amawitch's blog: "gains and pains"

The written word in song or tale, is an art in of itself. The teller tells, the singer sings and then its put upon a shelf. The poet though, makes magic of his use of verbage so that when its read, you see the word its feel, its taste, you know. I can write a tale of woe and bring a tear or two. But when I write my poetry I share much more with you. I share my passion, flame and more you feel it deep within knowing exactly what I mean you read it once again. It is a special sort of read allowing the freedom to arrange the words so they might read differently from me to you. A story is a story told the words just words, no more But poetry is emotion and fuel that rivets to your very core. I am a piece of each I write I take a chance you see that the reader understand my plight in my flowing delivery.

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© Copyright 2007 Amawitch-granny witch

Wanderer Searching, seeking, follow up, hunt down look up, run down, making furious comparisons. Moving, progressing traveling on, a commute strange accents accentuate my loss of place exhausted. Hopeless, ruined beyond recall belonging no where nothing left but the notes. Traveler, wanderer, temporary citizen an apprentice of life Searching, seeking something.
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Life Overhauled I met a man who challenged me with eloquence and grace. He bade me look deep in my heart within its own secret hiding place. Why must I try this fruitless quest? I answered brazen and rough. I need noone, I care for none. I love myself, thats quite enough. He smiled a cryptic, simple smile. Silently laughing at me. In anger I shouted, "What do you want What do I need to see?" Reaching out with tender hands, He touched my blinded eyes. "Now look before your lonely self, see all that you dispise". With a newborns vision in my mind, I saw a world of love. People sharing, holding on, to things I've been unworthy of. I cried with pain and lonliness, "I want these things for me, for the first time in my life I want my love to be set free." Nodding his head he walked away leaving me docile, content and disposed to begin a strangers journey with my heart and soul exposed. amwitch/2007

So you want to laugh my friend A chuckle deep from the heart A roll on the floor, lose control, Perhaps to even slip and fart? A rib tickler, until the snot is running down your nose and anyone that sees you wonders whats funny about poetry and prose? A gut clencher, a "gotta pee" A bursting of the seams, if you get up, out it'll come soaking you in disgusting streams? A snort, a snicker, a roaring laugh Your mouth and jaws open wide you cannot breath, your gasping now An attack of pain at your side? If your that desperate for the above Let your ears and eyes take a poke At life around you, the funnies you see The laughter, the song, the joke. amawitch/2007

