Lavinia Thompson's Blog: Seeking reviewers! , page 14

New poem ~ One Reason

Unfinished rainbow

Broken promises

Love collecting dust like

Lace unworn for years

Hanging in the closet

Eaten away by ghosts

When lovers become strangers

Give me a reason

To believe

Give me a reason

To go on…

Rivers of rain

Tears and scars

Leather and whiskey worn out

Stale and drunk

Hung over and weary

Running like the old gypsy

In this soul

Patchwork and stitches

Ripped at the seams

Give me one reason

To fix it

Give me one reason

To carry on…

Empty skies

Nights of fighting, yelling

Crying and begging

Can’t do this anymore

Ripped denim and rum

Nothing patched, nothing left

Thief of hearts

Sort of captured the soul

Star-lit words and wildflowers

Blown away on tornado gales

Give me one reason

To chase you down

You can’t give me a reason

To try again…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem ~ Awaiting the Storm ~

Dangerous lightening;

whips cracking across the sky,

when whiskey breath bound me a slave,

when storms raged without a sound,

not rattling a board of that house

but it rattled the bed and every bone

in the trembling soul.

Bellowing thunder

hovering over her, a shadow of violence

when his voice was all she could hear,

when that little girl cowered

behind the door, hearing sirens.

Last night it was the cops, tonight it’s

warnings of the tornado about to

blow through that town,

blow it all down

to nothing.

Whisper of rain

washing away tears and whiskey stains,

when soft wishes meant nothing,

when no one was there to save her,

she stood in the rain

hoping it would drown her somehow.

She stood immobilized beneath rotating clouds,

wishing a sweeping funnel

would destroy her first,

no more fists making bruises on her skin

no more vicious words breaking her down

it was over.

Skies poised as still water

as clouds dispersed into wisps

when peace found destruction

when that town was rattled to the core

she finally rested where wildflowers grew

wild and free, a spirit so restlessly content.

It was the storms that broke every bone;

his hands, his words, his hatred

it was the tornado that set her to rest

her pain, her anguish, her agony

leaving nothing but petals on the wind

where once she awaited

the tornado to blow through that town,

blow it all down

to nothing.

 

Wildflowers
Lavinia Thompson
2010

 

When the justice systems lets us down…AGAIN!

Hacker who exposed rapists could serve longer prison term than the rapists

A rape victim has been let down by the justice system….again.

Of course, I am referring to the Steubenville rape case, where two high school football students were convicted of sexually assaulting a young girl. According to thinkprogress.com:

“The case gained national attention after the “hacktivist” group Anonymous leaked significant social media evidence implicating the assailants — including tweets, Instagram photos, and a 12-minute video of Steubenville high schoolers joking about the rape. But it turns out that working to expose those rapists may land one Anonymous hacker more time in prison than the rapists themselves will serve.”

The rapists will serve a two year sentence while 26 year old Deric Lostutter could face up to ten years in jail for hacking crimes if convicted.

So all of a sudden it’s alright to rape someone, you get a slap on the hand for it, but expose the rapists and you get locked up for a decade? Both the Canadian and the US justice systems need to get their priorities straight. Doesn’t anybody see something wrong when potheads and hackers serve more time than rapists, the true danger to society?

Lostutter told Mother Jones: “They want to make an example of me, saying, ‘You don’t fucking come after us. Don’t question us.’”

The war on drugs is a costly battle the US and Canada is fighting- but there is a deeper battle our governments are not acknowledging and nor prioritizing, and that is the battle against rapists, child molesters and sex offenders. This is the safety of our children. The safety of our mothers, sisters and the women in our lives. This is also about teaching the young men in our society that this is wrong. No matter how she is dressed and how much she has had to drink, NO MEANS NO. You do not have the right to touch someone in any way that makes the uncomfortable. This goes both ways, boy to girl and girl to boy.

We need to keep speaking up about this. It is time the world stopped letting sex offenders off lightly for their crimes. Minor or not, if you knew what you were doing when you committed the crime, then you can be convicted accordingly. If you think you are big enough to hurt a girl and rape her, you can damn well be sentenced as such.

As for Lostutter, he was exposing a crime that devastated the life of a young girl who forever has to live with what happened to her. For that, he is going away for longer than the real criminals.

