Tag: my poetry

Wishing you a Funky New Year


Wishing you a Funky New Year

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

Goals for ’09

  1. I want to be more present in my life. Be present with and love my family & friends.
  2. I want to see others in ways I have not before; see who needs me.  See my kids, husband, mom, sisters, nieces and nephews, close friends.
  3. I want to pursue photography: exhibit some art, apply for freelance jobs, and tell a particular story.
  4. I want to date my husband.
  5. I want to paint my bedroom. (I have had the paint for months!) and to remove ugly wallpaper from the bathroom!
  6. I want to play the piano more often!
  7. I want to organize my garage, so that we can park our cars in it.
  8. I want to bury my dad; to research and write about him.
  9. I want to finish the book of poetry.  Save.  Print.
  10. I want to stay sober. ( July 24th, 2008)
  11. I want to have some fun! But on the cheap, because …
  12. We want to live on our budget this year.
  13. I want to get off sleep/anxiety medication.  Which means start exercising, going back to therapy, eating right, and heading toward, not away from my demons.
  14. I want to not be so hard on myself.  To embrace my strengths and weaknesses. Not use them as a crutch but to push myself to get healthy.
  15. I want to not think about what ifs and if onlys. Do or do not, but stop living in that ugly place.
  16. I want to study: one topic is forgiveness, the forgivers & the forgiven.  Biblical and historical stories and characters.

As of 1/3/09

I am Underground

1/12/09

I guess I’ll make my poetry public again.

12/18, 2008

My poetry has gone underground for a while.  I have said some things, and written some things, that have hurt people I love.  I don’t want to be culpable, but I am.  So it’s put away in a “drawer” for a season.

But here’s one called Hum, by Ann Lauterbach.

The days are beautiful

The days are beautiful.

I know what days are.

The other is weather.

I know what weather is.

The days are beautiful.

Things are incidental.

Someone is weeping.

I weep for the incidental.

The days are beautiful.

Where is tomorrow?

Everyone will weep.

Tomorrow was yesterday.

The days are beautiful.

Tomorrow was yesterday.

Today is weather.

The sound of the weather

Is everyone weeping.

Everyone is incidental.

Everyone weeps.

The tears of today

Will put out tomorrow.

The rain is ashes.

The days are beautiful.

The rain falls down.

The sound is falling.

The sky is a cloud.

The days are beautiful.

The sky is dust.

The weather is yesterday.

The weather is yesterday.

The sound is weeping.

What is this dust?

The weather is nothing.

The days are beautiful.

The towers are yesterday.

The towers are incidental.

What are these ashes?

Here is the hate

That does not travel.

Here is the robe

That smells of the night

Here are the words

Retired to their books

Here are the stones

Loosed from their settings

Here is the bridge

Over the water

Here is the place

Where the sun came up

Here is a season

Dry in the fireplace.

Here are the ashes.

The days are beautiful.

Ann Lauterbach is the author of five collections of poetry: If in Time: Selected Poems 1975-2000 (Penguin, 2001), On a Stair (1997), And for Example (1994), Clamor (1991), Before Recollection (1987), and Many Times, but Then
(1979). She has received fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation,the Ingram Merrill Foundation, and the John D. and Catherine C.
MacArthur Foundation. Since 1991 she has taught at Bard College, where she is David and Ruth Schwab III Professor of Language and Literature
and co-directs the Writing Division of the M.F.A. program.

…

11-19-2008

Recently, I wrote a poem about what it feels like to be an alcoholic. — How quitting has impacted some of my friendships, basically what it feels like to me. In retrospect, I realize that I have caused pain to those people that I care deeply about. I regret that more than anything. It’s the tension in creative expression. Mine is always visceral and a bit viral. But if one ‘watches their words’ can they create? I guess I’ll live with the tension today and sit here a feel my extreme sadness over the pain I have caused.

