Tuesday, December 22, 2009


I see you on your knees
head bowed before me
I order you
Lift your hair
rising from my chair
bringing the collar
down to your lips to kiss
this symbol of acceptance
of your bliss
you have chosen freely
to enter into slavery
the black collar around
circling your neck
you are now bound
the lock in its place
you are mine
for however long
we have this time

© 18 December 2009
Cynthia Ryder


tongue flicks, open lips
feed me the cherry
from your finger tips
rich red and sweet
juicy it drips
when I bite the skin
giving way
to sensual pleasure
I imagine crushing
the fruit on your chest
and watching
blood red streaks forming
descending streams
of deliciousness
drops to be licked
sucked from your nipples
skin tinted red
by the flesh of the fruit
I take in my mouth
feed me another

© 15 December 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Monday, November 30, 2009


breathing life through
and into each other
under your hands
uncoiling, rising,
It directs me
forcing my tongue
into your mouth
biting at your lips
I pull you in
pull in your energy
your love heats me
burns my spirit
searing the memory
of desire on my heart,
where today is so open
my hands fell into my body
sinking below my breasts
past my ribs to rest
inside my beating heart.

© 30 November 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Friday, November 27, 2009


golden glowing snaking
it is rushing my body
I am heated
it is rising
I am nothing
doing nothing
but reading your words
spasm of virtual joy
I am reduced
to a single moment
in your mind
I am beyond words
I am voiceless
glowing golden
lit by your soul

© 27 November 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Monday, November 23, 2009


my lover friend
I hold your head to my breast
caress the curls
pull your hair from your face
force me to gaze
into your blue eyes and see
myself swallowed
deeper than if I were diving
from lava formed
green cliffs above a loving sea

© 23 November 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Thursday, November 5, 2009


I am conscious of the act
of erotic submission
soul gazing searching
a finger on the lips
slowly being tasted
sucked and slid
inside the mouth
sweet wetness
as conscious this morning
of the need to drum
outside in the crisp cool
with woodsmoke
hanging low over the house
scents of cedar and maple
conscious of clustering finches
migrating and singing
unaffected by my movement
by the drum beats
the heart beats
I seek the next sound
the next moment
I am conscious

© 5 November 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Thursday, October 29, 2009


I have walked in the shadow
of the living
for at least a decade here
at coffee shops and malls
and watching
the lives around me swarm
and wishing
to live a life like theirs
souls parading
with vibrancy and vigor
their passing
by my solitary seat in dim light

I was dragged from the shadows
by ghosts from my past lives
they reminded me that I breath
and thrive in light and love
and that I live and dance still

© 28 October 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Witch Hazel

A minuet in miniature of yellow
blooms form after the cruel frosts
destroy all other blossoms in the garden
that colours the leaves of other trees
dropping them in cluttered chaos
but leaving the precious flowers
of the witch hazel to linger on
into the winter of November
as we bundle in fleece and down-fill
I am the hazel blossom
coming late to beauty
when others have faded from age
and fallen to the hoar frosts
that pull the life from us

© 29 October 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


for 49 minutes and 54 seconds
you talked about you
you are a child in your way
too old and too educated for the title
as a man of substance and power
but a boy-child at heart
I hope you grow into yourself
since selfish children annoy

© 22 September 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Thursday, September 17, 2009


fall frosted leaves
red golden glowing
through window panes
whispering with ice
fronds and feathers
in polite crystal forms
tracing the season end
of summer heat
the impending arrival
of another visitor
who often overstays
his wintry welcome

© 17 September 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


last night i needed you
but you were silent beyond words
the illness that you carry
creates confusion from nothing
the covering that you use
to conceal the pain is fixed
near permanently to your face
i can not penetrate it
it holds me out and back
as you hold back your love
refusing warm comfort
i withdraw protecting myself
from your quiet dis-ease