In the meantime, Lostutter has a costly legal battle on his hands and needs help. As someone who is standing up for the victims, he deserves it. More information on how to help Lostutter can be found here: https://www.wepay.com/donations/deric-lostutter–ky-anonymous-defense-fund

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Edge of Glory excerpt, chapter 5

Obviously not the official cover, but the image I plan on using for advertising purposes until the cover is done

Lindsay’s phone ringing interrupted the conversation. She paused before looking at it. She had changed her number already but still worried. It was a text message from Jade.

“Are you guys still up? I need friend therapy like yesterday!”

“It’s Jade…she needs us,” Lindsay said worriedly.

“Tell her to come over. I’ll put coffee on,” Sarah said, shuffling to the kitchen as Lindsay followed, replying to Jade.

“Come over. Sarah has coffee on.”

The coffee gurgled to life with the morning, as Jade walked in the door about fifteen minutes later, tears down her face. She looked like she had been crying for a while.

“Jade, what’s wrong?” Lindsay asked, hugging her.

“Oh boy,” Sarah said as she watched them walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table while she poured coffee for three.

“He wants a divorce,” Jade said sadly, wiping tears from her face. “I know I said I didn’t care but…fuck, what hurts is that he doesn’t understand how much you two mean to me, that I would do anything for you guys. It’s not fair that he gets to go out with his friends to his little church functions and I can’t have a social life outside the church.”

“And considering we’re about the only ones outside of church you spend time with? You’re damn rights that isn’t fair,” Sarah stated.

Lindsay shook her head. “Fucking stupid. I’ve had it with stupid men.”

“I think we all have,” Jade shrugged, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug as though it comforted her somehow.

“Are Lindsay and I the reason he wants a divorce? That’s it?” Sarah questioned, perplexed.

“It’s that, it’s how I am not as religious as I used to be, I want my own life and career instead of being a house wife forever popping out babies, I want to get back into music, which means being part of the bar scene and he can’t handle that. He always said what he liked most about is that I’m not the average Mormon girl, but really, that’s all he wants. It just doesn’t make sense,” Jade explained tearfully.

“Nothing makes much sense anymore,” Lindsay remarked. “How relationships go from the most epic fucking thing you’ve ever experienced to pure hell in a few years is beyond me. How it all just gets destroyed…I don’t know.”

Sarah sat back in her chair contemplatively. She too looked tired and worn down. Lindsay glanced at her.

“You alright, Sarah? Something bothering you, too?” Lindsay asked. She and Jade looked at their friend quizzically.

Sarah shook her head. “I am just perplexed at how our lives all seem to fall apart at the same time.”

Lindsay frowned. “Why, is there something going on in your world you’re not telling us?”

Sarah sighed. “Oh, you guys. You know how I officially came out as a lesbian to my family a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah, why?” Jade wondered, her eyes wide.

“Well, my family disowned me,” Sarah said with a hint of spite. “Turned into a huge fight, my parents want me to go get ‘cured.’ Fuck that! I am who I am.”

Lindsay took a sip of her coffee, glancing at Sarah in disbelief. “Seriously? Fuck my life, Sarah. I’m sorry. Why the hell didn’t you say anything a few weeks ago?”

“Because you were dealing with Alex and Jade is having marital problems,” Sarah said casually. “I’m fine, really, girls, it just….it bugs me, you know? That your own family can let you go so quickly over something that really in the bigger picture just doesn’t matter. There are worse things I could do than kiss a girl.”

“Of course,” Jade replied. “Well, you know we love you and we don’t care who you fall in love with.”

“As long as you make better fucking choices than Jade and I did!” Lindsay told her, lighting a cigarette. All three girls laughed.

“Look at us,” Lindsay continued. “We’re like a fucking soap opera right now. Sarah’s family, Jade’s divorce, my ex is a psychopath…” ”

“Fuck me,” Sarah replied. “If this is adulthood, take me back to those pink picnic tables.”

“Yeah, really!” Jade agreed.

“When all else fails, start a rock band,” Lindsay repeated one of her favourite sayings.

They all looked at each other in surprise at the offhanded remark, each of them thinking the same thing.

“We totally fucking should!” Sarah exclaimed.

“That would be fun!” Jade said in delight.

“Win,” was all Lindsay said as they exchanged high fives around the table.

Lindsay sat quietly for a moment, feeling the first inklings of a song trickling into her head.

