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Introspection Depression Poems | Introspection Poems About Depression

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Details | Free verse | |

Hot And Cold Comes The Night


LIST POETRY - A FUTURISTIC INTERPRETATION You must know I cried yesterday and I think I broke the world so I braided some words into twine planted some sweet and sour coated seeds I grew free standing expressions and then I joined them with left over thread to present these interlocking pieces in their proper order regardless of the number they wear in an attempt to confuse and deceive. I offer this humble list for your reading enjoyment It is an honour to have you visit my page. The pleasure I assure you is all mine WORDS ON PAPER - THE LIST FIVE I loved you centuries before we were born. You lived in my dreams before I ever slept. When others wasted time picking flowers I waited for when it was time to pick you. Love calls you in the natural scent of your partner. You'd feel their touch in the vacuum of outer space. Your desire for them would melt away the ice age. I want to find a door in the brightest part of the sky I could open to erase what was, to shine a light so bright it, like a book of golden words, would write ideas so vital as to eradicate even a suggestion of our mournful past. I want to be that magician who does not bother with illusion but rather heals wounds and shatters burden. TWO We were at the fair, joviality in the air. A memory filed, I was a young child holding balloons floating round like full moons in vivid colours bright. Fixed on this joyous sight I was on Cloud Nine proud these were mine. If I had not let go of them. If I hadn't watched them as they flew higher and higher as my heart sunk lower and lower I might of never learnt what it felt like - hurt. Hope gloats, hope floats. either your way or just away. THREE sometimes the afternoon sun is.....too hot to walk barefoot........on the concrete path still even then.......I refuse to wear my hat I guess I'll never change, I'm just like that. sometimes when I jump in the lake in late summer... with all of my clothes on...I do it in the evening......as I go down...way down to the bottom...there's a gentle peace overtakes me..I want to stay down like a rock... revel in the ecstasy...not swim back up..........not ever SEVEN ours was a paper mâché love living in a cut out cardboard home with a macaroni art painted lawn and nothing real to call our own nothing solid that we could hold. we tried stacking lego bricks but you have to be able to pop your cheek to qualify as a kid - to get a license to build. the castle we assembled didn't pass the test. so much for fairy tales - hello reality check. we rolled the dice but our thimble went straight to jail and our mouse ended up trapped. can you hear that buzzing the operation failed. where are you going? your tricycle is still in the shop and I might as well tell you..............I have no eights................."go fish!" we fell through the bunny hole where i - jack fell ddddownnn nnnnnnn and broke my crown and you - jill came tumbling aaaaaaaaaaafterrrrrrrrrrrrrrr EIGHT it is a choreographed ballet our love stands strong legs at the base digging deep build roots delicate hands branched out reach high long slim fingers define twigs draw space the body of our trunk thick sweet filled music fills our human needs one sound wind pixies dance meticulously the air sunlight leaks effectively through dark spots lifts carries holds and shapes our smiles it is a choreographed ballet our love in sync our bodies their senses once immersed in I now us ONE I know the last thing I want to feel as I leave this world, it is your lips on mine. When I take my last breath I want to feel yours with its loving touch. NINE Always, no matter the roar or intensity of the storm how severe the attack even out of the norm Always, i offer my hand with sincerity aim to deal with it peacefully. Always! SIX then suddenly it hits like a swarm of locus. a deep dark manifestation that greases my mind my very existence in its unforgiving sense of doom. every bone stiffens, when I move, a sound of dead dried out forest twigs breaking against the boots of hikers echoes in the confined space of my skull. i reach for a pill slowly it dissolves under my tongue i wait and i wait and i wait ... my body is soaked in a sweat with its own cold and hot tap. i assume the position, lying on an unstable floor. the creature depression is now in full control of my faculties. this too i will survive ...that is what i do...what i do...this is what i do.......somehow i survive. FOUR there is a deafening hush... silently raging through the core of my existence...still...I am humbled by the light and the love I have witnessed in my brief appearance...........here on Earth there is a river...that walks at my side... walks with me........at the same stride... April 14 2015 Armand


Details | Acrostic | |

Open Sores

I am a coward with open sores. 
I write and wonder who it bores. 
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly. 
I see others carrying out my dreams; 
that’s what’s defeated me.
 