© 15 September 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

you are let go

I have let you go with love
released the chains
and loosed the binds
that held you in my mind
I have let you flow through
my thoughts and body for years
let you down through my toes
the feelings that were you
are falling to the ground
being absorbed by the earth
a larger body than we
to hold and cradle you
in her protective caress
drop into her
let her wrap you in sweet light
bathe you in her energy
and cleanse you in her sight
I have let you go
in love and forgiveness
I have let you go
in my hunt for healing
I have let you go
may you find your own way
boundless and free to choose
if you want to come back

© 8 September 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Thursday, September 3, 2009


touch yourself there
where I once touched you
to hold the sensation
emotion in your fingers
linger in the moment
the movement of breathing
cling to me sense me
receive energy and know
the flow of love from then
believe I will be there again

© 3 September 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Waiting for you

I am waiting for you to change
to become more like him
if you had his patience
and his pain
would you seek it out
and buy it for yourself
would you ask to be chained

I am waiting for you to talk
to say you are like him
if you had his words and voice
and his courage
would you tell me all
and sell yourself completely
I will be waiting for you

© 25 August 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Ack! not one of my finer moments

I want to write to you
directly to you tonight
to tell all my news and then
my new insights this week
but now I can not do it
I will not write to you
because I miss you
and to write brings it home
to feel it more than before
to know that you are going
I would hold you back here
to me tightly to keep you
safe and warm and loved
but I can not reach you
so far away and going
further still futher away
into another world with them
without me as a part of it
but it is a part of you
apart from you though
there is nothing I will do
I will not write tonight

© 23 August 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Not Poetry

Interview Op Taken

The blogosphere is an interesting place.

I was contacted this weekend by another blogger to participate in an interview that has just been published on their blog: The Pakistani Spectator. To hit the interview directly: http://www.pakspectator.com/interview-with-blogger-cynthia-ryder/

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to put myself out here in the big wide world.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

dark demons

my dark demons of depression come
clanging up the stairs across the threshold
their tentacles slither and slide around
the door a creeping fog swirling
full skirted dancers offering a hand
to join the razzle dazzle on the floor
flashing strobes of magic light
magically changing back to darkness
and suckling me with toxic thought
while twirling me about the room
captivating and colourful until
they change and show their truth
as creatures holding all the light
keeping it just out of my reach
while wrapping me in their arms
turning me around and around
dizzying I fall prey to them
they descend and devour

© 12 August 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, August 11, 2009


the gaping maw of ragged teeth
hang in a massive oozing jaw
its blackened licentious tongue
forms in the turgid flesh called life
and fixes in me in its gaze again
threatening to gnaw upon me
break me to a bloodied pulp
swallow digest eject my remains
as fetid matter good for only
the lowest life as fodder
for creeping vermin inhabiting
dung piles and the rotting heaps
that is the viscera of humanity

© 11 August 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Monday, August 10, 2009


my thoughts keep drifting in the current
floating back to your projected death
to a time when your friend will be there
holding me up, keeping me afloat
telling me what I will never know from you
but you have told our friend
how much I mean to you
how often you spoke of me
that I am the one thing
the beauty in your life
that lit it briefly in moments
of our connectedness
saying I was the sought object
beyond your reach
that you will not ask for
If only you did and I had known
tell me now, reach for me from beyond

© 10 August 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Sunday, August 9, 2009


gathering storm clouds to the west
indicative of our next conversation
grumbling thunder in your voice
quick dashes of blinding light
hint in your eyes as you speak
I can see it growing on your face
the dark mood and greying colour
rising to your cheeks puffing out
attempting to keep it checked
but the rain will come erupting
in a moment when the weight
grows upon you and it is too much
to hold back the container cracks
wide open cry for me your tears

© 9 August 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, August 4, 2009


conversation lingers in my mind
pause as you catch your breath
lay yourself bare presenting
the facts then your feelings
follow the words with action
lay yourself bare in person
present your body for inspection
in my mind, my fingers press
on your chest touching deeply
reaching to your soul and hold
you there in the moment in time
the memories are real pictures
the pictures real from the time
but time fades and enhances
your roughness and my pleasure

© 4 August 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Reject Me...

and throw this love away
as you again reject yourself
your god of autophobia rises
with insecurities you cannot fight
and fears you cannot control
your shame and regret merge
drawing you down in your mind
your presumptive arrogance
the you will be unwanted rages
expelling all other options and
leaves you voluntarily distanced
from those that chose to love you

