createspace preview now available - fallen fruit

[Deleted]

Attachment Deleted



a brief description and an introduction to my book are posted here.  send me a pm with an email address if you would like to get the preview from amazon.com.

Description

fallen fruit writes the wrongs of the domestic abuse suffered by a wheelchair bound gay man - and plants the seeds for a new fruitful life.


Introduction

What a beautiful idealic picture, a bright moment in the sun full of promise for the future. And so it was too in the loving relationship that I was privileged to inhabit for many years. Sadly, the realization of that promise was not to be. No, but the alluring imagery lingered. Friends and neighbors were presented a false front to preserve the illusion. The long enduring perfect couple appearance fiercely persisted long after the radiance was extinguished from the relationship. It may persist still.



The reality was just too hard for anyone to embrace. My truth was unspoken because I was summarily dismissed whenever I had the courage to hint that things were not as they seemed. People see what they want to see, and nobody wanted to see anything contrary to the pretty picture. Also, being in a wheelchair may raise collateral uncertainties about my mental capacities, for some, eroding my credibility.



Now my story must be told, the truth of my personal experiences. These pages are my purge. Only by the telling will I be able to move beyond what is at an end and find the new. This book contains paired passages of prose purge, written now, combined with poetry contemporaneous to the events described. The poetry offered here may not be some of my best work, but it is proving to be some of the most important.



Fallen Fruit is a reference to reaching a point of wonderful ripeness in a relationship and be tossed aside to rot. However, the seed of a new beginning grows from fallen fruit. This book plants those seeds for a new fruitful life.

[doe]

Interesting concept and title, Curran. Your writing has a real fluidity to it and the poetry will only add an extra dimension. How long have you been writing and is this your first publication?

[Ximena]

Curran, is this a poetry book or a prose memoir?

[Deleted]

Dec 17, 2013 17:02:35 GMT -5 doe said:

Interesting concept and title, Curran. Your writing has a real fluidity to it and the poetry will only add an extra dimension. How long have you been writing and is this your first publication?

thanks for your kind words
my writing stems from my disability - about 10yrs
paradevo.proboards.com/thread/5154/disability-gave-gift-poetry

here is a sample from fallen fruit 

Some say this island isn't warm even when it's warm.  But not today.  Today the full force of August washed across my face.. And so it was for the two of us, basking in our good fortune to be together in this rustic island enclave. Our bright clear love shone hot as the morning sun on my face. Today everything conspired in the fiction that this is how things are and how they will always be.



I found myself more restless than rested in the white rope hammock. I stretched out and contemplated the ripening apples overhead. Esopus Spitzenburg, a favorite of Thomas Jefferson, or so I was told. But before I could fully committ to idealness in the hammock, the large expanse of open meadow toward the pond summoned me. Where attention strayed, feet soon followed. The pull to mow the meadow wass stronger than the pull toward repose in the hammock. It took a lot of work on this gentlemen's farm to create such a convincing illusion of leisur.



Truth be told, my comfort zone was probably right there anyway, driving the Poulan riding mower. The grass was a bit more manageable now that the rans had stopped for the summer.. But even so, mowing the whole four acres was a real chore. Refraining the task as a mowing meditation helped numb me to the monotony. And this ritual of mowing did give me a sense of domain somehow, carving my little patch of civilization from the surrounding timberland.



So convincing, ths golden moment in time, seemingly without end. But all too soon, a sudden and durable darkness would befall our long day of radiance.



companion poem 

a ripe day for the picking



cattail heads suddenly tall

and fi rm by the pond

late summer sun luminescent in leaves

a giant dragonfl y hovers in the moment



thousands of tiny golden fry in chaos

at the water surface

last year’s brood swim by

disciplined into schools

larger members of the clan visible

at increasing depths through clear water



the hammock hangs lazy under apples

half red now with the blush of august

bushes burdened with berries

they fall off into the bucket

but more fall in my mouth

a ripe day for the picking

[Deleted]

Dec 17, 2013 17:27:48 GMT -5 Ximena said:

Curran, is this a poetry book or a prose memoir?

yes to both

here is a sample from fallen fruit

Profusions of flowers became a new norm in our adopted city of soft sea breezes. Great hanging baskets of flowers adorned storefronts. They spilled out into the streets from corner vendor stalls at busy intersections. Flowers crowded jardinieres standing sentry at entries of smart buildings downtown. Even the pedestrian population was speckled with bouquets in arms; the faithful carrying their floral finds home, like precious light from the church on Greek Easter.



An everyday extravagance of fresh flowers came to grace our home and our bond together. Farmers market growers bunches gave way over the years to urbane arrangements. Every week a new floral tribute was presented to me. This weekly flower renewal ritual was the steady heartbeat in our union for many many years.



But then, suddenly there were no flowers Just as suddenly there were no words. Which went first? The flowers? Or was it the other way around? No matter, it came to the same end. There were no flowers and there were no words.



A once healthy ecosystem of communication, with easy dialog and quick banter, perished in a rapid climate change of abuse. Words withered on the vine. There were no longer enough words to string together into something resembling conversation. The modicum of transactional utterances now afforded failed to reach the threshold of real human interaction. That was over. My status as a person had been revoked, and I was reduced to just a task in a wheelchair. All relational components of interchange were obliterated, dead and buried.



