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Month: June 1998

About: digging

Published by Barbara Doduk on June 24, 1998

The greenest green sprouts out of dirty brown soil thick
with stones. The roots of towering trees wrap
themselves around the edges of earth.

Digging in the garden.

Digging deep into the unknown.

Ladybug
lands nearby to take in the view.

Spiders
creep along fence pathways commuting to webbed homes.
Their little tiny legs brush along the wood unheard.

Big black beetle
hides in a foundation crevice blending into the black knot
disappearing into the air.

Birds balance on pine
branches singing out lyrics to mystic bird songs, little ditties
passed through generations, haunting to the ear.
A sad but happy song travels the Spring air.

My shovel
dings a rock.

Kids play hockey in the culdesac. Sticks click
pavement. Plastic wheels roll about. Voices call out
to one another. A yellow tennis ball bounces by.

A neighbourhood
cat, calico with eyes wide, slinks along in the bruised purple underbrush.
Her little padded feet careful in every step.

Digging in the garden.

Digging into my soul.

Black rich dirt underneath my broken nails.

Worms
disturbed and wiggling away. Small creatures
stirred up by my metal shiny spade.

A fat mosquito
busies herself looking for a sucking mate preferably plump
with red. The day grows dim in lime green moss shade.

Cool
early spring air dampens my skin. A chill sets through my flesh,
creeps into my tired bones.
Small adventures fill hours. New visions of life crawl
through the path of my garden. I dig sometimes just to dig.

Holes
fill with life buried just under the surface. I seek out that life
for the betterment of my own.

You

Published by Barbara Doduk on June 23, 1998

Written on Friday, May 20th, 1994

You with the sad eyes, I can relate. You with the overbearing father, I can relate. You with the questioning stare, am I really so strange just because I look different. We may be one in the same. You with the laughing face, am I really so amusing or do you think it makes you superior? You with the drunken smile, I’ve been there but I will not honestly venture into that dreaded state ever again. You the one who leers at me as if I were a threat to you, chill out, think peaceful thoughts, I’m not an enemy. I’m not going to invade your domain. You the cheaply dressed young girl, why be so desperate to draw to the wrong kind of attention? Sex is not love and love is not sexual. It’s spiritual. It’s bliss. It can also be addictive, much more so then any drug, any beer. Once you have known true real love you want to know it always. Some times you try so hard to hang on to it love only fights to get away.

You the one who said you loved me then simply took it back, how cruel it was of you, specially because you did it to me. You the Aquarius, so weak, so scared that a Pisces would dare ask you to think understand her Pisces mind. You the one who seems so lonely maybe you really only think that you can’t have it all. Maybe you never gave it a chance at all to grow. You the guy who thinks I’m perfect for him, who really knows what will come of it. If it doesn’t happen you’ll always survive. Me like so many of my generation suffer from bouts of depression. I can recover but like so many others I wonder what there is to look forward to. I’m frightened by the changes that I see in the mirror, out the window and in my friends and specially my family. Time is catching up with us. We can not run.

You with the smile, I’ve seen you sad too. Even in the throws of it all I’ve seen you frown. I’ve never seen you cry but I know you do, it shows. You like me have deep feelings about the world around us. About our true friends. I feel for all of them. My generation is lost, finding too much comfort in sin, whatever that means. Sometimes I feel pain but it’s a good thing. If I didn’t I’d be afraid I wasn’t human anymore. But the suffering of our generation has to end but I haven’t an answer to stop the pain. I suffer too, I fight the same demons. We are all the same inside. We are all the world’s damnedest creation.

You my dearest friend the one who makes me feel alive. The one who sometimes drives me mad. The one who tries too hard to keep me feeling good when all I can do is feel bad. You are truly my friend. My love to you is gold. Worthless to some but priceless to you and I am glad. You make me happy to have a world to live in even as I feel it’s crumbling all around me, even as I write this. I feel something big is going to happen but I don’t know what or exactly when. I hope it all works out all right.

You are me and I am you. We are all one. Entirely, ever present and continually. It will never change. It’s about the only thing that won’t, that and my love. I only hope I don’t hold on so tight I kill the love I have in me for all of you. You never know what you have until it’s too late.

Barbara Doduk

Again

Published by Barbara Doduk on June 23, 1998

Endless circles around which I twist my tongue
and the world goes down again.
The world spins around again.
The day seems to blast out of a rocket shell into no man’s land
and there I go standing in the middle again.
The ties that bind and cut into my flesh tear into the heart of it all.
And the world revolves around and around like nothing ever happened.
The moon rises and the wolves begin to howl again.
I find my soul dredged out of the mud again.
Lying on the river edge bleeding into the water that washes me clean again.
The night air rips at my eyes and the passion of the forbidden
calls out for me again.
The endless circles around which I twist my tongue
and swallow it all down whole fill me up again.
I look for the war and find no peace.
I see nothingness in the fullness of everything that surrounds me truly.
The mourning feeling of death undone and the grave is cold and bare again.
Deep dark soil damp with life brimming inside and I am flat-line again.
Resurrection of the being that once bloomed forth inside
the mind of fruitless wonder and I go down again.
The world revolves around the universe
and I am the centre piece at this banquet for the dead again.
Laying on the edge of the table with a mouthful of apple
and I am the apparition again.
The morning dawns over the end and the world spins me upside down again.
The sky is always blue
and the eyes blindfolded and beaten to remission
do not see.
My heart drains away into the vast void of black
and into the seas of antiquity again.
I wither away into the shadows of my former self
and nothing of me remains again.
Digging up the bones on the river bank.
The blood has washed me away.
The wolves have had at me.
There is nothing but the dead-alive of me again.
The world has forgotten me once more.
And again down goes the world while my mouth twists out these circles endlessly.