“Oh I close my eyes and see, pink picnic tables, our summer of love, wild and free…”

~ Excerpt ~ Edge of Glory, chapter 9

 

Obviously not the official cover, but the image I plan on using for advertising purposes until the cover is done

 

“The guitar is a reflection of what you put into it, giving back what you give it, just like life. Put the love in, get the love out.” ~ Nancy Wilson from Heart

It was another clear night, when the stars could be seen in the sky, and the moon floated just aimlessly out in the indigo nothing, as the Trans-Am pulled up to Rex’s house later on. As always, Rex opened the passenger door for Lindsay, holding her hand as they walked to his door. Lindsay was relieved to be back in a familiar place, even as Rex put his arms around her and started kissing her again before they even got to the end of the walkway. His affection was both blissful and overwhelming. She couldn’t say whether it was confusing her more or convincing her that she had feelings for him. She forgot where they were when he kissed her like that, and it left her slightly light-headed. All she knew for sure was that he made her happy.

“I had a wonderful time,” she told him as he held her against him.

“I’m glad you did,” Rex replied sweetly. “The night isn’t quite over. I figured we could go inside and watch a movie or something. Like I said, trying to keep a low profile. I want you to enjoy yourself, not worry about who you’ll run into.”

“That’s very thoughtful. A movie will be fine,” Lindsay said. She’d had quite enough of being around people anyways and was looking forward to some peace and quiet with just Rex. Lindsay was pretty sure she embarrassed herself enough that night as it was.

Rex unlocked his front door and let her in first. Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief that she didn’t have to act as publicly proper anymore, though got a bit nervous walking past his bedroom. The flashback of his skin on hers when she closed her eyes was a pleasant memory, but not one she was into repeating that night.

As if reading her mind, Rex closed the bedroom door as they passed it by. Somehow it made her less nervous.

“Want a glass of water or anything?” he offered.

“That would be lovely,” Lindsay replied. “I’ll just be in the washroom for a minute, to freshen up.”

She closed the door to the small bathroom behind her. Just breathe, she told herself. There had only been on hiccup to the entire evening and other than that, she held herself together quite well. It surprised her that actually going out on dates was so much different from just hooking up. It seemed obvious that there should have been a difference.

She glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a bit messed up from Rex running his hands through it; though right then her hair was the least of her concerns. It made her feel a bit more normal, though she wished for her jeans and a t-shirt to wear again.

Mentally pulling herself together, and calmer than when she was at the restaurant, Lindsay wandered down the hall to rejoin Rex. A soft, slow melody drifted down the hall to Lindsay’s ears, the delicate strumming of an acoustic guitar. She hummed along with it to herself as she entered the living room. Rex had pulled out his acoustic guitar and was messing with some chords. He was playing a soft melody to himself, those blue eyes closed in relaxation, and he had unbuttoned his shirt, his hair falling over his shoulders as he sat back on the couch, his feet up on his coffee table. It was a charming sight that had Lindsay slightly mesmerized as she leaned against the door frame, closing her eyes as she found herself spinning lyrics on the spot to his playing.

“Something in the way

You looked at me

Made me feel alive that day

Wild late night love

Sweet summer morning dreams…”

Rex glanced up at her with a soft smile as their eyes met. “Sit down, let’s record something.”

He paused his playing to pull out his cell phone, flipping through the apps on the touch screen. Lindsay was surprised at how freely those lyrics had come out of her mouth as she sat down on the couch beside him. Rex set his phone down on the coffee table between them, with the recording app pulled up on the screen. He sat back again, nodding to Lindsay as he started playing the same melody again.

Without needing to talk anymore, Lindsay sang out those lyrics again, with Rex adding something in every so often, and together they wrote the song, though it seemed to come together naturally on its own. Lindsay had never co-written anything before. But just like everything else with Rex and her, it seemed to come just as smoothly and free as they loved to be. She could have sat there all night with him, gazing into his eyes while they sang together. It was almost as good as the sex had been, if not better, more exhilarating and freeing. It was as beautiful as the lilac scent flowing through the open windows there in the summer night.

Sobriety’s Glass Eyes VI (Screaming Demons)

~ For those of you who have read my poetry book, “Wildflowers Scattered, Estranged” you will be familiar with my poem series “Sobriety’s Glass Eyes” about addiction. This is another one, that has been in my head for a while but took a little longer to come out.~

He phones once in a while

when he’s out on the street again.

