Survivors Poetry

Two Buttons

The coat is green my blood is red
 I remember well,
This memory’s stings
The room it’s surroundings the door locked.
Contorted, anguished, alone I lay Sobbing on my parents’ bed.
My skin is sore the bruises blue pain quickly travels from flesh to soul
Abandoned, rejected, despised I am
Like gentle Jesus on the wall
Arms stretched out heart opened wide
I believed no one loved me not even he.
The coat is soft the coat is warm, in this room no peace, no calm
I’m at the window, at the door curled up shivering on the floor
I don’t know what, I don’t know why my heart is aching how hard I cry.
The coat is vivid the coat is alive
The colour deep green I can still see
I learnt early the colour of my blood
Velvet collar, velvet cuffs to school aged four I wore
One day only and no more
A glass of milk, a plate of biscuits left by my father more my oppressor
Cannot swallow for the tears I choke they sit untouched upon the dresser
The coat was new and taken from me
Though a life time has remained
Dragged across decades by a bleeding child
I promise to be a good boy(not knowing I already was)
I’m hysterical! I want my mother! (I don’t know her)
I won’t do it again(even though I didn’t know what I did)
‘Just please’, ‘someone love me’
I cry so hard my stomach’s wrenched, pillows, sheets and covers drenched
The coat is green my blood is red
Welts from lashes bruises from bashes
A frenzied attack relentless with smacks.
The coat was green, I lost two buttons ‘two buttons that’s all I did’
Such injustice to heap this upon a small innocent fragile frame
Yet for love and comfort I was ready
Ready and willing to accept the blame.
The blame. for my father, not loving me.
Years went by  I carried all this and more,
Adding weight to the heels I dragged,
Yes I carried that coat I carried that pain
Later when I allowed memory to take me
I would see a bird in a cage
‘This little boy’ ‘A beautiful song unsung’ the one who wasn’t loved
Somehow I learnt how to live and  learnt how to love
More miraculously, I learnt how to forgive.

And something beautiful happened;
Two birds were freed from their cages
‘The one who wasn’t loved’ and ‘the one who couldn’t love’

Geraniums

I can smell them though they are not there
She occupied two rooms at the top of the house
The presence of time and space years past
Hung aside gas lamps, pictures and portraits
The potted geraniums on every window ledge
The splendour of magnificent colour
Contrast and compliment images in black and white
Her memories and history cast
And the vibrant red
Surrounds and encompasses my memories too
Now it’s my memories, my past
Time this little boys story is told.

Her delightful accent
Alien to my young child’s ears
A soft tone, like beautiful musical notes
Words rolled from her lips like subtle waves
They were always comforting, friendly
Never without purpose or good intention
Her face embodied honesty and sincerity
Her eyes unjudging and kind
Even without words they told truth
She showed me hope.
Little did I know her gentle imposition
To my then child’s mind
Would seed sow
As I grasped
Hope will lead the way
Between the age of four to nine
I remember all of this.

My father, he beat me
He beat me black and blue
Very often for things I didn’t do
He beat me because he wanted to
He didn’t like me
Worse still, didn’t love me
And I knew.
And it hurt more than the physical pain
I was a lonely child
A lost child
I trembled, I stammered
I pissed myself at school
Too afraid to ask
With ever inch ran down my leg
Gathered the pain, shame and humiliation
A puddle of piss
The teacher saw but didn’t ask
No one asked
I wanted to tell
Standing there in my shorts
Wet.
Wet also with tears
60 seconds to home time
He would lock me in the cold dark cellar
Just to get me out of sight
I would piss myself again
And later in my bed
I went to school, I smelled
Other children mocked and scorned
I didn’t play
I stood there on my own
Always on my own.

In these frames only glimpses of my mother
But the old woman upstairs
She is there.
My refuge, my only defence
She would plea with my father
‘please, please don’t beat the child’
Her intervention, never forceful, improper or intrusive without just cause
Her nature quite the opposite
An advocate for the weak and vulnerable
Through her tears and pained interjection
I could see she shared my pain
My dear friend
Through my life your beautiful soul has been my gain.

She would tell me stories about her life
Entranced and captivated
Allowed to be a child
Prague was a beautiful city, she would say
Her parents were good parents
Loving and kind
She had a wonderful life growing up
‘As a child should’ she would say
And when I was alone in my bed
I would escape
To Prague
A city with kindness
Where all the people were like her.

She told me other stories
Where she too carried pain
She came to England during the war
A Czechoslovakian refugee
The Germans were so cruel she said
The bombing destruction and terror
Her country ravaged, destroyed
Her husband, a good and loving soul
For freedom died fighting, she said
All her family lost
War she said
So unnecessary, and so very frightening
She would cry
Something old people do when they remember she said
Don’t worry child
Child she would say
You are like a flower
So delicate
So lovely
(Geraniums)
She would gently stroke my face
And this comfort
I so desperately needed.

I remember the words
Cruel terror and frightening
And I too was a refugee
Seeking asylum
I knew what these words meant
And I too was fighting.

I sent life always like this
Innocence is corrupted
Beauty is disfigured
Happiness is stolen.

The red geraniums comforted me
Their presence assured me
The petals would drop gently down
Past my bedroom window
I watched them as they fell
From heaven into hell.
As long as they were there
She was there.
I was safe
Some one cared for me
And about me.

And she taught me new words
Humanity, empathy and compassion
From this old woman
Came the youthfulness of love
Abundant with endless, selfless passion
And with these words conscience was probed a life times work ahead.

She would take me to the park
To ease my mothers burden
Birds, small creatures and me alike
She would tend to feed and care for
Not a wrong word left her mouth
No malice, harm or spite
‘You must believe in love she said’
It will triumph in the end
And she would take my hand
Though she didn’t want to
To lead me back to where my world was dark.

Then her world became dark too
And mine darker still
My father stopped me visiting
Because secrets needed guarding
I had not seen her for what seemed an age
Then one day I heard a whisper
My name
And to hear my name from her lips
The thrill and the joy
I found her
But my heart slumped
Happiness again was stolen.
She had taken a fall
Upon the landing upstairs she lay
For two days she said
Too weak her gentle voice to call
She talked to me
Ever so quietly and intimately
A moment captured and mind imprinted
This little boy did carry and store
The most precious stone
All my very own
She held my hand
Reassured me
She cried
I’m not sure, for her or for me
Be strong, she said
Be strong in this life
And a week later
This life she left.

And for a week I believed I cried
My first experience of someone loved who died.
My mother took me, and only me
To the funeral
Where there were so very few
When I thought of all the small creatures
My heart was broke in two.
Explanation from adult was spared
And in my child’s mind
I could hope, dream
If, if I dared
And the geraniums died as well.

In my adult mind
I see the petals gently fall
They help me
This beautiful soul recall
All these memories tied up with a pretty bow of vibrant red fragrant with that smell.

Poems by John Doyle