The Unrecognized Cycle of Abuse – Poem by Bruce Whealton">The Unrecognized Cycle of Abuse – Poem by Bruce Whealton
Published February 5, 2009 | 
">Bruce WhealtonThe Unrecognized Cycle of Abuse
I remember when I first really
looked at my nephew and niece
and I thought of my pain,
my shame
my hurt…
The pain that my sister had felt,
or so I imagined…
when I was so far away,
at College…
Her friends had said next time…
next time, they would have
to go tell someone -
and I felt ashamed.
I could do nothing,
say nothing.
How did this keep happening?
this cycle of abuse?
and if I spoke to Mom and Dad,
would she think that I was not on her side?
would she think I didn’t care or that
this didn’t hurt me?
I was no longer the teenage boy
who thought that he had to do
whatever it took
to get her, my sister,
to respect me.
And I wanted her to know this,
that I was no longer that teenage boy,
which she probably already knew.
I knew that respect was earned,
not created out of force.
But this cycle could continue…
I could see that in my niece’s eyes
and her words to me -
her pleas to come home to me,
which I knew was impossible,
Yet, I knew what I wanted,
when I was growing up,
someone to do something…
to make it stop.
My grandparents who died
when I was too young,
they’d left me, back when I
was still a little boy.
No one seemed to notice that anything
was wrong. No one cared
or worried about how
my nephew and niece would feel…
No, it was much easier
to see the problem was just with me…
Everyone had moved on,
forgotten the past,
put it behind us…
let go of grudges.
Everyone in the family, was all just fine,
except for me.
I was the one with problems –
or so went the family’s general
wisdom of things.
I was told that my nephew and niece
did not need an uncle like me…
wait, I wanted to say…
I was just doing trying to be,
for my nephew and niece,
what that little boy within me -
the inner-child,
within the adult -
needed:
someone to try to protect
and make the abuse – the hurt -
the anger within –
stop.
That’s what I was doing,
when I spoke to that social services
agency,
about the cycle of abuse.
Bruce Whealton 2009
First Encounters – Poem by Bruce Whealton">First Encounters – Poem by Bruce Whealton
Published February 5, 2009 | ">Bruce WhealtonFirst Encounters
I always needed a place to hide,
growing up…
and that little boy
is still a part of me.
I used to hide in the woods
near home from that witch
that was my mother.
I don’t want you to think
there was anything different
about my family.
Like any little boy,
I knew how killable I was
and so many times
before
when I was just an infant –
Yes, I remember this -
I had thought that somehow
the witch had killed my mother
when she was holding me.
It made no sense
but I was just an infant
and I was afraid that I was
not a person,
that I was just a part
of my mother
and that this meant
that the witch would eat me too.
Some time passed
and I came to know
that the witch was my mother.
Oh, through these years,
I’ve come to realize
that my fears and the dangers
I faced,
were almost universal.
Don’t ask me why these things
happen…
why a mother wants to kill that
killable little child,
and why the child learns
that survival is only possible
if he or she can kill the witch.
Over time,
the conscience that develops in us all,
that conscience and that reality
caused an almost self-destructive
guilt.
At one time,
my grandparents were there
to protect me,
and that filled me with such a sense of love…
even before I had known of any other
sense of love.
Later in life,
toward adulthood,
for me,
I just wanted to be that
angel, or that protective
bird
that would shelter
and protect
God’s loved ones,
within the shelter of my
wings.
Bruce Whealton 2009
Ghosts and the Haunted House in the Woods – Poem by Bruce Whealton">Ghosts and the Haunted House in the Woods – Poem by Bruce Whealton
Published February 2, 2009 | ">Bruce WhealtonThis poem is a revised version with the feedback and advice that I got from Jean Jones, my co-editor on Word Salad Poetry Magazine.
There was a haunted house
not far from where I grew up -
about a mile of woods
separated me from that place.
It was set into the woods,
set off from a rather quiet road
and this hideaway location
only added to the intrigue.
My friends or my sister and I
would walk through the woods
at dusk, and watch
eerie lights come on
at dusk
in the house -
a house where nobody lived -
we were quite certain of that.