Mother just shakes her head, mutters

“He’s never going to change…”

I don’t know what to say.

He has always been my uncle but now…

I saw a side of him I never knew that night.

Mother always said he was an angry drunk.

Never saw it until he gave in to the demo

screeching within, finally busting with rage…

He screamed at me, said I didn’t respect family,

all those words I wish he could take back…

But alcohol is a truth syrum, spills the things

you want to say but a sober mouth never would.

He’s been evicted again but even I won’t help him

this time, not for how deep demons run in a man who,

two packs of cigarettes a day later

and way too many beers, stumbles away into the dark.

Watched that bus leave town one more time.

Didn’t even hug him again, for I know how

it will end next time I see him. It will be his body in a coffin,

if there is even that much mercy for him.

Sometimes even your family grows weary of your ways,

recklessness and selfishness, the ways of addiction…

It’s just a shame, knowing what kind of man he could have been,

knowing the shadows that creep into a bed each night,

thieves of life, pushing that bottle ever closer. But I also know

all the things his mistakes taught me…

The bottle is never your friend, no matter how

down and out you get, how badly life beats you up.

For like the leaves whisper down to sidewalks,

like snowflakes flutter in solace to the ground

when the whole world simply snows, like a first

delicate flower of spring, here is where I end the cycle…

Sometimes there is no pulling someone back out,

no reaching out any farther outside that circle…

For addiction’s circle only ends when the hands

bound by those chains reach back. I’ve watched you

for all these years and not once did you

even try to break that circle…

I guess some eyes find sobriety’s clarity, like glass

while others keep the glaze from a lifetime of drunken hate.

 

 

Women’s Day ~ Celebrate but don’t forget…

International Women’s Day is supposed to celebrate women. The strong ones who stood up for our rights, who are the reason we can vote, be treated and viewed as equal. They are the reason why we are no longer possessions to our fathers later to be handed off to a husband, only to be forgotten while popping out babies and cleaning the house, keeping our “place in the kitchen.”

My hubby took me out for dinner and ice cream tonight. It was a wonderful evening to have out as we approach our second anniversary. But driving through the snowy and cold streets, I was thinking about how far we still have to go before we are completely equal in this world. Let’s remember, there are places where a rape victim still cannot get a legal abortion should she get pregnant as a result of rape. If she does manage to get one, she is shamed, ridiculed and treated like she is the criminal. There are places where grey-haired male politicians are trying to tell us what to with our bodies. I won’t mention the one who thinks our bodies “shut down during a rape” so that pregnancy as a result isn’t possible. Ludicrous, right? Guess what? These people exist. Even worst, there are fellow women who agree with these sickos who have never experience a day in the life of a woman who has to make these choices.

According to http://www.alternet.org/gender/number-states-which-rapists-can-sue-custody-and-visitation-rights-31-and-other-shocking-rape an estimated 32,000 women are impregnated against their will as a result of rape. And in 31 states in the US, that monster has rights to the resulting kid. The rapist is allowed to see that kid and his victim has to comply, constantly being reminded over and over again what he did to her.

And let’s not forget there are child sexual abuse victims who get blamed for what happened to them, disowned and shamed; with parents who don’t believe them, so they get forgotten and tossed away. Most rape and sexual assaults go unreported and the ones that do get reported are hardly treated seriously. Pedophiles go away for only two years. Here in Canada, a pothead gets more jail time for merely possessing the plant than a pedophile does for raping a young girl repeatedly.

And remember the countries where women don’t have a say in so much as what they wear. Their entire bodies must be covered, including their face. They are still sexually assaulted or raped.

Still here at home and still abroad are women who live every day in fear of their partners or fathers, abusive and violent. These women don’t have basic safety in their own homes. Many of these women get killed by hands who are supposed to love her. And the cops? They don’t do a whole lot, either. It is like our justice system doesn’t know how to properly deal with domestic violence. “There isn’t enough evidence” or “It’s not that bad” or “Just deal with it” or “it’s not anybody else’s business.” These attitudes run rampant in many people, stereotypes about something we all should be concerned about because it could happen to anyone. It happened to my family. To my mother. Ten years of not being believed until he burned the house down. No one saw his true colours until it was too late.

This all sounds repetitive of things I have been saying along, but that is the problem. People just aren’t listening. So celebrate Women’s Day and celebrate the ones in your life, but do not ever forget the ones who still struggle, the ones the day is meant to commemorate, and the ones we still have to fight for.

