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Tag Archives: youth

Cattails

P1030285

fluffy, pale, shapeless
with just a hint of young self
cattails in old age

© 2017 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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Prompt – Inspiration
This haiku was inspired by the photo taken on a walk in March 2015.

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VintagePADThis April I’m celebrating National Poetry Month by posting some not-as-yet published poems from my files, along with what inspired them. If the prompt inspires you to write a poem of your own, you’re welcome to share it in comments. Whether you write or not, thanks so much for dropping by!

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Posted by on April 19, 2017 in Form poems, Haiku, Nature

 

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Bullied Abecedarium

Two girls tell secrets behind a third girl's back

Photo from Microsoft Clipart

Bullied Abecedarium

Alone now I am
bullied, bruised, battered
crushed, crying, closed for love.
Don’t look at me.
Even my
Facebook friends are fiends.
Go away so I can
hurt myself. I hate myself—
I am an idiot, there is no
justice for me just
kicks, no
love just
more menacing messages.
Never thought
one, only one
picture would
quake my life
ruin everything
shove me into this shower of shame
threats, teasing, telling me I’m
ugly, useless. I’ve never been
violent, but
what, when, how can I, they call whore
xpose and xterminate this hell I’m in? And
you said, “Why are you still here, you
zit on the face of the earth?”

© 2013 V. Nesdoly

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I wrote this poem as a reflection on the too many bullying stories that have come out lately. The special appearance of Carol ToddAmanda Todd’s mom, at the book launch of one of our poetry society members was the immediate occasion. I was planning to read the poem during the open mic portion of that program but then decided against it. This is, after all, second-hand. I’ve never been bullied like that so don’t really know how it feels and can only imagine.

What breaks my heart most about many of these stories is finding out that after these kids have called out for help (told teachers or parents about the bullying, attempted suicide, shown destructive behaviour) the bullying escalates in an almost animal-inspired way. It reminds me of when I was a kid and we got baby chicks. As those chicks grew, they tended to pick on the weaker, smaller ones, physically pecking at them till they drew blood. Daddy would put a special light bulb in the chick barn so that the red wouldn’t be visible and perhaps they would stop.

Poetry Friday LogoThis poem is part of Poetry Friday hosted today by Sherry at Semicolon and Matt at Radio, Rhythm and Rhyme.

 

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