It’s Lonely Here on the Wagon

So I quit drinking a while ago.
It was the right decision, for me.
I am addicted. I am
an alcoholic.
I never expected it to be easy; or for life to remain static.
As I see it, I am more present; I am more awake
than I have been in years.
Don’t get me wrong
I — have — hard — days;
Days when stress makes my brain, heart, and thirst buds scream.
I have days when I want to make it all go away!
This is sometimes why
I drank in the first place.
But the more difficult thing, surprisingly,
has been — from — time –  to –  time
I am lonely. And I face,
my old friends are gone
because I drank too much.
And my new friends are gone
because I don’t.
I wasn’t a happy drunk
nor was I particularly sad.
I was sometimes quiet.
I know people who got really loud,
and others overtly friendly, even one
who used to cry.
But now I see drinking, apparently,
didn’t make me ‘fun’ (enough.)
Those people that I gathered with, who seemed
to accept me as one of them;
It must have been that I just didn’t get
in the way.
I was accepted,
because I was a hard drinker, amongst
h a r d  d r i n k e r s.  And now,
I am s o b e r and I feel alone.

Nothing rings louder than a s i l e n t phone;
an empty email box or when one remembers an annual party, uninvited.
We could throw the party, I could make the call, but I’ve tried over time,
and now I’m thinking, they wouldn’t come.

Today it’s an aching heart I deal with;
A feeling which once, ironically,
I would have drowned out with a friendly glass

(or two, or five) of Merlot; anything to forget
this
f e e l i n g.
I have to face it, I am alone in my choices. Alone,
with my memories,
of people I thought were friends.
I am a lot more interesting sober; but I guess not
more fun.

My drinking friendships seemed to have disappeared.
Though I would never have said they were
d r i n k i n g friends.
I thought they were …
Well,
to be honest I thought they were
just f r i e n d s.
You know that phrase that is said when an alcoholic starts drinking again?
She’s “fallen off the wagon.”
Well, all I can say is it’s awfully lonely,
here

on the wagon.

Melody Harrison Hanson
October 31, 2008

This is incomplete as a poem, but full of real issues and emotions.

The Place of Nowhere

I wish I were a drinker.
My thirst is an itching wound; an irritation, a constant need. My albatross.
It will remain; a heavy calling. Uncomfortable.  I long for satiation, even as I am arguing against it.
Ice cold, tart, sublime. It will fill me up. Cradling my heart,
that beats too fast;
I want the panic to recede, and so, for a moment I submit to its tender lies, so gently disguised.
The thirst of a drinker, remains. It calls to me. But it is not my calling.
It lies and tells me it is but a moment; infrequent, even good.
It utters frantic, believable thoughts. Yes, believable. You can. You want. You deserve. Your heart is dry as a bone.
Your need is great.
Lingering, it hangs like the moon in the daytime sky.
Calling, enticing, bewitching. A constant source of light.
Beautiful, as it lures me back to that place of forgetting.
I wish I were a drinker, because I will always thirst.
But then I remember what is so easily forgotten,
The lack.
The Emptiness.
The place of Nowhere.
Even still, I long for it.It caresses me, it lures.
The seduction of a drinker is constant.
10/17/08 MHH

Five and a half years I have known that I am an alcoholic – most of five, of which I was unable to face the truth. In that time I have studied the disease and I came to face with the truth that this thing,that is my albatross, although difficult is just that ‘a thing.’  And we all have Things. Mine, yes, is tragic at least to me.  I mean how pathetic that I can’t drink. I love drinking. I really do.  It’s fun. It’s is social. It brings people together. It’s ‘normal.’ Yup, those are the more subtle lies (for me).

Anyway, I guess I just need to say that although I have felt a great deal of shame, that is no longer true. Yes, alcohol had me it its grip, but no longer. I feel freer than ever in my life. And although it does call me, whispering in my ear, seductively at times, I just tell it to shut up! Seriously I am reduced to telling the Liar in my head to shut the fuck up!

I have been sober, since July 2008, and almost daily I remind myself that my life IS worth living —  covering up is weak, feelings are important, and most of all my children and husband need me!  May it always be so that I listen to that strength inside that help me shut out the lure of being a drinker.