I was asked HOW WOULD YOU SPEND YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH and to put it in a essay exactly 1000 words. My last day would begin one minute after midnight. I would set the alarm, making sure I woke up at one minute after midnight. This would be my personal time. i would go outside looking up at the moon and stars remembering years past, the wonder I felt as a child when I would wake finding the moon shining in my bedroom window, feeling safe because it took away the dark. The grass cool beneath my feet I would reminise how my folks laughed when I told them I could feel grees talk, the grass cry when it was cut. I would give thanks to the goddess who allowed me to feel thoughts of nature. Next would be a long shower, glorying that I no longer had to worry about the bill, since no one else was up. I could take my time! Coffee would be next, flavored with hazelnut. The taste sweet, thick on my tongue, reminding me of grandmothers cookies. I would get dressed slowly, as thoughts of learning how to button my shirt come back to me. Leaving my bedroom I would set the table. Each platter would have a setting of rose petals around the plates as when they were small children having a birthday. I would fix German crepes, dusted with sugar, served with marmalade. Getting the kids up, I would smile and watch as they chattered, in awe of the procreation in front of me. Forgotten would be the arguments, short tempers, negatives. Jokes would be served with milk, each of us sharing a story as I drink in every inch of their wonderful selves. Clearing the dishes I would ask that they bring out their pictures. We would spend an hour or two sharing thoughts, experiences about what they represented. Piling into the living room, we would cuddle together watching movies we picked out the day before.By now it would be noon, I would take the kids out to the forest, pointing out special sites. We would smell the forest, listen to the birds, adding our laughter to the wind. Having brought a picnic basket we would feast on the special meal I had prepared. Strawberries would be first, fresh, glistening, tart, making our mouths water. Huge chunks of sour dough bread with butter spread would find its way into our hungry mouths. The river providing the gift of clear cold water for our dry throats. Cleaning up our mess we get in the car for a trip to visit the grand folks. Arriving there I would remind my father who has alzheimer, of who I was, settling next to him as I did when I was a little girl. I would listen to my family chatter, talking about anything and everything. Listening to the stories of my childhood, my children would look at me with wonder. They now know me better, carrying the stories with them. I look at my mother and just the contact we make tells me that she loves me and I love her, no other words need to be said. My father will be reminded gently who I am, that I love him very much. this would be one of the hardest parts of the day. Sadly, quietly we return to the car deciding to do something uplifting. Baskin Robbins, here e come, singing oldies on the radio, anticipating huge cones dripping with sticky, cold, exciting flavors. Getting our treats, we head for the house, the house that I have spent 15 years raising my children. Crowding in the living room again, pulling out paper and pencils, I look at them individually telling them to write down what it is I want them to have, why I want them to have it. This takes quite awhile resulting in tears and upset. We finish with a hug and offers of strength. I ask for time alone. I spend this time reflecting on things unfinished, a conversation needing explaination, a relationship with someone that could use a smile. I call people on my list, righting wrongs, sending wishes of good faith, asking that they keep in touch with my children. Looking around I find last minute things I want to pass on to my children, quietly presenting them. Its dinner time, though we are not too hungry. Its the companionship that draws us to the kitchen, each fixing a shared dish. The table is bursting with all kinds of food, the laughter is back. I get a gleam in my eye and for the first time in my life I begin a food fight. We explode into chaos of flying corn, dripping pies, soon exhausing not only our supply but our bellys are hurting from laughter. Its getting late now, so we begin cleaning ujp, planning to end the evening together, cuddling, each os us sending quiet messages of love and respect. We know my time is almost up and turn off the TV, spending the last hours of time talking about anything that might have been unsaid. I get up from the couch, going to each child, i hug them and thank them for being the wonderful gift they are. I dont apologize for what I could not do, but I do ask they remember what they might have needed and I couldnt or did not provide, that they give that to their own. I ask them to remember me to the river, and wind, to listen to the earth, because they will hear me if they listen. I go to into my bedroom preparing for bed. I lay down, once again marveling at the wonderful feeling of my body relaxing, stretching out, finding warmth of familiar blankets. I close my eyes knowing I will not view the earth throught these eyes again. Letting my thoughts wander throught the portals of my past until sleep overtakes me, comforted in the knowledge that tomorrow I will awaken to a whole new existance. But for tonight, I remember today.

I gotta tell you. Hell ain't all it hepped p to be. I mean I been living in a kinda hell, they tell me, for a few years now, and I never had so much fun living. Confused? Let me go back a few and start at the beginning which is really an ending. Ha, now I bet your really befuddled. Hell began when they strapped me into that chair and zapped me till I was doing the funky chicken in front of all those witness's. I found myself looking down at me. Yeah, imagine that. there I was, smoke coming from under that mask, my skin as pale as a corpse. Ha!! I was a corpse. I tried like hell to see me, lifting what I tought was my hand, but all I could see was sparkles of light, like energy from a friend lighbulb. That fizzled kind of light. Okay, I'm getting to it. I wasn't scared, but I wondered just where I was. Thatgot answered real fast. There weren't no light to follow,angels that I coud see. I floated on over to the man that was standing next to my body. Reaching out with my, well whatever I had now, I reached out trying to be gentle like. Well I tell you, my hand just sank right in there and about pulled the rest of me in like a vaccuum. I got brave then, and pushed myself into that man. All of a sudden I could feel again, I could see through eyes, and I could even feel my/his stomach growl... inside of this guy. I walked over to the other guard and drawing my/his gun I pulled tht trigger, shooting him dead. Now this was power!!! I pulled loose of that guy, watching the chaos I just created. this could be fun. All of a sudden I was felt by another something there with me, where ever there was. Idont know how we talked but we did. She told me that I could anywhere into anyone and make them do anything. and this was forever. She said that serial killers were a favorite of His, and that instead of burning embers, we got to live like this for eternity. It was expected that we would inhabit other bodies and continue what it was we enjoyed doing mose, killing and torturing human beings. Well, hell, I said, let me get it on. I been like this for a few hundred years now. I met a few on the way, and we all agreed that this was the best sort of hell there could be. I imagine I been "killed" by the law a few thousand times now. I like to stay in the body until they actually get their sentence carried out. that way I am killing twice if you think about it. First I kill inside with their bodies, than they get killed for it. Science always confused me, and psychiatrists and stuff. They always tried to figure out why the likes of me were born. HA!!!! I could tell them now. We are'nt. We are made. Pretty soon there's gonna be so many of us that Hell will more more occupied space than Heaven ever thought to be. And why not? After all, hell is what I make it. She said He liked it like that. Who am I to question?