I am a coward with open sores. 
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way. 
I touch base with the fear in my heart, tearing me apart,
leaving nothing to say... 
I worry the world will leave me. 
I cry because no one believes in me. 

I am a coward with open sores. 
I understand nothing comes easy. 
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me. 
I dream I am healed and brave. 
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave. 
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours. 
I am a coward with open sores. 




©  2011  ~JSLaM    

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

* 1st PLACE in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by C. Devonshire 2011

* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand 5/11/2011 

* 1st PLACE in Contest "BEST EVER" Sponsored by P.D. 2011
                 
   


Details | Free verse | |

Things That Seemed Poetic

Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.


Details | Free verse | |

Dead Birds

Standing on the broken cement of the back porch
silently staring into the skies
and talking to myself 
 
Fingers struggling to keep appearances 
windshield wipers across my cheek
watercolors gone white
 
Flippant, fanatical, furious
patient, protective, passionate
trying to love the beast
 
Sending dreams to the clean ears of the open air  
returned quickly, clutched in your mouth, crushed
presented for reward
 
Dead birds delivered to my doorstep 
my nature wants to heal them, bury them
yours waits and wags its tail


Details | Free verse | |

At the Edge

White wake trails the festive party boat
Beach dweller eyes with envy
     Lonely fate
          Cactus on desert sand
               Not even parasites invade
                    Needles repel everything, everyone

Never to exchange vows
Give birth, spoil grandchildren
Endless nights tossing in a king-size bed
     No king
          Eternity in a cocoon
               Years pass
                     Hopes dim

Friends complain
Messy husbands, custody battles
No custodians seek empty hearts
     She beckons the sun to set
          Prays to reach heaven’s gate
               ‘Fore it rises again
                    Shedding light on pain

Enduring dread
Puffs of smoke from burnt-out life
Climb and dissipate
     No last will
          No legacy bestowed
               Memories of her life
                    Rest only in souls who have passed



Entry for PD's emotional poem contest


Details | Free verse | |

How Far Will You Fly

How far will you fly?
Cross continent? Moonward?
Across the room?
When will you depart?
Through which gate?
Let me fly with you.
You won't even notice me,
On the wing,
Clinging for life (and love).
Why do you flee me,
choosing a destination
from which it will be
impossible
to book a return?


Details | Free verse | |

Wounded

Come and gone like small twister like the cloud of debris he’s left. Echoes of Charlie Brown’s buddy Pigpen blow through the cobwebs in memory. Left over coffee cups replacing Transformers still dumped in the attic. Reams of knarley skateboards, wheel-less, lay in piles like so much unburnable refuse. The obligatory hugs and peck, over and done the never paid chauffeur collapses… Ah, to have him always near, So, each kiss was not quite so dear. The last fair maid on parade has wandered across the home front, wondering about her predecessor, still tacked with magnets to the fridge, still part of my heart and his… Sons…they say, do not cause such angst. Couldn’t prove it by this mother. This maternal blimp of unused helium was not permitted a girl child. One did come and fleetingly leave before formed. We’ll never know the sweetness of her. Let the image of his manly self disperse, this son.. into the mist as his Father’s has… to be remembered again, only in times of need, his need, for to do anything else, would be to rub salt in an open wound.
Poet: D. Guzzi *the day after Christmas


Details | Free verse | |

Tiny Fractures of Death

As the clock ticks on,
the soul
encounters 
tiny fractures of death

hairline cracks
seemingly invisible, superficial
yet they run deep

one
      more
          word

one 
      more
          look

one
     more
        reason

to
         S    h   a  t   t  e    R 


and 
nothing
matters
anymore

Nothing.







