Darkest of Days

O darkest of days…

Followers trembled with fear

Grief, uncertainty

Jesus told them what must come

Yet it was too horrible

They waited, wondered

Comforted one another

Hearts’ long darkest day

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.






Images: Pixabay.com

Daredevil Warrior



Daredevil casts off


Possible public criticism, derision…


Too brief for masks, chains

Warrior fights for person imprisoned…freedom, peace in authenticity.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

The Pi-Archimedes verse is:
○ a hexastich, a poem in 6 lines.
○ measured by the number of words in each line 3-1-4-1-5-9 to match the numerical sequence of the first six digits of Pi.
○ unrhymed.

The Christmas Tree


Prompt: “That really did not help.”

It’s burned in my memory

The last Christmas I spent

With mom, in her home.

She had an artificial tree

Which she assembled, but

She was too old, unstable

To climb up on step-stool…

I certainly didn’t want to be

Responsible if she fell…so

When it was time to put the

String of lights on, I stepped up.

I was a nervous wreck as soon

As she’d taken the tree from

The closet…we didn’t work well

Together.  I couldn’t ever get

Things right…as in perfect

To please her.

So I’m standing above, hands

Shaking as I wind the lights

Around…she’s supervising

Ready to pounce, criticize.

Some details of memory blur

But there’s sense-memory…

Feeling like I’m five, not 50-ish

And terrified of the ogre who is

Mom…a feeling which never

Changed, as long as she lived.

Terrified of what? Her quick-flicked

Anger, impatience, humiliations…

Ogre, and piranha.

Things proceeded tensely… I

Couldn’t glean her vision, nor

Follow her directions to get there.

My stress level climbed…images

Flew through my mind: of shoving

The tree over, and her… throwing

Myself through plate glass window

Where tree was always displayed.

Her voice rose…annoyance that

Her stupid daughter was incapable

Of simplest decorating task.

I wanted to suggest she call my

Sister, the daughter she preferred.

I wanted to sob like a baby, so

Hurt…and angry that she could

Still reduce me to quivering blob

Of useless human tissue, at my age.

I longed to ask, do you really

Think I can do a better job if

You keep hounding me?!!

But I said nothing…in my

Entire life, I doubt I’d spoken

True feelings to her a handful

Of times.  It wasn’t as much

That I’d been taught Respect

As certainty of punishing

Reply:  words that would

Decapitate my soul, leave it to

Bleed out…yet somehow

Maintain a pulse so I could

Relive pain for the rest of

My crippled, disfigured days.

I remained mute…somehow the

Tree got finished, whether or

Not to her full satisfaction.

I hate her, forgive her, hate her…

I didn’t attend her memorial

Service.  When I received copy

Of her Will, I wasn’t surprised

To be disinherited…numbed to her

Rejections… And, what I wanted

She never had.

I thought her death would grant

Me “closure”…(empty term).  But

“That really did not help.”

I can’t recall if I once loved her…

I only remember fearing her, and

Crying myself to sleep most of

My young life, heart shredded…

Needing her to love me.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com

Not a Dream Under Bed


Today’s sentence: “There is no monster under your bed.”


Today’s sentence: “I’m sure it was all a dream.”


Today’s prompt: “There is nothing under your bed.”

Pointless, the girl’s sobbing

Calls for “mama!”

“There is nothing under your bed,”

Her mother said, tiredly.

Child continues gulping tears

No words coherent.

“There is no monster under your bed,”

Her mom said, arms folded… “Just

Your slippers and some dust.”

Daughter weeps, inconsolable.

“I’m sure it was all a dream”…her

Mother was irritated, longing for

Rest.  “Sleep now,” she tossed

Over her shoulder.

But it wasn’t a dream…not exactly

A monster under her bed…it was

Daddy, who’d whispered, “don’t tell

Mommy…you’ll make her very mad”.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Mental District


There’s a district in my mind

The mental “bad side of town”

Where I don’t willingly visit.

Faces, voices are cruel hypocrisy

Mask unpredictable violence…

No gates needed, for they’re as dogs

Baring serrated-blade teeth, snarling.

Now and then I inadvertently

Take a wrong turn…(seemingly

Innocuous triggers)…soon I’m

Besieged by raised eyebrows

Verbal fists, mocking smirks

Loud cursing stones hurled

Which send me running for my

Life and sanity, hard and fast

To some safer, albeit temporary

Place of respite.

Unfortunately, as seasons pass

More of “them” are moving into

The District…broadening property

Limits…encroaching on my

Gardens, fountains, my peace

Well-being, self-esteem. 

Dread, frightened thoughts scatter

Like a bag of lentils spilled.

Heart is leaden, not light and open.

Breaths stuttering, I fear I’ll find

No asylum, sanctuary of poetic

Words, psalms…no angel guardians.

©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.

Image: Pixabay.com