I have always been a bit different you know. And since you doctor's want to learn how my brain works, you're just going to have to allow me my beginnings. Without that, there is no point, now is there. Get comfortable, although it is not a long story, it is a bit , shall we say intense. I killed for the first time when I was four. Hardly a tear in my eye either. It was my first experience with power over life. Heady though it was, I needed to study my kill in depth to truly understand what I had done. To you it sounds like a simple childhood activity, as many children go around killing, but my difference was in the rush I received. At four I killed, studying that kill from all the angles. Oh, it was just a little torture at first, but such sweet torture. I learned so much. I know you think killing bugs and frogs might not have been such a big deal, but it set the pace for me to go on to other types of life. At ten I graduated to intricate and complex killing. My victim not only had to suffer a bit, but had to somehow convey a plea. But as usual the ending was the same, shudder and death. How delicious. To feel that soft furry trust and then to listen to the howling, mewling, as I slowly dismembered my victims. Cats were fun, but dogs took longer as they were bigger, so the excitement lasted. I loved being seventeen. All those knotty jumbled harmones working through me. Of course my only release was their release. Ha! It was wonderful fun fooling everyone. A good student, a popular kid, well mannered, just the type of kid a parent wanted their sweet daughter to date. I killed a lot that year. So now I sit in your office and you look at me with dread and horror on your face. Why? Do I disgust you? Good! I want to feed on your aversion of me. Show it to me. It is a welcome high, uplifting and welcome. You can't cure me you know? No one can. I don't think I would want to be cured. what I want is to go out there , grab my next victim, relishing the fear, the elevated heartbeat. Lick the salty fear sweat from the body, while I feel the skin cringe from contact with me. Oh my, I must watch myself here, I will lose control. Where was I? Oh yeah, I have my victim securely in my grasp, unable to do more than follow me with apprehension, dread gleaming from their streaming eyes. Begging me, not believing its me, or that it is happening to them. Annd then well, you know, you have seen the bodies. Oh!! You want me to put it in my words? To say it!! Is this for benefit or mine? I can assure you it will only affect you, as I could care less. Okay, okay, I will humor you. I take my hand saw, it has to be a hand saw, by the way, and slowly begin sawing small pieces of body parts off. Careful not to get too much blood on me. Disgusting stuff. Gets in the way really, and obscures what I want to see. the victim? Ha! Really doctors, this about me, not them. I. I. I. I keep telling you this. When will you stop caring about them. I am the important one here. I am the neighborhood baby sitter. I am the local grocery boy. I am the honor roll student. And I am a killer. I am the one this is all about. amawitch/2007