© 30 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

the reminder to hope less

the news is swift in this age
and hope is disappointing
it is a pointless consideration
as hope is always waiting
passively for nothing to come

it is me wanting to see
it is my disappointment
in hope, in you, in me
in selfishness we stand
without considerations
making decisions
for the self not ourselves

© 28 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Wednesday, July 22, 2009


Fear is the giant squid of the ocean
grabbing sailors from the deck
it is the grasping poison tentacles
wrapping and pulling you overboard
drowning you in the depths of your thoughts
Fear is a gaping void of nothing
but your own cries of despair
Fear is plague in the soul
wiping your actions from the earth
immobilizing you in its fast hold
continually pulling you deeper
more swiftly dropping you downwards
than free fall without your parachute
Fear is the feeling that the ground
will not catch you giving way
beneath your weight swallowing up
every vestige of your humanity
Fear is surrounding, more vicious
than a swarm of kids in a playground
choosing players for their teams
Fear is knowing you will be alone
the last one standing as you fight
to swim in your own streaming fears
and believing that you are going down
sinking with fear makes you afraid to move

© 22 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, July 21, 2009


catching fleeting ghosts of those nights
bare memories of that place years ago
bared, in bed, in body, in delights
watching your words appear on screen
typed and starting with a slow hello
we slink back to our secret scene
sinking into the thoughts of then
wording wishes and maybe when
if we could meet again in that place
blow soap bubbles on your naked form
strip the netted stockings and trace
paths with our fingers that we followed
what escape we plot in our minds
but that time is gone we are changed
nothing more than words are exchanged
the service of flirtation just reminds
and I remember you with fondness
and you remember all my boldness
capture what you can of ghosts
and once again hold me close

© 21 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

I know

I know that you are out there
watching the words that are me
I know that you follow them
line by line with your finger
I know that you are running
away from your own thoughts
I know that you are coming
closer to me by the day
I wonder how close you will get
before you trace a line out of here

© 21July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Wednesday, July 15, 2009


if you were a mirror
you would be tossed to the ground
crushed under My heels
breaking the smooth surface
shattering your perfection
but you are just a man
fallible and flawed
hardly reflecting on Me
so I would throw you down
first slapping your face
demanding your worship
glass is for admiration
to see it in your eyes
reflected back to Me
for My treatment of you

© 15 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, July 14, 2009


It is only a single word:
that creates all this fear
see one,
you have been told this time:
it 's time
the monster is big enough
it rips at your spine
claws at the nerves
tears away disks
bares teeth and nails
locking its jaws
like facet joints
more tests
more talk

© 14 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Sunday, July 12, 2009

i wanted

i wanted to write to you tonight
pour the words onto paper
form phrases from the despair
and the happiness i feel
tell you about the love and lies
let you know of the desire
and the fear i have of you
the moments of revulsion
and those of joy in your arms
but mostly i wanted you to know
that you are loved but you are gone

© 12 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Saturday, July 11, 2009

if only i could see what you see
to be where you have been
but you tell me i should not
the sights sour and sadden
the days dark and dusty
the nights are cold alone
in a wasteland of decay

there is no place for me
cleared from your mind there
i am not remembered
until i ask you to let me in
at the door you once held open
for me

© 11 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

boys on bikes blast past
sounds of the pipes linger
with loud pounding echoes
leaving dust exhaust drama
in dark wakes of leather
denim and sunglasses

© 8 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

do i miss the idea of you
more than the physical you
the questions and thoughts
the place and the quiet
the essence of you
where in my mind
i can be with you
touching you
in ways that are not real
never physically were

9 June 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Monday, July 6, 2009

waiting in my place
curled in a corner of space
allowing my self to feel
the empty surround of void
a powerless vacuum
that tells me where i am
that says it is the fate
for all that sit and wait

i refuse to go gently
into the quiet night
i refuse silently
shaking my head
to search for your soul