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Details | Rhyme | |

Stormy Heart

Alone in loneliness Amid forever nights And these four walls In faint, whisper soft your name I beg out loud to the nothingness that remains "Please not another nightmare, no more storms" But, answers are merely glimpses of light From lightening... Filtering through the pane Empty sheets... Cast empty shadows on the wall Of places where you used to be Eyes wide open Now asleep, afraid I am to fall Trapped within this never ending dream I cling to all the memories that I have Spinning me closer to where you were, in parallel on the edge The thoughts, like imaginary rubble, comes tumbling passed A fire for you still burning inside Why can’t I let go of the tragedies last And silence your unrescued suicidal screams Or is it only the rain falling faster as it taps harder, and harder upon the glass Or is it of your wandering spirit Mockingly knocking? Haunting with its vindications Of "why’s" I can never seem to grasp All this amidst lost stares into black windows Where gutters overrunning, burdened by the strains And I swear I see your reflection Among the flashes, tracing out illuminations about your face And for the first time You are noticeably absent of all the worldly pains And your lips releasing out a comfort that for so long I've been seeking As I hear the words echo within my stormy heart "That where you are everything is okay"


Details | Free verse | |

Again, and again

The doubt and anger are here again
No surprise, my new friend
Believed I could keep it all away
Now it’s about to steal me away
Come steal me away. Again, and again

Why can’t I change the parts I hate? Stupid, lying beautiful face

Hearts are craters, deep as wells
Fill them up and hold on well
Sand and mud, the liquid seeps
Dirty tears and sorrows creep
Creep in to swallow me. Again, and again

Why can’t I change the parts I hate? Stupid, lying beautiful face

Told you, I told you. Remember I did?
This time it was raw, nothing I hid
Unacceptable loathing and regret
Nothing to explain, at least not yet
You will see though. Again, and again

Why can’t I change the parts I hate? Stupid, lying beautiful face

Consuming distraction, love that I know
It’s dying already with no place to go
You won’t agree and you won’t see
It will never be enough for me
You will hate me so. Again, and again

Why can’t I change the parts that I hate? Stupid, lying beautiful face

Let me go, for I am already gone
I’m sorry to make you believe this long
Hopeless rage, directed at you
Walls constructed to block the view
But you will still want me. Again, and again.

I can’t change the parts I hate, and I’ll never be happy again. Again


Details | Free verse | |

Anxious Dissolution

IV

A soul was broken to make room
For dusty halls and labyrinths.
A gossamer, nylon bed-sheet shroud
Enwraps the remnants of that mind.
And no excuses can be made; 
This disease does not justify that one.
I do not sleep deeply, I do not wake easily,
I dream of cities built on sand,
Next to the swelling sea.
Oh, they should have lasted.
Why should they fall?
I dream of timber horses,
Brought between those city walls.
We should have known; we should have known better.

III

But, I am not an honest mystic;
Beware what you ask of me.
I will show truths within the liar's tapestry.
But, you will not believe; no, you cannot believe.

II

I howled for my motherland
When the mutiny began.
I heard the cry of treason; heard the cry and ran.
I saw blood be spilled,
Some of it my own, then
Felt the rest boil, that this could happen in my home.
I saw the battle through, until the very end,
Then wished the traitors pardoned,
Because they were my friends.

I

I cannot tell the difference
Between the sleeping and the dead,
So, I will dole out blankets, and keep the kettle on.
The streets are cracked and dirty,
And they all appear the same:
Shattered glass and roofing tacks
Where I place my bare and weary feet.
I don't want to go on.
But, I must rebuild; I must rebuild.
I have no grass to lay,
The trees and flowers will not grow,
So, I shall use nothing, but mortar, brick, and stone.
It's not the same; it is not the same,
But, I shall call it home.


