A
Poetical Interlude in the continuing Campaign Against Psychopathy
This
morning it occurred to me to grub through my poetry online because I
vaguely remembered writing some poems, included in my poetic
journalings, about Morgan and Craig before, during, and after
realizing there was something terribly wrong with them and then
learning about psychopathy, that light bulb moment.
Now,
I think of them as M, Psychopath and C, Psychopath, but this took a
lot of recovery for me.
This
photo first dates from when M, Psychopath was still an adorable small
child. It just melted my heart every time I looked at her shiny
face.
Reading
it makes me realize how vulnerable people who love are to these
heartless predators.We ignore the evidence of our own eyes.
Love can, truly, make you blind.
I
started writing poetry as a journal in early 1999. The first series
of 127 poems, First Lilac Series - written for Dearest Pleasure, was
written, in chronological order, from January 18 - April 6, 1999.
Poems
written before then come in two categories. BC (Before Computer) and
AC (After Computer. Those written before I had a computer for my own
use, not mostly used for generating mailing lists for political
campaigns, begin in 1986. Those written before 1986 were generally
found on the margins of other writing and on loose pieces of paper in
storage. I was not good at keeping them, as the other side was
generally useful as a grocery list.
After
finishing my first series, Lilac, I just journaled them and cut off
at 127, a prime number which has other significance to me.
Lilac was 127 poems in length, so that became my standard.
Lilac Series was followed by First Jasmine Series and First Violet
Series. I'm now working on First Rose Series. These are
in chronological order.
These
few poems, all written for or 'inspired by' M, Psychopath or
Craig, Psychopath are also in chronological order. The first
dates from 1972. Morgan changed her name from Carolyn when she
was in her late teens and was born in 1967. So when I wrote
this she was around five years old.
From:
Before the Fall
32.
To My
Daughter, Carolyn
I
love you.
There
is no range or boundary to my cherishing.
I
love you now, as I did before - and as I will.
Time
out of mind
On
and never varying.
(1972)
I
read it to her once when she was grown. There was a long pause
after I finished and then she said, "That was stupid."
It was a long time before I read her another poem.
From:
Before the Fall
The
year was 1982. I was attending a party at Janice Vargo's
house. Janice is an old friend of mine from my active
Libertarian days.
Craig
was there and challenged me to Sonnets at Five Minutes in Celebration
of the Statue of Liberty. I shrugged. "O.K., get
the paper and pens." No computers were present, this was
the Dark Ages. I started writing. I wrote my first sonnet
when I was eight and it became a habit.
30.
My
Lady Love
She
waits beside a vast expanse of water
Her
hand holds up the light of living day
And
never will the justice in Her falter
And
never will Her seekers lose their way
For
justice is not made in court opinions
And
truth is not defended at the polls
As
into living rock we drive the pinions
That
hold the deathless thoughts that are our goals
Does
Justice need the heart of Her defender?
Will
Her loving message echo into time?
Will
our children's children yet remember
That
those who cherish liberty are one kind
Liberty
cannot be won - and never lost
Remember
what it is and not the cost.
(Written
in challenge to a duel of sonnets with Craig Franklin, 1982)
31.
A Sonnet Written in Challenge
She
stands beside a darkened mass of sorrow
A
distant hope of freedom in our lives
A
hope that may be realized tomorrow
If
we can only pledge ourselves to strive
That
promise has been built into our futures
And
forged in blood before our mother's birth
In
knowledge that the cost can not be counted
Except
by minds that understand it's worth
So
watch the Lady with her lamp upholding
Salute
her in your mind, if nothing else
For
her pledge of hope is given us for molding
And
each of us must do it for ourselves
The
Lady is a promise we have made
And
freedom is the value we must save.
(Written
in challenge to a duel of sonnets with Craig Franklin, 1982)
[C,
Psychopath lost. I wrote two in that time but did not mention
it then because I did not want to hurt his feelings. He could not
finish one and we agreed to extend time.
But
now I know he doesn't have any feelings which needed to be
considered. Being considerate of a psychopath is the equivalent
of a fish jumping from the stream into the pan, with the fire blazing
and a slice of lemon clutched in his fin.
C.
Psychopath once told me he has to use his entire left brain to
simulate human behavior. I should have started doing research right
then, but we were already married. He made the remark in 1995,
far too late.
While
I certainly wish I had been less vulnerable the cost paid has
motivated me to ensure others know the dangers of the psychopathic
among us so they can protect themselves.
By
the point, below, 1998, I had realized something was really rotten in
Denmark but did not yet understand the neurological basis of the
problem. This dates from the time, mid summer,
after I had brought Arthur home from the
Traumatic Brain Injury facility in Pomona. From there, Arthur
started at Solutions.
Craig
wanted Arthur dead because it would cost him less. Morgan tried
to oblige Craig, but failed. That is a story for another day.
The
stages of grief are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression,
Acceptance. I was still in denial and anger, lots of anger. It
was interesting to review the poems as see these reflected.
53. Dedicated
to Craig Franklin and Morgan Pillsbury
-
Two unsouled beings trapped in Self
I
have been ground and milled out fine
For
the least of my unmentioned crimes
For
I refused to see the truth
And
this crime stole all of my youth
I’ve
been smashed and ripped apart
The
substance fractured in my heart
Because
I would not see the light
My
soul was banished into night
I
have lost all I worked to make
And
ventured for my children’s sake
Punished
for what I would not see
The
ugliness engulfing me.
I
found a home in his embrace
A
sheltered place of measured grace
He
battered my illusions then
He
I thought an honorable man.
With
nothing left inside of me
Empty,
echoed, ravished, grieved
I
stood up on my feet again
Felt
life’s breath and said, amen.
