full and blessed

her friends say, “you’ve a life that’s full and blessed –” but all it’s full of now is emptiness for beauty comes and goes like flowers in may; and lovers come like night, and leave like day

The Wheel

First in a series about depression I'm calling "carnival poems".

The Constant Battle

Her back hurts, so she cannot rest, And work is suffering these days; She’s daily there, within a haze Travailing, tired and depressed But when she can, she breaks away; She sits alone somewhere offsite, And for one moment, doesn’t fight The constant battle that’s today

Downhearted

Now paralyzed, pressed down, and held in place Your back in spasms, grabbing, catching fire A drama with no story to amaze Just turgid, painful truth, internal red Believe in no one, welcome everything This was the mantra, no? Or was it this: Palatial are the regions of the heart That soon lie empty as … Continue reading "Downhearted"

that drowning feeling

swirling unspecified in the middle of a chaos poured from pitchers of deep rain cannons firing across the still december mourning for a lost adulthood framed by a little used childhood endeavor just brings sorrow what if i can't do it what if i'm not enough what if i what if what

lying awake

she lies awake and wonders where it went the glow that once surrounded who she was for all the hidden talents she’s misspent for random choices, lacking a “because” in stillness now, she thinks of one mistake her mother’s eyes with tears were dabbed and flecked for all that woman’s faults, for goodness sake she … Continue reading "lying awake"

Expectations, Daily

It’s what we take for granted That will do us in the end; For expectations daily Choke the life of women, men That thing that we unthinkingly Assume we’ll have fore’er That one day leaves us suddenly Exposed, unarmed and bare We recognize bad fortune, Others’ luck we dwell upon: But take good luck as … Continue reading "Expectations, Daily"

Old Poem, Written Age 26

When I was just a little boy A certain prayer I said; To shield me from the scary things Before I went to bed I hear the words, but cannot find What I felt with that prayer: If I should die before I wake I really Just don’t Care     (“Old Poem, Written Age … Continue reading "Old Poem, Written Age 26"