Details | Free verse | |

The Day That Died Forever

When I am Colder,Older and then alone...
I will collect the sky on my own...
When the art has faded and the days then fade-
when everyone has gone away...

I may finally see what never was saw
.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhh............... the quiet sky

The unlit room which bares my end...shows the flashes of my pains my joys and sins.
This life has been a strange one since the curtains were drawn
These paper and plastic figures have clouded the dawn

I was once younger,foolish,and obsessed with truth
Now I am bitter,sour,dour faced with my heart under shoe

The children were all searching or lost in a crowd
All weeds in a garden...growing vile and foul

Though beauty was sold it never came true
Obsessions and vanity have traveled safe through

Materials and poison and everything lost
have been burned in the fires or lost in the frost

I stand face to mirror tearing my being apart
Winding thoughts of love,pain,god,and art

As the sun sets and the darkness grows
I too shall follow this pattern in tow

Death has a friendly hand and a pretty face
She has given me comfort as I leave this place

The wars have occurred,humanity's lost
Souls have been burnt in the fire or lost in the frost

Day was Life,Night is Death

And the latter has given counsel on my final steps


Details | Free verse | |

Unshed Tears

Slice me with your tongue,
Razor blade wounds,
To suck out all my poisens,
Sweet lonely lullaby,
Accusing eyes of sadism,
Picture perfect prodegy, 
My Deadly Sin,
A bitter taste of arson,
Burning in my vital organ,
Your the pyre that burns away my mortality,
A sip of tea made from Lilly of the Valley,
A shadow of Death stalking,
With odd angel like wings,
A Numbing kiss like Drowning in Morphine,
My Oblivion,
Sweet arms to rest in till my vision no longer holds,
Eyes neither like Hell nor Heaven,
Cocain Addiction,
That Drip of Drugs into your system,
Intoxicated blood stream,
I'd rather not dream,
And instead get lost within - Your paralysing,
Your Paralysing, Brain lapse,
Your moving too fast,
Stay slow and dreamy,
Dancing silhoutte,
Like a burning forest fire,
Pain throughout my veins,
Ravishing and Beautiful,
A voice torn from my throat,
Dying joyfully,
With my last sight of you. . .


Details | Free verse | |

Dear Me

Dear Me,

I need you to be stronger
I need you to never be afraid

swallow your pride,and your flight will be softer
tell her you love her,even if it hurts

Grab onto your dream and live it
Do not be afraid of the sun's divinity

Be better,love more, hold on.

Dear Me,

Enjoy every stop of the ride.
For when the train finally stops...we die

Until we witness the angels dance after final day...
Dear Me, hide your fears away


Details | Free verse | |

The Tide's Tale

Wanting solitude I walked by the sea
Anxious sky, plunging surf , gulls calling..
            I left a trail of footprints in the sand.

I saw a ship far out, sails torn by the wind
It rolled and heaved and staggered…
            I left a trail of footprints in the sand.

I heard a ship went down that day
With never a  monument erected..
But I remember that lonely day
             And footprints in the sand


Details | Narrative | |

The Phone

The phone rings empty into the night.
Filling a void that brings strange comfort
to thoose around.

Rage eats away untill it bores a hole
straight through are hearts.
Whiskey cauterizes the wound.

Alone with fools we gather.
The bitter ones taking to there barstools.
the weak look to punish thoose happy
bastards.
Who dare to feel anything in the place of  
emptyness.

She left so many years befor.
At least her mortal soul did.
I rememeber when it was when I still
dared to dream.

Long befor reallity was a friend.
Lovers lie.
Motions keep us living.

She spoke but the words were empty as her heart.
So as strangers we parted just as we met.
With a bitter taste I never did reply.

The phone rang it's last time.
I herd it echo farewell down the hall.

I had to go so I never unlocked the door.
i just left my emotions hanging  like some
forgotten coat pushed back in
the closet.

