Lori Hoeck

It Ain’t Like They Say …

The mountain top seems so far
a distant, aching call.
This day I’m broken, bruised,
cursing yet another fall.

The glory they say is ahead,
or in the journey itself.
I’ve been at both points before,
I know it’s a lie to self.

There is no one point.
No shouts of “I’ve arrived!”
And the journey’s just a journey.
Shit, it’s so utterly contrived.

Listen, it’s all about the moment –
shitty or stellar matters not –
when you finally say “Screw it,
I’m not staying on this spot.”

Choices made — no matter where,
no matter the peace or strife –
Make the person what they are,
and the quality of their life.

_____

Venting. Again.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

Pain

This headache screams as it reams my scalp
with a pain both dull and sharp,
My skull is pounding, hounding me,
like satan breaking a harp.

The pain reliever has yet to work,
Can’t they make this drug faster?
A thousand years — the wait grows long,
My woe is like disaster.

I whine and whimper like a sick pup;
feeling worthless, wimpy, and weak.
Here I am unable to act.
My brain has sprung a leak.

How much more wailing to go?
Has this writing helped a bit?
Why yes, this poem sucks so bad,
I laugh and say “Aww, f*ck it!”

—-

Some days ya just gotta whine a bit.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

REAL NOT REHAB

pop stars on par for flyin’ far
fall ill with the pills and thrills
shoutin’, poutin’, givin’ us an outin’
of their desire to be REAL

i laugh, cause i walked the path,
been there and back about the wrath.
they think, and make a stink, that it’s them, within,
but they’re wrong — it ain’t no song, the bong, or about the strong

it’s not the story, the glory or taking inventory
not in a bottle or who ya throttle or coddle;
yes, the pain, the rain, sorrow ingrained –
they are real enough, make life so tough

but the core, the safer shore is far more;
get out of the rut, kick your own damn butt
’cause the REAL ain’t some deal you can cut
REAL comes from a direction, a connection, an election
not from the same, shamed disinfection

if fame is your only game in the lame fast lane,
if gold’s hold made your heart withhold,
if “tough and cool” guides your inner tool –
time to change and rearrange, get a home on the range
where the buffalo roam beyond styrofoam mange

you think I’m mad, gone all bad, maybe even been had
but the truth will set you free, not me, not yo mommy
Christ is the rock, the lock, the one with the flock

He offers REAL ’cause he lived the deal, sealed it up whole
He’s always ready, steady, a heavy lifter for your soul

earthquakes and mental breaks can shake your bones
but Christ’s love is from above, all about love, not stones;
it heals, gives grace wheels, acts as a shield
and yeah, it’s as REAL as it gets, the perfect fit
He ain’t gonna beg or nag ya; he ain’t gonna leave –
no need, ’cause his creed is  “Just believe.”

—-

For the pop stars who feel their shining light of talent isn’t enough.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

Ha! You jumped back in,
or so you thought.
Too late, too little my “friend.”
Your efforts are for naught.

I left your tricks behind –
no more mind games for me.
Your mental claws were never kind.
Empty rings your empathy.

So take your narcissistic lust
and the card hid up your sleeve
– don’t bother with a trumped up fuss –
just take your lies and leave.

—-

Someone mentioned a poem a day in December, so my juices got flowing again, and here’s a little poem about users.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

UNTOLD STORY

Touched and untouched; parted, and never apart,
Slumbering within an inner earth.
Protectively cradled in an ancient union
Awaiting the dawn of birth.

Hands unseen shape this form,
Forever to be the mirror’s reflection.
What will those eyes someday see
In a lifetime of self-inspection?

Will the mirror show Mother’s smile
and reflect a stretching length?
Will this child be a daring one
Or one of quiet strength?

What will be those early dreams?
What color of youthful vision?
How will mind and memory grow
As experience brings revision?

For now the mystery remains concealed,
But soon the inner shaping will end.
Amazement will be wrapped in joy
As all the answers begin.

—-

I wrote this in 1986 as a greeting card and congrats for my oldest niece when she became pregnant with her first child.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

Toxic Dance

Dance with the devil and feel the burn.
Make every word hurt with each twist and turn.
Put up the walls and never give in.
Put on the glare; stick out the chin.