© 6 July 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

again today I address you
to say that you are my memories
reminds me of what you believe
your doubt from distance and time
your fear of being the forgotten

trust in these words, this line
i am here, i remember, i accept
i love, i desire, i do not regret

© 24 June 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Sunday, May 31, 2009


a sensual audible "slishing"
of links slipping into line
sliding across my skin
cold steel capturing

© 31 May 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

new moon

i dream of you before the new moon
a waxing sliver of light in the night
marking another week without you
telling me of distance in time and place

yells heard from the kitchen
marks the end of the dream
wakes me to the reality of here
wish i was there wherever you are

© 26 May 2009
Cynthia Ryder


Friday, April 24, 2009


we are all broken
we all keep a secret
so deep, that something
that keeps us unlovable
the secrets are cruel
words deeds of others
said done in anger fear
denial of our powers
stripped physically
mentally defenseless
we were young enough
no need for armour
after the unloving acts
we built that system
of defense against love
hold the secrets close
tight refusing to let go
or share them with you
the secrets impact
hurt shut down cripple
refuse of the deeds
words clutter dusty
moldering clanking
ghostly images
in corners of the mind
scarring still ready
to fight the way out
of the fear and love
ourselves despite them

23 April 2009


alone with my anger and fear
retreat into this place
a stranger among friends
who question and converse
among with the unfamiliar
surroundings and trappings
of luxurious comfort
away from my poor world

swirling fleeting
clarity appears escapes
bounding lambs
to capture slaughter
sacrificing to my own
selfish agenda
on the alter of angst

pieces of my puzzle
lay upset upon the ground
shifting at my feet
as bloods drips from
the fresh kill pooling
washing over the pieces

purpose evades me
real reason for my being
run bearing energy
crackling with anticipation
i wait the calling
wonder if
the soul of the sacrifice
finds the peace
that the ceremony does not bring me

ashes from you reek
of staleness, time passed
passing by me
leaving me to guess
at the picture made by
the bloodied puzzle.

pieces slide from my fingers
slick and soiled
falling again i cannot
rebuild the image that i held
fear of the failure stings
cutting my mind
shredding the hope

frustration and fatigue
begin the process of
i cannot outrun
this any longer
seeking refuge where it is safe
or it is owed
the choice is mine
i am torn
i do not hold the answers
dropping them

the pieces fall
slowly turning in air
angling edges to the ground
settles into the dust
at the edge of the blood pool
motes rise and fall back
the reflective pool
littered with minutiae

the minutiae of my problems
settle on my shoulders
weighing like armour
the defense for inaction
protects me inside it
from forward motion

twitching from the dying lamb
final tightening of muscles
in death the final defiance
of the life draining act
the pools at my feet
the knife that kills and
drains away the thought
can cut away the ties
that hold the defensive
armour of minutiae to my body
if I am quick enough
for the moment brave enough
to face the now barren
strange land ahead
i can be free
spirit unfettered
as the soul of the sacrifice

the lamb’s eyes glare back
daring me

do I dare
am I willing to cut the ties
the choice is familiarity with
fear anger
or that of freedom

choose damn it
before the nerve is lost
cut and escape
damn it now

do it says the lamb
do it, is my sacrifice not worth it
do it, is my blood not enough
do it, I had worshipped you
do it, for the love of god please
do it, before you loose you own soul
do it, the abyss is approaching
do it, you are staring motionless into it
do it, before you fall for it again

cutting the ties
the minutiae of defense falls
pock marking the pools
the chaos of it forms a pattern
decipher it
organize it from the primordial waste
order brought forth from the staining
pain of death

rebirth of the soul nears
marred only with my own doubts
wash them off in the blood
relish the sacrifice
accept the freedon
it is at hand
handed to me with
my own acceptance of my fear
handed over with love and care

thank you, lamb, for your sacrifice

12 April 2009

Wednesday, April 1, 2009


mind swirls action
radial chaos strong arms
sweeping movements
sending me off
tripping my feet
your words echo
disbelief is
gripping my throat
nothing escapes
closed grip of fear
downwards spiral
blowing my mind
your reality
many questions
too few answers