You know, it was bound to happen. Only I can screw up a birthday so badly that I invite seven years bad luck on top of it all. I should have known better! I woke up that morning, after a disasterous beginning, finally found the time to put on my face, war paint, my kids call it. Although I have done this time and again for the last 15 years, today was the day I drop the mirror, cracking it right down the center. I attempted to look through it and saw my visage flawed, two sides, disunited, but doing my best, I hoped both brows were even. I run downtown to order the cake, wondering why the baker was looking at me so curiously. Catching a glimpse of myself in the glass fronted cake box, I noticed one eyebrow at least an inch higher than the other. Great!!! I paid for my purchase, and in the car pulled the rear view mirror down and tried to fix the damage. Having only a mom's "fix it all", I spat on the kleenex and grimacing applied the foul wetness to my face. there!! That looked better, but I would never expect to do that to my kids again. Next I ran to the Party Office and ordered the singing telegram and the clown. My face red, as the counter woman took my order barely keeping herself under control. Now what! I paid for the clown and once again in the car pulled down the mirror and with a horror realized that I had wiped out one eyebrow and left the other so that I had one dark outline and one much lighter one, leaving my face looking ridiculous. I could have taken clown make-up lessons and looked better. Again I resorted to the much detested spit on the rag, and wiped it away. On to the pharmacy. I quickly made arrangements for what I needed and returned home, deciding to simply have them deliver my order rather than wait for it to be filled. Home. Ah, feet up for ahile until my husbands family, the children and little guests showed up. Startled by the screams of children I jumped up off the couch, looked at my watch and was on the run again. The party started in 5 minutes and guests were arriving. I sneak into the living room and there everyone was. My husband looking at me with barely pent up laughter, the children giggling. My in-laws not bothering to hide their snorts and sniggers. My husband sidled up and whispered that I needed to go fix my face, and he would set everything up. In the bathroom I look and my face is really a mess, lipstick smeared, mascara melted from sleep under my eyes, my hair a rats nes, and worse, dried spittle above each eye. Quickly fixing the damage, I just washed everything off, and combed my hair to race down the stairs just as the bell rang. The clown was being shown in just as I entered the living room. The children clapped aloud. The clown was hesitating, and I encourage him to go ahead, whispering to please go on with the show. He whispers " are you sure"?, and I emphatically shake my head yes. The lights go out and this clown is spotlighted, bringing out balloons, every eye on him. After a fashion he holds up, Oh my I am almost embarrassed to say, but it looks like my husbands, uhmm, well it was not a doggy anyway. And to my horror, this clown is now beginning to strip off his pantaloons, starting a resounding rendition of an adult song. Jumping up, I stop him and pull him aside. After a brief conversation I pay him and off he goes. I had hired an adult entertainer. But thank goodness things had not progressed too far. Re-entering the room I see my child opening a strange looking package in brown wrapper. My husband snuck up next to me and quietly berated me for not using happy wrap. I look at him clueless. I did not give her that gift!!! I look on with interest as she removes, birth control pills, prophlactics, monostat 7, and a cute little purse that held 10 tampons. My pharmacy package had arrived. She was delighted, the little imp, passing it all around to be looked at. I simply melted to the floor, crept up stairs and sent to bed. I do not know how the night ended, but I do remember my husband coming to bed, rolling over and quietly saying, " through sickness and in health............"

If rage suggests a loss of self-control and fury is destructive rage verging on maddness..... then.... Where am I? If bitterness is an ache, a prolonged dull pain and regret carries no explicit admission, am I responsible..... then.... Of what I am? If final forming an end not to be altered or undone, concluding part of my performance..... then.... When am I? Going to be happy? amawitch/2007 CDs by amawitchgrowsup

Overwhelming Surrender I hide behind this misconception, misunderstood, bewildered that I have not disappeared altogether having made myself so small and unimportant that people walk right by me never having seen me at all. My pain is like a glass sheet cut into different shapes to fit whomever might happen by, that they might show compassion if I have any meaning or value worth appreciating should I live or die. Having all of the earthly needs a person can buy my soul shrieks of loneliness, wondering where the whole is of which I am just one small part, my other half, the piece I am missing the balance, symmetry of my other. companion-less, deserted, left alone to float in this sea of unappreciative people who come together and separate like they have no concept of what real longing for a joining with the other part can truly be. So curling up into myself, I, my soul, freeing my heart from any hopeful alliance, afraid that I in my desperate longing might reach out for the counter-factual wrongness, prolonging the ache that is me.