Dreaming in Color

Dreaming in Color

Am I comfortably settled or am I stuck?  When was the last time I dreamt in full color?  Of things long forgotten  —  Of pulse pounding, scary, risky things?   Am I fully awake?   I used to love the smells, sights, and sounds of Different. Am I sure that this life right in front of me is the one I was meant to live?  I am blown by forces stronger than myself.  I am carried on the wind into a future I cannot not smell, or see or hear.

I woke up and my dreams today is are so good. I am frantic to see it, to record it and to somehow divine the world Out There.

It may become too unsettling, upsetting, and disjointed for a family to endure.  It may be selfish.  It may ignore the good places in my life  that I have forged with utilitarian sacrifice; sweat and tears given willingly yet with a price.  My past, my here – and – now is settled, sometimes stuck, but known and understood.  Am I fully alive, if I can not manage to live my Dreams alongside the steady pulse of Love that fills my life every day? Surrounding me. It protects me.  And covers me, and I lose myself.

I can breathe, so I must be alive, but I feel stifled by the collision of my Dreams and every day realities.  I am alive, but I grow cautious and ever more afraid like dreaming is dangerous.  Am I more afraid — to fly — or to fail? Am – I- settled- or- am- I- stuck?  Am I fully alive?

I breathe therefore I Am. But what then?

August 25, 2008

This is a poem about being female, and 41 and a mother. Having left my career for years of motherhood, I was still dreaming of things that I could only imagine. I fear my dreams and yet hope for, wish for and want to have it all.

The Sky is Falling!! (part 1)

This is the best summary I have seen on the state of the current financial crisis, which I read online in Scientific Monthly.  Succinct with ways to fix things.

But before reading that article, consider this poem by Kipling. I loved it when I first read it.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And which is more; you’ll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling
1865-1936, written in 1895

I’m 42 Today and Considering My Life

At 42, I am ...

Originally uploaded by M e l o d y

I am 42 today and considering my life.   I was born in the highlands of Papua New Guinea on this day in 1966. I am the 2nd daughter of missionary parents. I spent the first eight years of my life there in PNG. It was a wonderful beginning. The middle was kind of rough, but it is improving every day!  Perhaps it is kind of silly to ask “Who am I?” at my age, but today this is what I did.

— Melody

I AM

  • I am a step-mother and a mother, hopelessly lost some days because I wasn’t parented that well. I have no Compass.
  • I soak up ideas and solutions from others, mostly my friends, my sisters, because I am afraid I will “mess up” my children. (Yes, the way I was messed up.)
  • I am fearful and insecure; in my core believing that I am a screw-up, a loser, a horrible friend, and an even worse mother. The voices in my head say I am the worst in-law, daughter, sister or friend anyone could want (except I don’t nag or bother, rather the other end of the spectrum. I simply act like others aren’t there.)
  • I am an alcoholic and a child of an alcoholic and this affects every single thought and decision that I make.
  • I am a writer, a thinker, a philosopher.
  • I make things like photographs, and gardens, and poems, and that makes me happy.  I love to share these things with others.
  • I am spiritual, preferring old thoughts and music to anything contemporary or new.  I am not religious, or even very faithful. But I do believe in Jesus. And I try very hard! Perhaps that is my problem …. I try. I don’t understand Grace, not really.  So on those days when my unbelief overwhelms, I entertain thoughts that can be desperate and decidedly unfaithful.
  • I do not let go …. I want and I need to be in control at all times, about everything, in every way. When I am not, I feel I have failed.  Losing control personally, emotionally, mentally is one of my worst crimes.  Don’t get me wrong, I know I am not all bad.
  • I am thoughtful. I am usually open and honest with others, when asked.
  • I take risks and try new things.
  • I love competition! Sports (watching), playing certain games, setting personal goals. But I’m afraid I get too into it, and at times it’s not so pretty.
  • A long time ago, when I worked full-time, I was a visionary, a pioneer, a competent person, a leader. I was loyal and capable. I accomplished a lot.  Surely, I am still those things.
  • I embrace and actually love cultures other than my own, soaking up the ideas, art, food, and music through books, travel and most of all friendship with those who are unlike me.
  • I usually help others as I see their needs.
  • I cook well, even better than well. I am a great cook.  My family & friends are well fed.
  • I organize & prioritize my children’s lives well, putting their needs first,  advocating and challenging others about my children’s needs.
  • I encourage others.  (At least when I am not selfishly thinking about myself.)
  • I want some day to know myself well enough that I can speak out, act, embrace, find and give all that live has to offer!  I want some day to be able to laugh, and cry, and feel the spectrum of emotions found on that damn feeling wheel!