You could see the entire inside
by looking in through the windows.
It appeared empty,
except for that something
that we thought we were seeing,
or the voices we thought we were hearing,
at dusk or after dark.
Bruce Whealton 2009
Memories and Wishes – Poem by Bruce Whealton">Memories and Wishes – Poem by Bruce Whealton
Published January 18, 2009 | ">Bruce WhealtonMemories and Wishes
What do these memories mean?
How can I know that my memories are true
and real?
Sometimes it seems
that these are just
the stories that I tell,
(the stories that I tell myself
so I won’t forget)
about what was
and what I’ve lost
and what I desire back
from the past -
I don’t know if
anyone cares or listens
The characters in some of these stories
are gone – some dead now.
So, I alone tell my stories
without anyone to verify their truth.
Was it real?
My brother, once for a while
like a best friend
now I don’t even have a brother.
If dreams are a form of wish fulfillment,
as Freud said,
then perhaps ,
in that state of mind,
when and where I write
my poems,
is a road to my unconscious.
Then in another memory
Grandma says, “don’t hurt Bruce.”
“But I’m bad,” the 10-year-old
Bruce thought.
It’s unfortunate that she is
but a memory.
How I miss that love!
How I miss her!
- Bruce Whealton 2009
Note on above: Freud called dreams the “Royal Road To The Unconscious.” Healing and health came from gaining awareness of unconscious, repressed thoughts or desires. In some of my poems it seems that I am letting the Muse speak to freely and offer insights or increased awareness of things that were hidden.
Winter Haiku #1 – 1/18/09 – Poem by Bruce Whealton">Winter Haiku #1 – 1/18/09 – Poem by Bruce Whealton
Published January 17, 2009 | ">Bruce WhealtonFeeling numb -
my face where
tears have frozen
Posted in Bruce Whealton, Online Poetry, poem | 
Haiku, Online Poetry, poem, poetry by Bruce Whealton | 
Leave a commentVarious Haiku on 1/13/09 – By Bruce Whealton">Various Haiku on 1/13/09 – By Bruce Whealton
Published January 13, 2009 | ">Bruce WhealtonIn the cold, quiet, darkness
silent deer crossing.
I wish I had a camera.
Bare trees on a silent night
like my memories of her
and love itself.
It’s so cold.
My cat runs outside
wearing the same coat as months before.
Posted in Bruce Whealton, poem | Bruce Whealton, Haiku, Online Poetry, poetry by Bruce Whealton | Leave a commentHow can this be? In Dreams…Dream Insights #2 – Poem by Bruce Whealton">How can this be? In Dreams…Dream Insights #2 – Poem by Bruce Whealton
Published January 13, 2009 | ">Bruce WhealtonHow can this be? In Dreams… Dream insights #2
It seemed so real,
when I saw my aunt again…
she had killed herself with a shotgun.
But there she was and I was so
confused. I didn’t know what to say.
I heard a Native American belief that
the dead visit us in dreams
and this gives a certain knowledge
of the spiritual or our soul.
My aunt was just there
and I’m so confused.
I’m afraid to ask how it is that she
lives.
I saw my grandfather too,
in my dreams,
several times,
after he died,
It always seems so real
and so confusing.
I used to think that somehow
I needed them to be alive
and with me.
Yet, that’s not it.
I had not seen my aunt
very much
when she was alive
nor my grandfather.
For some reason,
in my dreams,
they are alive.
Bruce Whealton 2009
I want to see God – Poem by Bruce Whealton">I want to see God – Poem by Bruce Whealton
Published January 13, 2009 | ">Bruce WhealtonI want to see God.
It seems just like yesterday…
I can’t be more than 5 years old…
I have to reach up to touch
the handrail.
Looking down,
I see the Church crowd below…
and a man is speaking,
(since then, I learned,
that was our priest)
then it’s quiet
And looking down in awe
I ask “Is that God?”
People turn to me,
looking up from below
Mom and Dad are laughing
at me.
I was usually so quiet.
I remember that.
They pull me back to my seat,
saying “sh”
but they didn’t answer me.
I just wanted to see God
but I was afraid to get up.
2009 – Bruce Whealton
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