Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Every smile

I sat upon the sand

watching as he played amid the waves,

catching each swell as I’d taught him.

With every rise and fall,

and every smile and laugh,

I could see the past years

and the pain and stress he endured

melt away

and for those few carefree moments

he was a kid again,

one who had no worries in front of him

except for whether he might swallow too much

of the sea…

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


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Photographs

Photographs tell stories, at least to me they do. They have always been the way I’ve captured memories to revisit at a later time, to share with those who’ve been absent. They have told the stories of what I have loved and who I have loved.

I’ve been photographing everything around me from a young age. When I had children, this increased exponentially, suddenly the camera was always in use as I captured every moment, every first.

But what do you do when you must put those photographs away, pretend like they don’t exist? How do you bury reminders of a past, of memories that are still ripe and sweet, years later? How do you do this when keeping them out are constant reminders to someone of a past they want to forget? Of a person they no longer are, outwardly? How do you expunge those years, and should you?

Some things can’t be forgotten.

I wrestle with this. On the one hand I want to be sensitive, these photographs remind them of who they no longer are, but on the other hand these same photographs remind me of a happier time, when the future was bright and hopeful. They are not only a tangible reminder of the past but they are a part of me. I am the photographer. I am the mother. In this case, I am the creator of both art and life.

I’ve tried my best as a mother: to provide understanding and support, to teach them the skills necessary to navigate life, and to be more resilient, but above all I have tried to show them how loved they are. Unconditionally.

Sometimes this falls short, no matter my motivation, no matter my actions.

As a parent you put your child’s needs ahead of your own, but sometimes your needs and theirs are at war. As it is for me now. I have robust memories, with many of them being photographic, and now I must put those away and with them a part of myself. At times it feels like one more piece of me is being buried and I cannot breathe. I am banging my fists against the lid but no one hears my cries.

The photographs are the latest in a line of things that I have had to turn my back on. I am not prone to pity parties but I grieve, oh do I grieve.

Some might think this is selfish, to feel this way about photographs, but it is really about more than captured images. It’s about forgetting 15 years of a life. It’s about surreptitiously reliving them. It is what I struggle with. It’s not that I am not thankful for what I have, but it is a loss and as such it behaves like the tides, ebbing and flowing, but never ceasing.

The changes wrought are incalculable. I grieve for the past and for the future. There will be things I will never experience and things I experience but in a way that is more challenging and isolating than I ever anticipated. This truly is a matter of only understanding if you walk in my shoes.

But these are small things and, in some cases, future things.

We adjust as we go along. Tentative steps taken, often with a heart that aches with loss but also one that feels a modicum of joy as things align. It is the past that is rearing its ugly head. As we go forward into this new life I am no longer allowed to revel in those memories. I must be secretive about the happiness I felt because it makes someone I love uncomfortable.

It’s the latest of cuts, and probably the deepest, and I feel as though I am bleeding out. How much can I lose and do I have the right to feel this grief when it’s not my life that will be challenging?

I don’t know the answer to that. I’m just searching for something to staunch the flow of blood.

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken from Tumblr, source unknown


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Lies and betrayal

There’s a lot said about grace

and letting go of hurt and anger,

but they never tell you how to manage that.

One day you’re fine and the next day knocked senseless

by yet another wave you didn’t see coming.

.

You start to wonder if the lies told about you

by someone who should have known better,

who should have known you,

were told to another 

and now that person looks at you differently,

treats you differently.

.

When does this end?

When does it stop stinging?

When can you truly move on?

.

You know you will never get any recompense or apology,

and truth be told they probably still think they were right and justified …

but is it ever justified to speak ill of another when you can simply talk to them?

.

It is their own wounded pride talking,

you were just the fall guy for people who wouldn’t be straight with you.

You tell yourself you are letting it go,

you’ve chosen not to pursue it or make your feelings known,

it’s water under the bridge.

Only it’s not. 

Because suddenly the current picks up and washes that fragile structure away,

and you are reminded of all you tried to forget.

Your attempt at grace feels flat

and the flavor left behind is not one you want to taste again.

.

Yet you do,

because the repercussions of this act reverberate

and it becomes a wound that never quite heals.

The place they held in your heart becomes a mess of scar tissue you run your fingers over, reminding you to caution yourself,

because when push comes to shove

.

with some people

.

you think you have a place by their side

but you’re about to be thrust off a cliff.

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


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Indigo sea

It is always when evening descends

that I seek what eludes me by day,

gazing at the night sky in hope, in wonder.

 I whisper

‘throw your arms around me

and let me feel the midnight

seep into every pore’.

I will slip into this glorious, unending indigo sea

and lose myself in all that exists beneath the surface,

a quick, dark essence

that pulls like tidal waves

revealed as moonlight slips over my skin.

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


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I write

photo

I write

And in doing so slice myself open

Watching, as though distant,

At what spills forth

My gaze detached

Is this me?

Is this what has been wrought

From all the joy and pain?

.

I write

And reinvent myself

With every word

Every utterance

Wholly

And uniquely

Me

Yet, in this I am but a stranger

Unto myself

As I weave these ever-changing threads

Into an identity

:

Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


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Her song

I was reminded of this piece tonight and beg the readers’ indulgence. It is her secret fantasy…

Siren Whispers

fullsizerenderIt is her secret fantasy…

In an intimate club she takes the stage.

Dressed in a long sheath which clings to every curve

and caresses her every movement

she is cooly elegant

in a dress that belies the smoulder in her eyes.

Her dark hair falls in glossy waves about her shoulders

and her lips are ruby red.

She sings ballads of star crossed lovers

and of tortured passion.

The audience becomes enraptured with her voice

as every seductive verse is drawn out

every word, whisper, sigh

imbued with emotion.

She loses herself in the lyrics

feeling every word

living them there on the stage.

Singing them to the one who feels them

with her.

Her audience of one.

The only man she has eyes for.

Her song

for him.

:

*This is not new. It was written and posted last year but I was reminded of it recently and hope that long time readers will…

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