What might you not know about me?

I’m addicted to coffee. Seriously it’s a physical and psychological thing and if I don’t have it, I might just come unhinged.  Of course being an alcoholic, I don’t drink.  But I do smoke and I know it’s a slow form of suicide. I don’t do it lightly (almost every cigarette comes with lucid acknowledgment of the consequence.) but I definitely cannot quit at this time.  I love to exercise and eat well, but I don’t (usually.)  I play music every day; all kinds and it is life-giving.  I am diagnosed with major depressive disorder, which means in layman’s terms:  I have a propensity for melancholia and if I don’t manage it, it will come back. At its worst this type of depression is like drowning in your worst nightmare, a stinking, dark hellish place to reside. Where truth becomes lies, and lies truth. You are incapable of doing, feeling, thinking, reading, sometimes even breathing.  Thankfully I’ve been depression-free for almost two years.  [I may regret saying this, but you have an open invitation to ask me if I am exercising & eating,because these are the first disciplines to go. Also, if you haven’t seen me in a while, it can be a bad sign because I begin to isolate.]

Depression, alcoholism, insecurity, damage, they are not my complete story, my story is just starting.

I believe God brought into my life the perfect person for me; he loves me by asking hard questions, telling me the truth about myself which usually means “good stuff” but sometimes even hard truths. He encourages my passions and interests, supports them as well, which is no small thing in this financial climate.  He is a warrior on my behalf and I love him more than I have shown him or will ever be capable of showing.

People have described me as aloof and private, which I am but mostly because I am shy and those demons of insecurity are playing out in my head more often than I would like to admit.

I am creative, intuitive, capable, kind, thoughtful, deep, at times extremely selfish & critical of others, but mostly about my ideas and my time.

My critical spirit, my insecurities, can and do hurt those I love and it is one of my deepest regrets; an Achilles heal.

I am passionate and always reading & thinking about things that are important to me, but I often fail at finishing and carrying them out. Books lay around unread, photographs unprinted, my book of poetry sits unfinished, and commitments become a burden, as I selfishly move on to something new.

I need community, long for it, work to develop it, but most times I fall short through my own weaknesses and broken heart.  You can be confident that I want to know you, be in your life, especially if I have told you, but my stupid S**T keeps me entangled at times.

All in all, I would say I am a good person.

As I learn what it means to be a child of an alcoholic I can acknowledge that I am still growing up, even at 42; still learning and discovering who I am and how I want to live.  I am slowing waking up – from a life-draining, sad, lonely, scared and cold childhood.  All in all, I am blessed beyond belief – with great love, friendship, abundance, talents and so much more.  I acknowledge that, even while I ache with the painful knowledge that I cannot fully embrace my life – yet – due to all of the above.  The most important thing people may not know about me is that HOPE is the central thing of importance in my life.  If I have even a tiny inkling of hope – a belief, a dream or something to hope for, I can put all of this aside. (Okay, not totally of course.)

Although this list isn’t complete, (how could a perfectionist “complete” a list) it is all true, as I know myself, today on my forty-second birthday, 2008.  Thanks for being a friend, getting involved in my messy life. Keep hanging in there, because I believe it’s on an upward curve and I am hopeful about the future.  It is simply a record of my thoughts, and perhaps will give you a glimpse at the ME I let very few in to see. You do not, should not, feel an obligation to reply.

September 24, 2008

Melody Hanson