Greetings,
My name is Linda Peregory.

   By now you have figured out that I write poetry, the quality of which is determined by you, the reader. How did I start, and why do I continue to do so? I have no choice. Writing is as reflexive an action with me as breathing. It started many, many years ago, when I was but 12, alone, a clunky, shy kid who had thoughts and feelings, but no willing ear in which to pour them.

   A pen and pad of paper soon became best friends, and while I have walked away, as we will all do with our closest friends, from time to time, I have always gone back to the welcoming arms of this medium to find comfort and understanding of myself that does not come from any other source. I have grown into a less clunky woman, and have found a place in the world where people let me into their secret lives and dreams. I am learning every day the power of true love on wounded lives, and now my writing is a a gift that I offer most humbly to those who might benefit from the words, and the emotion behind them.

   Two of my poems, History Was To Blame, and Man Child, are based on the very courageous sharing by a very dear friend who lived through the full circle of the horrible event known as child molestation. My own sister was violated by our father. It was the only time I benefited in any way to be the ugly brown haired lump of a child, as it kept his hands off of me. The fact that I was not worth molesting did have the impact of making me feel even less worthy of any attention than I already did not receive. It is hard to feel lower than shit on an ant's shoe, but my father managed quite handily to make me feel thus. It took me many years to finally realize that I could be loved, and deserved to be. It took a rape, a child born and adopted out to a loving family because he would never find love in me, and years of feeling like damaged goods before I tired of it. A near brush with my own mortality, in the form of heart failure, coupled with diabetes and severe anemia, made me stop and think about what I was here for, and if there was a chance I might ever fulfill this purpose. I seriously wondered if I might not be just some cosmic scapegoat, being created just for some wrathful and hateful higher power to torment. I decided that if that was how I saw the Divine, maybe I needed to look at other views of the Universal Mind. Finding others who had the same questions and concerns had led me to recognize that I was not, nor would I ever be able to call myself a Christian. I simply refuse to bow to an evil old man who sends his son to do his dirty work while he picks and chooses on a whim what he will and will not do for his followers. Thank you, but I have come out with the short end of that attitude too many times, and would rather face Hell than bow to another being who does not love and support me as I am. I am much the same way in my relationship to people now, as well. I learned over the years of being on the outside, looking in, that there is much more breathing room on the outside, and have developed a dislike of any kind of crowd situation. It is not a phobia, not a fear. I simply do not like being jostled, pushed, and restricted by others in my path. Fortunately, I am also polite about this. LOL. I keep my social life intimate and selective, and gravitate towards interesting people, survivors, and strong souls who have lived hard and learned well from it.  

By
Linda Peregory©2005

Other Poems by Linda at Oakwood's Poetry Blog

MY WEBSITES
RECOMMENDED
Throughout December 2005 Linda has gained the top 5 places at The Next Big Writer.com's website in their top ten, best poetry section. Which is a wonderful achievement, under her pen name of L. P. Thomas. She is also one of their top reviewers.
1. Shrimp 
by L. P. Thomas
Poetry 
see also below
2. Man Child 
by L. P. Thomas
Poetry
3. History Was To Blame 
by L. P. Thomas
Poetry
see also below
4. A Woman Of Edges 
by L. P. Thomas
Poetry 
see here with music
5. I Am Your Daughter 
by L. P. Thomas
Poetry 
see here with music
8. Poets 
by L. P. Thomas
Poetry 

Out of the 10 possible positions available, Linda holds 6 places. You will have to sign up for a free account to view her other work. If you do decide to sign up then please show Linda your support by voting for her poems and written works. She is hoping to gain a Book Publishing contract for her efforts, which will establish her as a Poet/writer and be a wonderful launch for her new career. Rest assured her first book will be made available here on "TheCorner" the moment it comes off the press's.
More details here..

~~SHRIMP~~

The night was young,
and the call of wild delight
pounded in my blood.
My loins were tingling with
woman fire
I was on the prowl
for one to slake my desire.
I saw you,
dancing with the mirror.
You pumped harder at yourself
when you saw me drawing nearer.
Drinks,
small talk,
to my place, just a short walk.
Dimmed lights,
you promised such delights
I had to explore you.
I stroked, kissed,
nibbled,
tasted and touched.
Soon I felt a shock,
as I pulled out a rather large sock
from briefs I expected 
to hold something
spelled a little differently.
It was then that the laugh was on me.
Beneath my palm,
I felt a little wiggle.
When I drew aside the cloth
I began to giggle,
and giggle
.I then laughed,
until that thing and I
were both totally limp.
Instead of the manly meat
you promised.
I found something that looked
very much like
a malnourished shrimp

by
Linda Peregory©2005


HISTORY WAS TO BLAME

By vulgar hands,
thieves
of your innocence
you found yourself defiled.
From your own childhood,
exiled,
to act out the fears
you could not drown
with your silent tears.
Later you would stand tried,
found guilty and convicted,
From your family ‘s love,
you felt yourself evicted,
for doing to another
the unspeakable,
in the manner it was done to you.
Your hands became the thieves,
as they stole into forbidden ground,
surely just one time
would not hurt.
There was no one else around
to stop you.
It was not like you meant 
to hurt,
humiliate,
or shame,
another innocent,
History was to blame.

by
Linda Peregory©2005


WHEN LOVE

When love is the mirror
it is not the face which is seen
It is the flow of goodness,
the promise of tomorrow,
the realization
of dreams which are 
shared between
two hearts newly opened.

When love is the mirror
fears slowly subside 
Nightmares become
winged horses of passion
on which lovers,
joined in ecstasy's embrace,
find themselves astride,
as heartbeats thunder.

When love is the mirror,
old soul scars rise into view,
where growing trust may see them.
Tears cleanse the taint
of old love's poison trace,
to allow the face of new hope
to shimmer like dew
on a new bloom of joy

by
Linda Peregory©2005

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