Friday, February 24, 2017

A new position for Craig

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Founder & CEO of R-Water, LLC


Craig spent 26 years as Senior Vice-President of Advanced Products at Green Hills Software, which he built fromscratch into a $20M/year business unit. His clients included Ford Motor Company, ARM, Infineon, ST Microelectronics, and many Japanese companies. Before that, he worked on the Apollo moon shot and spent five years on the staff at MIT.

Friday, February 10, 2017

Little beads of sweat would swell on Craig's brow as he tried to simulate human emotions, I now realize.  

Psychopathy costs normal Americans hundreds of billions of dollars every year using what is a very partial assessment of the costs. 

I was far too credulous and trusting.  If only the facts of psychopathy had been available when I was young I would also have realized Morgan could be a psychopath when she grew up since,clearly, her biological father, Richard Lee Barteaux was one.  


Here is another poem from my period of recovery from Craig.  

From First Jasmine Series 

54.Letting Go Illusions - To Craig Franklin

The tendriled tug of memories reproves my reasoned thought

Sharp and sweet that idylled time, devoid of all but drought

Sanctuaried, love made place

Where I have lingered in embrace

With that one imperfect, personed soul

Who spun out love in raptured flows

Of song borne thought entrancing, glad

Reminding, lighting, the life I had.

Illusioned figment of my mind

Where only grief and sorrows bind

The soul seared silence that you left

Leaving me consumed, bereft.

This, the logic of your acts

Stark and violent, ugly facts.

This the unmade years I'd given

Disposed and sneered, my heart so riven.

That even logic turns away

When so little remains to do and say.

My hand, that still, still longs to touch

Mind reproved, it winced but trusts

Because love filled, consumed, forgave

Till nothing there was left to save.

Addicted to the thought of you

Now realized: who I never knew.

So mind - release your argued wish

Logic, reason delve and sheer

Revoke the memoried source, dismiss

The undone presence once most dear

Remove the Craig who was my heart

That I might breathe, live on, restart

The life I forged from living will

that pain in me be stilled.

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Poems for Craig

Craig always wished he could write verse or poetry but possessed little talent.  He described his efforts for simulating human emotions as taking most of his left brain, and that I now well believe.  At that, he did not do a very good job.  

While I was reviewing my poetry I found multiple poems Craig 'inspired.'  It still gives me the creeps to think about having ever allowed him to touch me.  But as I review my body of work I was struck with how therapeutic they had really been. Every time I wrote one it was like I was excising some part of his ugliness.  

Therefore, I think they belong up here.  Morgan's will go on her own site.  They really were perfect for each other.  

4. Fear and Pain that Still Detain
(Dedicated with complete sincerity to Allen Craig Franklin, my husband and abuser) 

Battered hopes and shattered truth
Begun with trust removed with lies
This the wretchedness of my youth
Distorts my life, unmakes, denies

Abused, a word that understates
The harshness of the world it makes 
Abused in mind, in body bashed
reproved by love that kills- but lasts

He came with smiles, seduced with faith
designed the ugliness of fear
An interdiction for all belief
that shackled self when he was near


Used, rejected, scorned, detained
denied the scope that life retains
Needed, sold to use again
a life that grows more ever grim


Battering on body, mind,
that fractures thought, my will and signs
Remakes the person who was me
into something that I hate to see


If you have not walked and known,
not tasted fear and so been owned
You do not know where I have been
a place that holds no hopes or friends. 

You have not lost the inner scope
that held your course and gave you hope
You have not lived and breathed and died
in soul belief he would not lie. 

Abused and Freed

When grief is wrung, despised and gone
while still the spirit listens, longs
To hear the echoes that belong
to the voice that held that song. 

When I learned to see anew
that life could be again renewed
And shackles that had owned my bones
were broken by the life I'd grown. 

My breath was eased, in body, mind
The walls were breached, dissolved in time. 
I tasted, relished, lived and laughed
Freed of what distorted, grasped. 

Manumission of emotion 
that can never compromise
The transmission which, evoking, 
fractured self to make me wise.