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Child Abuse and
Neglect 507 North Sullivan Road Suite A-3 Spokane Valley WA 99037-8531 USA Phone: (509) 922-4849 Fax: (509) 922-5310 Email: childabuseandneglectresearch@hotmail.com Website: www.childabuseandneglectresearch.org
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Poems Frost of Spring Green
Frost covers the pineswith eloquent gossamer frosting, crystallizine ambience. Yet, with this quick-freeze delicate comes the icy anguish of beggars on the street and homeless people, youth discarded, absent mothers, fleeing fathers unable to face the reality of the day, foster systems overcrowded, home-finders stressed and calling. Around town snowflakes flutter asking if anyone has an extra bed. Flurries blast and crystals form to capture prisms. Jeweled tones reflect the new waves of pristine snowfall, hiding the weeds upright from showing their non-white souls. Blankets of frozen, whitewashed cotton hide the frenzied blackness of the city’s spirit, as the meth kitchens cook their soup, make their buzz, while tear-filled babies’ eyes cry with total wonder, and the crank junkies stew more highs. Snowflakes float againas a lactescent blanket, an unnoticed patchwork of stumbling stories, abandoned adolescents, and pillowless street people, calico children with no beds. Butterflies heed the warningof the green grass of spring
by Karen Jean Matsko Hood .Copyright©2004 Published in Frost of Spring Green published by Whispering Pine Press, Inc. Copyright©2004 Used with permission.
Greening of Walls
Outside….the city is green, from blades of grass, while floral artists ornament the landscape, yellow with daffodil blooms and alabaster with fragrant paper- narcissus. Cherry buds unfold on the tree and swell succulent with nectar as birch bark peels and flutters in brisk spring breezes. Lemon-toned warblers sing angelic music, to await monarch butterflies of mosaic patches in the pigment lush of the gentle wind. . . . . . . Inside….stark white walls freshly painted line the stairs to crowded rooms next to each other with doorways stacked, like rungs in a ladder that lay down, as a gateway to the monochromatic maze. The doorbell chimes and the door opens to allow the child visitor to enter. They sit and chat with sunken eyes and solemn faces. One hour they talk in stoic language without words. Somber exchange of glances, adult and child. . . . . . . In between….the therapist records the trauma, the nightmares, the physical abuse. Inside, the child halfway recounts the horrors, then runs through bleached-white corridors to cry in the colorific landscape, and the rain washes the lurid spectacle in torrents. Until there are no more tears. Only stained soulless hollows.
by Karen Jean Matsko Hood .Copyright©2004 Published in Frost of Spring Green published by Whispering Pine Press, Inc. Copyright©2004 Used with permission. Updated Thursday, 02 December 2004 |
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