“Please, no “woman’s day” greetings. We should be celebrated every day. We can be the most powerful army, if we support each other. If we believe in ourselves, respect all the others…” ~ Cristina Scabbia, Lacuna Coil

Drawing Broken Hearts

 

Drawing broken hearts

in coffee clouds and foam.

Cinnamon and milk,

caramel and coffee.

Evening falls over a chilling prairie.

You’re leaving me here

with just a smoking habit and rum.

But don’t come running back;

You’ll think of me long before

I think of you…

Cigarette ends the only remnants left

of your presence

in strange crevices of my house.

Ashes and smoke,

mirrors and shadows.

Never was much for

telling you how I feel.

We were vagabonds

in need of someone

but the roads separated one night

when you lost your mind.

Think of me when you’re

out there somewhere, alone…

A few rum drops at the bottle’s bottom.

Taste of it lingers on lips

like coffee rings on my table,

Nights and fights,

stars and bars,

guess my restless soul settled

before yours could.

Just remember when you

walk out my door tonight

I’m gonna be strong.

There won’t be a tear on my face

until you’re gone,

then I’ll think of you…

And I’ll only break down once

in the moment it takes for you

to disappear on the horizon,

never going back again…

 

 

~ Poem ~ Scattered Ruins (Vagabonds and Tumbleweeds)

Loving a vagabond is like

chasing a tumbleweed.

He never did unpack his things

in two years we spent together.

Tonight he left me here

with nothing more

than a smoking habit and a cigar,

some rum in the fridge,

darkness in my house.

Only a writer could pour out lyrics

while he packed his things

angrily.

Emotions are scattered ruins

across my bedroom floor

as random as haphazard

patchwork on blankets

that kept us warm.

Now only this settled gypsy

snuggles in.

Soon he will be no more than

another set of lights

on the freeway.

They say being single

is the only free way to go.

Free…

Will he think of me

out on some lonely highway?

Will it make a damn difference

if I’m drunk when he’s gone?

And what the hell is freedom anyways?

Standing out the sun window of a car,

hair blowing on the summer wind;

wildflowers in a ditch, nonchalant;

the peace in a cup of tea at midnight?

I don’t even know

what I live for

anymore.

He’s taking his suitcase,

every shirt that smells like his skin,

guitars and old letters too.

But the sky is blue

as the sun sets below

a prairie.

He threw his hands up, gave up.

I stand at the doorway

breathing the anticipation of summer

deep into my soul,

when long drives and old country songs

will find me over him,

moving on,

never knowing

what could have been,

and I’d rather not know

anyways.

 

 

~ Poem ~ Any Less Lively

If I were any less lively I’d be dead.

Tragic messes find their way in the night

long after a drunken haze wears off.

I guess you found out the hard way.

This town closes down early enough

I’m left driving around in the dark,

street lights the only way to know

I’m still alive.

There’s got to be magic somewhere,

a little black dust, enchanting,

wondrous eyes beneath ebony banners.

Strength is only how well you hide pain

or so they say, someday you find

what you’re made of.

It comes the nights one has to

suppress the urge to do something stupid

like hide a bottle under the bed,

cover the rum on your breath,

drive around for hours wondering

if this is all life is ever going to be.

Sometimes spiralling

into uncontrollable wrecks,

sometimes falling backwards

into nothing,

slipping through cracks

where you swear no one cares

if you disappeared tonight.

I honestly don’t think you would.

It’d be a cloud of dust outside the door

vanished by morning light.

For the highway is open and empty

under the crescent moon

guiding nomadic spirits,

sometimes shuffling, sometimes running.

I’m left with nothing to say

standing out on the side of Highway 3.

Nothing out there is clear, no dreams; no hope.

I lost a part of me with every break down.

Maybe these words

aren’t more than lyrics to you.

To me they’re a diary.

Sometimes you don’t know what you feel

until you write it down.

And they say

you just have to

move on,

keep going,

carry on,

I choose to leave.

Wheels keep turning,

white lines flying by,

highway signs.

Someday I will go,

when the story line here

finishes.

It’ll remind me I’m alive again.

Photo by Lavinia Thompson 2011

“Any Less Lively” will be included in my upcoming poetry collection, “Like Throwing Hockey Pucks at the Wall”, to be released in 2013.