Its been almost a year since that phone filled
the emptyness of my soul.
If only I had answered.


Details | Free verse | |

A Glimpse Within - I

The salt water
baubles washes
gently
upon the jetty sent
from lands distant.
Pushed by a hovering
yellow moon,
sometimes built into
thunderous waves
		of hurricanes.
Change comes rapidly
and dangerously
as the sea meets
yesterday coming
back.
It speaks to me and
it does say,
I give no quarter
and furthermore
              I ask
for none.
As I stare outward
at the placid waters
I feel heaviness
deep inside my
chest.
The sea has become
humanity to me,
With its powerful
and hushed rage,
		not seen before.
Heretofore I have
been persuaded
by wanderlust to
skim the surface,
to walk on by time
without end,
miss nothing that
may be something.
		I linger here.
The moon is playing
peek-a-boo,
reflection on the
water seems sad.
Stories are to be
told, perchance
to a much lesser
degree of now.
               But
not yet.
Ink-black dark, I
cannot see;
even Luna appears
quite uneasy.
The peaceful lapping
of water
distresses me; I
don't know why.
		Devouring soul?
So tranquil you
could hear a
tear drop, or a
salamander fart.
My nose detects an
exotic odor
Arabian sand carried
by wind.
               Wind
words. 
I squat on the rock
jetty,
look for ghosts;
probe my own.
My intimate séance
annoys
what I have kept
concealed..
		I see what I see.
The serene sea is a
patient anomaly,
so serene I fear
there are things
unsaid.
The night bitter
black when moon
hides,
I sense an
oppressing evil
attributed
		to dreams.


Details | Free verse | |

Against the Raging Now

Finger in the hole in the dike
Holding back vast volumes
Of raging emotions
Surely to sweep me away
I try some comforting
Favored music from my past
Grab a book
To distract my fear
Linger in the Black Hole
of despair
Reach out to memories
Misty unrealities
Sweet and sour
I pass another hour
Only the peace of sleep
And ultimately death
Will bring craved relief.


Details | Quatrain | |

My Torment

A fleeting still small voice tries to warn me
A sudden overwhelming desire to run
The tell tale taste of metallic flakes
Means my nightmare has begun

Everything around takes on a ghostly pallor
A landscape of anguish and corrosion
A moment of silence before the violence
The flash of light, the brilliant explosion

The sound of the Sun fills my ears
Fear, my throat, though none escapes me
And paralyzed I clench my eyes
As my tormentor prepares to rape me

And it's endeavor is absolute
Consumption is its ultimate goal
It exists to chase me so it can erase me
Whilst feasting on my soul

And then that familiar salty smell 
The sudden rush of warmth so stings
Engaging me relentlessly
In vile unspeakable things

Over and over and over again
My limbs stretched and wrought
As it's teeth tear my bones bare
It's mind defiles my thoughts

And still wounds beget wounds beget wounds
As in the mouth of madness I suffer
And with every injury he just seems to be
Rougher and rougher and rougher

Then just as suddenly as it began it ceases
And for a moment I am clearer
And then the true horror of it all
Is revealed in a darkly lit mirror

There in front of me stands my destroyer
Face flush with it's fill of my pain
And I find that it's eyes and mine
My God, they’re one in the same


Details | Free verse | |

The missing me

With shadows in the dark,
Facing atrocities of the cold,
Yet drenched in the sweat,
I walk down the street

Am bound to follow what others passed by,
Crime it is as if else I try,
Tears follow the path of my cheek,
And it’s the only way my eyes speak,
Lips of mine when turn dry.

I smile I really try to,
To be happy as if I was made to,
I speak of something I don’t know
But there’s what my heart knows,
That’s what my eyes ponder,
And that’s what untold but true,
Yes I know,
Yes I do,
I am missing me in me,
Yes I know,
Yes I do,
I am missing being me……….