1 April 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Monday, March 16, 2009


Endless rows of unsorted baggage
Wantonly discarded clothing
Haphazard slipping of magazines
Clanking pots shoved on shelf
Wasted littering scraps lay
Streaking windows to the soul
Ignoring distressed indications
Seething under surface fa├žade
Cracking egg from inside
Moving outward undulations
Mouthed words of frustration
Target lying in an unmade bed
Awaiting warmth in her arms

16 March 2009

Saturday, March 7, 2009


in a dark room
years long past
words flowed
from the pen tip
as blood dripping
from a cut lip
blotting themselves
onto my page
forming pattern
by magic force
with no reason
ideas scattered pollen
blowing in my brain
nonsense, no sense
i was accused
as useless as the words
we were locked away
the pen left idle
the page blank
years in solitary
my solitude
now my solace
in words again
the blood flows
words for the soul
thoughts to pen,
to ink, to page
erasing an age of rage

6 March 2009

Thursday, March 5, 2009


collapsing into my morning routine
collapsed in tears in the shower
the water hides my pain
no one can see it there
no one can hear me there
I am hidden from questions
a few short moments
cascading silence
a moment for my fears
leaning hard into the wall
leaning hard so I can't fall
any further down
any further in love
towards the drain
towards the pain
too much unsaid yet
don't make me regret

5 March 2009


Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Winter, Sometimes a Wonderland

Today is one of those rare winter days where the air is dry enough that walking is enjoyable.

The sky is an intense blue, clear with only a sparing wisp of cloud to the north over Fredericton. There has been so little breeze in the woods that the firs and spruce still hold the snow from Tuesday night.

In the clearing where there has been drifting, the snow has taken on the patterns of sand washed in wind and wave, gentle ripples and dimples on the sparkling surface.

Running zigzag across the drive and into the browse, is the chaotic meandering prints of the many snowshoe hare. The very same marauding denizen of the summer garden, the very same that has destroyed all hope of springtime tulip blooms, and keeps the pole beans, which have the ability to reach heights over 30 feet, moderately stunted well into summer.

The red fox was on the prowl early this morning, the delicate foot prints, carefully placed in the snow indicate that it was on the hunt for the hare or perhaps it was partridge whose print was also visible in various locales.

The poor partridge, a bird which has the inclination to hide in the lowest limbs of the evergreens during a snow, can easily become entombed in a snowfall that, if heavy enough, can not dig itself out from under, the frozen remains are there for the spring cleaning by the ravens and turkey vultures that are becoming more plentiful as the years pass. The remaining partridge are the fortunate ones who go to produce sizable broods of cute little chicks hidden in the nests against fallen logs. Who, when you stumble upon the area, are then seen dragging the 'broken wing' well away from the nest site.

Upon closer inspection of the trails in the snow, there is the sign of the red squirrel, tiny clawed paw prints, then a tunnel dug into the snowbank, which leads to some yet undiscovered maze and likely a stash of forgotten food.

The area around the bird feeder is active, chickadees and nuthatches dashing in and out, a quiet cacophony of chirps and whirs, grabbing the best sunflower seeds and flying into the snarl of the sleeping wisteria vine and returning for more. All the while ignoring the whistle of the grey jays and the screech of the blues whose when provoked by each other can become quite rowdy leaving pulled feathers for the collecting.

It's time to feed them all again and the tamer red squirrels, who will come when you call "George", are expecting a treat of bread with peanut butter. A prized treat, that if they are not quick to take it, is lost to the jays, who will inevitably follow the reds to see where it is going to be hidden and will steal it away, if given even half a chance.

6 February 2009

Friday, February 13, 2009


the everyday detritus
the stuff of living

magazines and papers
laundry and dishes

piles of stuff stacked
in corners
on tables
under beds

boxed and bagged
bundled and buried

the stuff, the mess,
debris of what was

holding sadness in the remnants
of failures and lost ideals
the symbols of ruins of the past

dig into the piles
i dare you to dig
and sift through it
the burial site
the ruins of the life that was

© 13 February 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Sunday, February 8, 2009

The Nightmare at (insert name of department store here)

with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore

'Twas a nightmare at (inset name of department store here), all through the boutique,
not a brassiere to be had, to fit my physique.

