Storm within (haibun +¸haiku)

On her walk home, she listened to Deva Premal, she had purchased three mantras last night…yep, three of the same mantras chanted differently. It gave her energy to start her shift and blessed her when she came home at the end of her long night.

She reached her home minutes after  midnight;  she gave her loyal feline friend a cuddle, then fired up the laptop. She must have touched a button she was not used to with her new Windows 10 and Microsoft Edge NEWS popped up with the first article shocking her.  “All my babies are dead”…her hand hesitated on the mouse for a split second and then she clicked.  A tragedy!  Preventable, unnecessarydrunk driving tragedy.  It was as if the weather of that nice evening walk home in the cool brisk air had changed dramatically.  This was why she no longer had television.  This was the reason she stopped purchasing newspapers 14 years ago but the internet still bled bad news.

home at twilight
sits with a midnight snack
and, then the storm broke
prays for those who’ll never rest
grieving for their babies

© Tournesol ’15

___________________________________________________

(haiku)

three dead children
parents’ limbs ripped of their souls
idle bicycles

a father,
a grandfather
gone forever

families,
communities and nations
grieve

the storm invaded,
addiction grabbed too many
victims

© Tournesol ’15

Haiku Horizons “storm”

Deva Premal – Gayatri Mantra

Oṃ bhūr bhuvaḥ svaḥ

tát savitúr váreṇ(i)yaṃ

bhárgo devásya dhīmahi

dhíyo yó naḥ pracodáyāt

We meditate on the glory of the Creator;
Who has created the Universe;
Who is worthy of Worship;
Who is the embodiment of Knowledge and Light;
Who is the remover of Sin and Ignorance;
May He open our hearts and enlighten our Intellect.

Tranquility (haibun)

Jonathan sat on the curb and waited for someone to give him enough change to meet his quota so he could finally reach nirvana. The night had been so slow since the snowstorm had started up and “pedestrians were just rushing to get home in their nice dry, cozy homes” he snickered to himself with a bitterness that was not like him.

Nightfall came slowly and the only customers he got were the odd city maintenance men taking a break at MacDonald’s for a hot coffee after plowing the streets of Montreal most of the night.  He was shaking and knew he would not be able to tough the night here, so he dragged his shaky twig of a body to an air vent near the Métro Berri…just right to warm up enough and not die of hyperthermia.

Just as the sun was rising over the grey, damp and cold city, he woke up and walked over to rue St-Pierre to stand in line until le Centre du Petit Voyageur, a methadone clinic would open at nine o’clock,

killing a pain
an opiate buzz offers
tranquility

© Tournesol ’15

Five Sentence Fiction Open

Lillie McFerrin Writes

Motivation

Photo credits: KellieElmore http://kellieelmore.com
Photo credits: KellieElmore
http://kellieelmore.com

Photo credits: Kellie Elmore

James’ wife had left him and took the children too.  She told him it was no longer safe with his alcohol induced rages.  He lost his job. He still drank day after day, night after night. He’d finally hit the lowest of lows.  What could he do?  His friends shunned him, his family no longer trusted him and now he was alone.

James tried selling house items that might give him more cash for “drink” but soon there was little left.  He called his favourite aunt and asked for help.  She offered to bring him to hospital for detox and from there he would have to decide his future.   He called Alcoholics Anonymous.  He wanted his family back, he wanted his self-respect back…and that motivated him to work the programme (AA) until he could find the courage to ask his wife to take him back.

Every day he went to meetings.  His sponsor was a kind man and after 6 months, he offered James a good job.  He was originally a brilliant Chartered Accountant and his sponsor saw his potential in offering him this opportunity.

He worked long hours and continued with his meetings.  After he got his one year chip, James asked his wife if she would consider getting back with him so they could be a family again.  His love for his wife and family motivated him to persevere with this difficult struggle with addiction.

Many years passed and the family fell apart eventually again.  James had drifted into over working and dating many women.  He lived a single life far away from his family and over the years he slipped back into his addiction.  He’d been faced with adversity, pain and suffering and he could not handle it.

James eventually found his true love…his purpose to motivate him to stop drinking again.  His love for himself…to regain his self-respect he had to find love for self first.

The End.

© Cheryl-Lynn Roberts, January 4, 2014

Story prompted from DungeonPrompts, Season 2, Prompt #1 Motivation

Victim No More

(c)Clr’16

 

I don’t want to write about hate
I just need to have a witness
to how I feel about their unfair fate
when some adults  trespass
fathers, mothers , uncles, aunties too
on their youths who become lost
sons, daughters, nephews, nieces too
in such chaos and betrayal!
search for answers at all cost
broken, fragile and frail;
some turn out promiscuous
or conduct quite outlandish
self-harming although atrocious
it may help them  cope
finding a sort of self-control
even for a moment…gives them hope;
they search blindly, their new role
getting lost in booze and dope,
being victims and incest survivors.
some just give in to submission
sinking low into depression.
grown-ups …pseudo humanoids
possessed by demons of some sort
world should make them void
acting on perverted urges they cavort
young innocent girls and boys, ‘tis all the same
accounting for all the casualties’ names;
Boy, girl? they suffer and rarely ever claim
nor report their abuser
unfortunately,  they happen to be
trusted adults,
persons to whom they have affection
they dare not show signs of deception
even though these monsters
performed the worse
such a breach of trust,
acting on their abuse of power
youths dislike feeling forced
disclosing facts of sexual exploitation;
they would rather forget it ever transpired;
they prefer to have their memory obliterated
never to be reminded of their nightmare
victims to their mothers, uncles,
aunties and grand-parents too,
lest we forget cousins, neighbours, strangers too.
A youth tells me, “But I love my dad! I don’t want him to die in jail!”
another youth says, “But she’s family and all I have left!”

Dear men, women, pseudo humanoids,
who exploit children and youths
umpteen ways  yo u exploit and trick
any child. Shame on you! how dare you pick
your children, other children, any children!
How dare you feed on your perverted lust?
knowing you are wrong, still you feel you must
satiate your desires; choose to break their trust
yield to narcissistic needs and no respect
robbed of their dignity, powerless to reject
your urges.
If only you’d have turned
to professionals to help you spurn
those urges… you could finally
STOP abusing
START respecting,
START deflecting
STOP reflecting
ONLY on your own unspeakable wants.

Shame on you for acting
on these impulses … reacting
in the most selfish and egocentric
behaviour,  ‘tis the most barbaric
in human nature…you look like humanoids
but rodents, killer insects or snakes
are more humane than you could ever be.

The Great Spirit is kinder than me
for I still must dig deep to find empathy
that I reserve solely for the victims
and survivors of such distressing whims.

I forgive you but
cannot forget
they may forgive you in time
but cannot forget
they may heal in time
and carry their scar… an aide-mémoire
like a soldier, their badge of honour
Victim turning to Victor, a Survivor
… victim no more.

© Cheryl-Lynn Roberts,  originally written October 1, 2013 edited Sept 15, 2018

Photo credit: Google Image.