that I have learned about life. I am beginning this on 8 April 2012, the eve of my 72nd birthday.
1. Each one of you is a wonderful gift of God both to your family and to all the world. Remember it always, especially when the cold winds of doubt and discouragement fall upon your…

View original post 672 more words

Witness of their pain

Do you remember January 1^st, 2000? I remember looking up into the sky at those fireworks, at 00:01 standing on Front Street in Toronto. Many people worldwide wondered if our computers would crash and what the future held for us. I knew I had a passion to reach out and help. In July I crossed a major threshold in my counselling career by joining Kids Help Phone. This would be my career of the new millennium! I’d won the Lottery!

Who knew, crossing that line, my life would change forever? I had joined an agency that offers a unique service to youths in “their” mode of comfort, in their style, in their time, from the comfort of their own place. I was hooked for good!

Like so many people who work at Kids Help Phone, either behind the scenes fund raising, spending tireless hours promoting this unique service or the endless hours listening, counselling, responding to on-line messages or chatting on Live-Chat…I fell in love with this amazing family who cares about reaching out to youths across this vast country, reaching out to cities, towns and more isolated regions where help and hope are often scarce.

The uniqueness is the availability, the free access and more notably the anonymity of this service. Finally a safe place for youths to reach out and not feel judged; youths, who sometimes are sharing for the first time, exploring their options and feeling a sense of empowerment because THEY are in charge of their call. Some youths may have been robbed of this privilege by abuse or neglect; here they are heard, respected and believed. As a counsellor, I do feel privileged accompanying a youth on their journey. I take the lead from the expert…the youth on the other end of the line or the other side of the screen.

Most youths who call are looking for some direction and may not know where to turn. Most do have good caring supports but don’t want to worry their family or friends. And then there are some who don’t have this…

Witness

Sometimes I hear

or read on-line

from far and near

their storyline

truths that need

and must be heard,

my role to heed

bear witness

to their pain.

I may appease

but must refrain

from judgement

and rather aim

solution focus

actively listening;

compassion’s key

and soothes gently.

they won’t divulge

they want to spare

their loved ones

for whom they care

still…

they just want

to unburden

confidentially

and safely…

feeling unlaboured

a weight off

their shoulder…

sense of reprieve

in total anonymity!

they are relieved

and finally believed!

And so I listen…

I hold their stories

gently in my heart

listen with my soul

witness with my ears

their pain I hear

catch their tears

embrace with my mind

their stories

one of a kind…

always unique

in their distinct tale

of deception

and betrayal

of violent nature

appalling misuse

of human behaviour

alas!… child abuse.

Cheryl-Lynn, Counsellor – Witness 2014/03/11

Criticism (haibun)

“Hello, you’ve reached a counsellor. How can I help you tonight?” I waited. I heard soft sobs; he spoke so fast, I could not decipher his story. “Are you safe right now? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am safe. I’m at home alone. My parents are at my school meeting teachers. It’s the parent-teacher meeting tonight. They are going to kill me when they get home!” His voice reached a high note and he sounded more like a young, scared child…not his fifteen years.

He called out of helplessness…a last resort. Wishing to protect his family as youths usually do, he needed to get this off his chest for the first time. Tonight, he wept on the phone for the first time a practice he was accustomed doing privately … his nightly lullaby.

He was worried about his parents’ reaction on their return. He had an 82% average and usually he got 90+ He talked about his listlessness and difficulty concentrating lately, his insomnia, his depression…

“I can’t remember a night I have not cried myself to sleep since I was 11. My parents say I exaggerate and that I’m just going through adolescence.”

We talked about these “depressed” thoughts and I suggested a doctor could help to ensure he had a proper diagnosis and address his melancholy and his insomnia; I asked him to describe what it was like for him to feel sad every day, how did he interact with friends, was he involved in sports. He said he wore a mask at school. He quickly added his parents were not abusive and supportive. “They always tell me they love me and want me to go to them if I need help.” He broke down sobbing again.

I asked him what he was thinking…I wondered what triggered the sobs. He hesitated, “Well, I know my parents mean well but they always criticize me and tell me it’s for my own good. But I am so tired of hearing them talk to me like that…it hurts so much.” He sobbed softly.

He told me what his parents often add to their supportive messages, my mouth dropped as I heard it, “We love you, we care, what are you STUPID?!” I was silent. I felt like I’d been kicked me in the belly. I could not imagine how hurtful it must feel hearing such “criticism” day after day, for so many years.

We explored which trusted adult he could ask for support. Someone who might be able to help his parents understand how he feels. He thought of a family friend, his father’s best friend. I asked him if he would consider seeing his family doctor. He seemed wary about seeing his doctor without his parents knowing even if he was permitted at his age but would consider emailing his father’s best friend after our phone call.

He sighed and said he was very tired now but would call us again. “It feels good finally getting this off my chest. Thank you.”

(Hiaku)

True criticism

appraise and appreciate

does NOT denigrate.

© Cheryl-Lynn 2014/03/17

Photo credits: Psychology and Astrology

Something about Criticism.

Seeking Paradise (haibun)

(haiku)

Seeking paradise

butterfly flutters

burgeoning blossom

© Cheryl-Lynn 2014/03/16

It’s that time of year when I get the itch. You know it reminds me a bit of the 7 year itch ( but not the deception itch) it has more to do with getting in touch with self, loving self and others as well. Just weeks before springtime, you long for romance, being in someone’s arms…those warm sensual budding feelings are simmering, ready to burst. Itching to daydream, love, fall in love, feel loved…soft silky petals of flora give that feeling as well as their scent … tantalizing and mesmerizing.

I am located in colder climates, so the flowers have not quite started budding, the trees are totally barren and as we look at snow here and there, I reminisce of what Mother Nature has in store for her humble human minions…soon.

© Cheryl-Lynn 2014/03/16