Think only negative and never be nice.
Make him hurt deep, as he pays the price.
Keep the remarks cutting, right down to the core.
Never let real love get a foot in the door.

Give up patience and kindness, too,
And any gentleness you ever knew.
Cloak your soul in The Selfish Me;
Sacrifice nothing for warmth or civility.

And when the walls are fully built,
Mortared well with hate and guilt,
Then dance within your heart of stone,
Dance with the devil as you dance alone.

—-

__

This poem was first published in the Newlywed News — a (snail mail) newsletter my husband and I sent out to family and friends in our first few years of marriage. I wrote it based on a couple’s relationship we’d witnessed during our honeymoon. They tore at each other like harpies. We swore we’d never take that path!

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

I Fail at Twitter

Oh how fickle the Twitter fates be –
as they say, “Follow me, my friend!”
And yet I can’t unfail my whale
and know what words to send.

I read all the tips that go floating by,
like “be kindly and never be spammy.”
But try as I may, my tweets die fast –
are they stupid or just plain crappy?

Funny thing is I always feel beat,
By big names like “Mr Million aplusk,”
I feel like a small fish in a very big sea,
Swimming upstream from dawn until dusk.

I’ve found it’s true: Twitter never sleeps.
It’s impossible to keep up with the flow.
By the time I’ve RT’ed the latest and greatest,
a thousand others have stolen the show!

And now the media has finally awoken –
with Iran’s Twitter-green revolution.
Millions more will push the 140 limit,
and I’ll be even more Lilliputian!

—-

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

I also blog at: Think Like a Black Belt

Deception

The body and words spoke promise,
confirming this one could be trusted.
Lures sparkled in the eyes and smile.
Seduction of the uninstructed.

It seemed so easy, so natural,
a hand-in-glove fit soul to soul.
I never saw the spider’s web
that would someday take its toll.

It all seemed perfect and exciting,
the sweet dance of conversation.
I never knew it was just a harvest
– a smoothly slow initiation.

But then came a first awakening –
the bite and strike came fast.
I was left dazed, confused;
the easy smiles forever past.

It seemed so awkward, so wrong,
and constantly my own fault.
I was a horse led by reins,
someone else choosing go or halt.

I walked on eggshells lightly
with constant uncertainty squared.
Denial was my other self,
as I finally paid the fare.

Somehow, some way came sanity.
I walked away … and fast.
The scars are faded now,
and my heart is free at last.

—-

—-

For information on emotional self defense and how to deal with Dark Hearts, visit my other website, Think Like a Black Belt — especially for these short articles: “Defense Against the Dark Hearts” and “Signs and Traits of Emotional Predators.”

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

The dusty halls ring silent
Where light and warmth have fled.
All is hushed in this abode
Where the living live as dead,
Where days and nights cry aloud
To an end of quietness
When no more a soul must shrink aback
From the touch of human kindness.
Oh to quit this house of masks
Through which a guarded heart peers.
Oh to run into the light
And shed this cloak of fears.
But the door to here is bolted shut,
Built to stand against all stress.
It can’t be opened with guile or strength,
But only with warm gentleness.
And when that humble soul comes calling,
With the heart of a gentle friend,
Then gone will be the gloomy masks
And the living shall live again.

—

I wrote this poem in 1993.

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck

This poem came rushing out of me last year when I first explored the world of blogging. I posted it on SpaceAgeAge.com in response to many sad posts I read during a series of blog searches on personal growth and adversity.

The Light

The darkness called;
I followed, falling,
down into the underneath,
and lay ripped, shredded, torn.
In pain wracked, I reeked,
oozing bile-filled blood.
The darkness played music,
of fear and self-hatred,
until I danced ugly to the tune.
I heard my voice screaming,
“Give me one, not-dark thing!”
And there it was.
A pen-thin beam of sunlight,
stabbing the darkness.
Its smallness did not matter,
because its strength was in its source.
I followed the beam, eyes only for it,
until the darkness fell behind,
Soon came the sun, healing and warm.
I sat down and cried, releasing it all.

—

“If you can’t find the light, may it find you.”

Thank you for visiting,
Lori Hoeck