From
Jasmine Series
4.Fear
and Pain that Still Detain
(Dedicated
with complete sincerity to
Allen
Craig Franklin,
my
husband and abuser)
Battered
hopes and shattered truth
Begun
with trust removed with lies
This
the wretchedness of my youth
Distorts
my life, unmakes, denies
Abused,
a word that understates
The
harshness of the world it makes
Abused
in mind, in body bashed
reproved
by love that kills- but lasts
He
came with smiles, seduced with faith
designed
the ugliness of fear
An
interdiction for all belief
that
shackled self when he was near
Abused.
Used,
rejected, scorned, detained
denied
the scope that life retains
Needed,
sold to use again
a
life that grows more ever grim
Abused.
Battering
on body, mind,
that
fractures thought, my will and signs
Remakes
the person who was me
into
something that I hate to see
Abused.
If
you have not walked and known,
not
tasted fear and so been owned
You
do know where I have been
a
place that holds no hopes or friends.
You
have not lost the inner scope
that
held your course and gave you hope
You
have not lived and breathed and died
in
soul belief he would not lie.
Abused
and Freed
When
grief is wrung, despised and gone
while
still the spirit listens, longs
To
hear the echoes that belong
to
the voice that held that song.
When
I learned to see anew
that
life could be again renewed
And
shackles that had owned my bones
were
broken by the life I'd grown.
My
breath was eased, in body, mind
The
walls were breached, dissolved in time.
I
tasted, relished, lived and laughed
Freed
of what distorted and grasped.
Freed
Manumission
of emotion
that
can never compromise
The
transmission which, evoking,
fractured
self to make me wise.
54.Letting
Go Illusions
- To
Craig Franklin
The
tendriled tug of memories reproves my reasoned thought
Sharp
and sweet that idylled time, devoid of all but drought
Sanctuaried,
love made place
Where
I have lingered in embrace
With
that one imperfect, personed soul
Who
spun out love in raptured flows
Of
song borne thought entrancing, glad
Reminding,
lighting, the life I had.
Illusioned
figment of my mind
Where
only grief and sorrows bind
The
soul seared silence that you left
Leaving
me consumed, bereft.
This,
the logic of your acts
Stark
and violent, ugly facts.
This
the unmade years I'd given
Disposed
and sneered, my heart so riven.
That
even logic turns away
When
so little remains to do and say.
My
hand, that still, still longs to touch
Mind
reproved, it winced but trusts
Because
love filled, consumed, forgave
Till
nothing there was left to save.
Addicted
to the thought of you
Now
realized: who I never knew.
So
mind - release your argued wish
Logic,
reason, delve and sheer
Revoke
the memoried source, dismiss
The
undone presence once most dear
Remove
the Craig who was my heart
That
I might breathe, live on, restart
The
life I forged from living will
that
pain in me be stilled, be stilled.
72.Toxic
Mind - Dedicated to Craig Franklin
Toxic
mind with muted scope
consuming,
clawing, gravid needs
Poison
drips, extrudes and seeks
to
satiate its unmet greeds
Toxic.
Blandished
words that supplicate
Distorted
images that incite
This,
the fabric of the soul
This,
that mind's most needed goal.
Toxic.
Manipulating
all that's true
into
what he wants to do.
Fractured
visions that can kill
when
innocence believes them real.
Toxic.
No
honored word alive in fact
No
civil content to his acts.
No
worth from life to live in time
No
soul redeemed from all its crimes.
Toxic.
Post
the warning for all to read
Do
not let this monster feed.
Of
course, I kept forgiving M, Psychopath because the entire focus of my
life was my children and their well being. Hope springs eternal, in
the breast maternal. I studied psychopathy for over two years before
the penny dropped and I realized M was one. Oops. Such a moment
replays itself for quite a while, I found.
But
it did explain the many things which had always puzzled me. Now,
everything makes sense!
The
poem below was a wedding gift to M. M married Jay E. Gell on
Valentine's Day, 2005 at the court house in Charlotte, North
Carolina. The baby was born around four months later, on June 21st.
Afterward, Jay's erstwhile employer/co-conspirator, Robert Evan (Van)
Hughes, took them out to a coffee shop. Then they returned to their
trailer.
M,
Psychopath does not appreciate poetry. C, Psychopath writes, but his
psychopathy makes really good poetry impossible for him, those pesky
emotions are just too hard to emulate in verse. It is slightly better
set to music, especially if someone else edits it, plays, and sings.
From:
First Violet Series
No.
122 Wedding Wish – Valentine’s Day 2005
Bouquets
of bright flowers,
seasons
of joy,
all
the gladness and sadness
that
life will deploy.
Rapture
and riches,
magnificent days,
all
of the echoes
that
love can display.
Borne
by the senses
and
held in our minds
as
part of the largest and greatest design.
Wishes
I send through the ethered reaches of space
too
touch and to hold you in my best embrace.
With
love and hope for your perfect happiness today, Mom.
It
really is good she married Jay. When you really know them they are
perfect for each other.
No. 68 –
Truth that Heals
As coiled
time unravels and the mind forgets to hope
The child
within, embattled, can find enlarging scope.
Travails
and anguish hone us, as comforts fails to do
Fined down
to new awareness, we live out what is true.
Iconic
forms and patterns, forged from time - encapsulated meme
Is also the
long story which humanity must dream
The moments
so remembered, bringing insight and delight
Carrying in
their fabric a baptism of the Light.
In forms
and fact embellished, as legend and as truth
This, the
lineage written, on both our age and youth.
Meeting in
the matrix, where nothing's as it seems
Lessons,
half remembered, hold the power to redeem.