The panties were flung in a bin by the cash,
sorting and sifting and fondling the stash,
were hausfraus with children in Keds,
and visions of pole-dances stuck in their heads.

The big mammas in the kerchiefs

had snagged some new briefs.

In the very back corner there was barely a spatter
of nylons and hosiery and other such matter.

The garters were skimpy, lacey and crass;

best ignored if you aren’t showing ass.

The lighting fluorescent cast a glow

giving lack-lustre gleam to the objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
full wall racks and displays of my favorite gear.

With a little lace there and lycra in here

the fanciful bras were all over there.

I looked at the black from Brazil,

and the pink and the brown with the frill.

All the lovelies from Olga and Lucy,

oh, the colours that all seemed so juicy.

A myriad of choices and style,

regarding each one with a smile

I started my quest without looking back

by pawing the structures on the very first rack.

There was 32A and a 36C

a 34B and a 38D

and the ghastly wad

was 44OMFG.

There was lavender and cream,

The red lace was a dream.

Seamless and streamlined.

Spandex and unlined.

For under a t-shirt

and those that convert

For strapless and backless

and those that compress

Lifting and separating

and for moms that are mating

Crossing the heart for hours on end

for some without doubt can be a godsend

18 hours of Playtex

and pieces of latex,

The divine little structures for aisles.

with patience and practice I gathered my piles

Stuffing bras in the change room

I flirted with doom.

What I had held in my hand with glee,

that I hoped would lift more than esprit,

did not fit, so I lifted another

and tried and oh bother.

Again and again and once more

I hang the rejects on the door.

Every bra that looked like it just might,

some looked plain bad, and some were a fright.

With dismay as I tried on the last

I hoped and then muttered “oh blast,

it’s built for a comic book hero.”

With me it scored less than zero.

It had tin tits type firmness

and supports in excess.

I tossed it aside and proclaimed in disgust

“there’s not one thing here to fit my fine bust”.

I had tried at least 50 brassieres

and knew now it was time for the tears,

the sales girl was cross at the mess

50 bras to resort and address.

But we heard her exclaim, as we walked out of sight,
” A 34-quad-D, good fugging luck and good night!!!"

Had the misfortune of bra shopping last month, turns out that I'm either very picky or very hard to fit. Not their fault

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Challenged to remember you
there is daily electronic shrine worship
with photographs, notes and mementos
the effort is reduce the regrets
abolish the lingering fears
that were symbols of you

daily you are present
the gift of your desire
quietly celebrated
held sacred in my mind
secret joy and silent love

© 4 February 2009
Cynthia Ryder


Wednesday, January 21, 2009

surprising sensual drifts
playing on fears
penned to page
lusty gusts of prose
paint abstract pictures
idealized playtime
works everytime
in the mind

© 21 January 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

dog in the manger

for nearly 10 years I tried
to make you happy and
rallied behind you in support

for nearly 10 years I tried
to keep you happy by
ignoring your subtle abuses
and a multitude of excuses

for nearly 10 years I tried
to change you, forgetting
this one important fact
we can only change ourselves

after nearly 10 years I leapt
at making the changes,
a chance for happiness

you couldn't abide that leap
if I wasn't going to be with you
suffering alongside you
then you would ensure
that I would find myself alone

you started to work,
ironically at last,
to destroy those
that would stand with me
you started a campaign
of noise and blame
cutting remarks heaped guilt
on the newly chosen old love

now nearly 10 years later,
I know what you wrought
and what you have brought
upon your own dismal life

if you thought you suffered
at my hands those years ago
you must feel that those
were joyous times compared
to what you now endure

I am happy for you now
that you made your own way

and like a dog hoarding hay
eventually you starved
your lack of resourcefulness
and your petty jealousies
held you back as we succeeded
simply by waiting you out
by waiting learned the truth
now I know what you said
and I suffer you gladly no more

6 January 2009
Cynthia Ryder

Note: time is a healer of many wounds, and this one in particular, now that I know what caused the festering mess, is quickly getting better.