The only remaining cache of words for me were words as weapons. He could find the words to threaten, intimate, and demean. For heightening abandonment anxiety: “I'm just about done with you.” His salvo for eroding self image and confidence: “You contribute nothing to this relationship.” His new mantra became: “I hate my life.” This statement always carried the inescapable implication that it was not his own charmed existence he hated, but my disability diminished life that he despised. A veiled death wish for me, made terrifying by frequency of repetition. These word assault arrows would be drawn from the abuse quiver and shot through me with force of tone, whenever context offered maximum injury to my vital organs of domestic security, self-valuing, and even survival.



The silence grew louder and louder, amplified by a lens of social isolation. Gathering with friends for casual dinner parties lapsed. Consequently, invitations from others dwindled and then stopped. I was deemed not presentable at office parties or celebration and award events. The wheelchair would stand in stark contrast to the sleek silhouettes of the able bodied. Even my birthday dinners “out” were hijacked in favor of home delivery to hide me from public view. Extremely limited outside visibility was achieved. Everything made to be as if I were not here at all.



companion poem 



swimming in silence



easy exertion

tight twist

and a kick

 

propel smooth

slice across

deep water

 

it just comes

like meditation

swimming



 I know well

practiced skills

staying afloat  



but crawl stroke

fails me now

sink or swim

 

in your pool

of silence

for me

 

swimmer's sole

a stone

upon this water

 

 

 

 

 

[Deleted]

thanks to the many whò have stopped by for a read
and thanks to the few moved to comment
in response to positive feedback via pm
i am posting one morè short section of fallen fruit



Hear my silent scream. I am overcome by an accumulation of quiet lies to crushing proportion. His lies consume everything that is good between us; a cancer that eats the healthy flesh of trust and life blood of love. Unspoken deception is poured from countless wine bottles. Cell phone secrets extract a toll as well. I've played the lonely where-is-he game too often. Chronic emotional wounds are my legacy of lovers lies. Hear my silent scream.


companion poem -



lies within
  
the truth lies
within you
tortured
twisted
 
in a dungeon
of futures forfeited
and youthful liberties
untaken
 
the rack of obligation
pulls body from soul
love is bloodied
to a red perversity
 
secrets become oxygen
that ravage with each breath
the kind and gentle you
that was

[blueskye101]

Curran, it makes my heart ache.

Its so bloody moving.

Want to see about coming out the other end stronger than ever.

[doe]

Thanks for sharing the additional pieces. There is certainly a poignancy to your writing.

[Deleted]

Dec 20, 2013 23:27:46 GMT -5 blueskye101 said:

Curran, it makes my heart ache.

Its so bloody moving.

Want to see about coming out the other end stronger than ever.

thanks for the genuine expression of human emotion 
really 
but let me assure you that i am a year and a half out of that 
and far progressed on some serious healing 
(the writing has been a big element in the healing -
claiming - owning - purging -release - new beginning)
hey and some hella good sex also helped !
actuality wrote a few m2m xxx  poems - hot hot hot
seeds of new beginning are in fallen fruit !

[Deleted]

Dec 21, 2013 3:19:48 GMT -5 doe said:

Thanks for sharing the additional pieces. There is certainly a poignancy to your writing.

i am gratified that you have been touched by the fabric of my words.  that makes the process of writing it all worthwhile. 
here is maybe the most poignant piece in the book 
this short poem says as much as the whole book -  at least to me 


bright cry





light of searing magnitude

crosses unmarked borders

into this here and this now



the eye of my emotions

still dilates to darkness

unfamiliar to illumination



what mirrors are these

strewn over all of nature

shards of my tears



shimmer atop waves

and shine from every leaf

bent to breeze



i am the brightness

of this day

it is my cry

[Deleted]

Dec 20, 2013 23:27:46 GMT -5 blueskye101 said:

Curran, it makes my heart ache.

Its so bloody moving.

Want to see about coming out the other end stronger than ever.

thanks for the heads up to include a little of the new beginning
will do 
i created a life i  loved once
i can do it again
different and new      

companion poem 



comes morning



the lens of an awakening sky

magnifi es the present beauty

emergent morning blue

spills out into the new day



dragon’s breath gathers over water

and banks upon distant islands

stained in the hues of daybreak



while silent silhouettes

of snowy mountain peaks

stand witness to this dawn




 

[blueskye101]

[/quote]thanks for the genuine expression of human emotion 
really 
but let me assure you that i am a year and a half out of that 
and far progressed on some serious healing 
(the writing has been a big element in the healing -
claiming - owning - purging -release - new beginning)
hey and some hella good sex also helped !
actuality wrote a few m2m xxx  poems - hot hot hot
seeds of new beginning are in fallen fruit ![/quote]


LOL.. Obviously not letting it rot on the vine.

[Deleted]

a foot note about positive outcomes
beyond just the pages -

it is likely that
1) i will serve on the board
of a domestic abuse agency

and 2)my book may be used
to reinvigorate a campaign
for a shelter for abused men

both possibilities surprise
and please beyond measure