Details | Free verse | |

An Early, Experimental Poem of Alternate Lines

The mirror reflects, obliquely,
a peculiar yellow butterfly -- it flutters, flutters
the specks of black my beard is made of
on the breeze.  A daffodil hangs down its treasure
and I spread shaving cream, in great white puffs,
shielding from the wind and rain its yellow
across my face.  The nose protrudes, ridiculous
excrescence.  A leaf half green sweeps up in circles
in the whiteness all around.  A weak chin, think I,
of windy sighs.  Squirrels crack acorns, crunching,
down into a patchy neck.  Very unsatisfactory
remembering winter's almost famine.  The trees --
appearance.  Altogether so.  Oh well.
Quiet.  Steady.  Sturdy.  Oh well.
The mirror reflects, but not uniquely.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Park -- Part One

Pigeons flutter in the park
eating refuse from the grass.
Noon comes; the hours pass.
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Silence reigns throughout the park.
A crumpled headline, a forgotten toy,
lifeless, do not hear a far-off bark.
In the park, not a single little boy.
Midnight comes; the hours go --
soon, the sky begins to glow...
morning breaks, and with it, sound.
In the park begins the morning round.
White skeletons of benches -- slats --
in all the wintry parks of Age
fill up in morning. Deserted flats,
each with the aspect of a cage,
become an unused, waiting gauge
that measures dull and wasted years --
floods of loneliness -- rivers of fears...
The weak and battered, pallid crowd
which, daily, parks ingest
speak in muted tones; but loud
is the message all suggest.
The clangor of the beaten Belles,
trampled in the slime of years,
entreats the mind to plug its ears;
yet, if it will, it hears...
memories, perhaps, keep active still
the shriveled and the loosened flaps
that are the mouths of all the Bills --
reduced to gray and ugly gaps...
Down the graveled pathways come
children bent on carefree play.
Belles, though silent, are not dumb,
nor will the Bills forego their say.
But warnings fall on ears too deaf;
around are eyes too blind to see.
And so the tots, too young for Death,
play on and on till time for tea.
Day after day after day
children come and children play.
Pigeons flutter in the park;
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Once more, deep silence claims the park.
Midnight hours come and go.
The sky again assumes a glow.
Wind stirs dead leaves to rustle.
Starts again the aimless bustle
of the battered, weak, and infirm-eyed:
those whom living failed -- who died
but still must play their signal role
of unloved, friendless, unhailed Old;
who gather daily in the park
to envy tots their vital spark --
the hope, the promise in their eyes --
before it fades, before it dies.
But tots at play -- the young, the bold --
must laugh and sing -- cannot be told
that youth's not long and Time is cold.
Time devours -- a ravenous beast --
and men are the courses at his feast.
Some he swallows in their prime,
 On some he waits too long a time:
 these rancid morsels, Time's midnight snack,
explore their memories. They hie them back
 to that old moment, deepest black, 
when they first dared to know -- and first said --
that Time's the master all men dread.
(Please read The Park -- Part Two, which is a continuation of
this poem...due to space limitations)


Details | Free verse | |

It Can't Be Real

A truth in rage of insult furrows my mind
For it is only an offense given to me by myself
In the mouths of others far innocent than I
I feel the tears trickle down my cheeks
For I have surfaced into an ugly mistake
I am always inadequate in this brain
I try to shine like the advice of grace given
But confidence rarely rears its head my way
There’s a sort of shade blocking its way
A shade that darkens everyday

That very shade led me to believe my feelings are wrong
That I will never belong so long as they are not controlled
I must be careful—for the lines of love and lust run cold
I hate myself truly this night
And no one but myself will give me the right
The very right to degrade my every being
Because you are not seeing what I am seeing

There is no point
My lines run cold
Can I be so bold as to say
I still love with a pang of indistinguishable doubt 
All feelings enter in
As my truth blurs and checks out

Your words pierce me so deep
I cannot describe the pain I feel
God it hurts so bad
It can’t be real

Much like the love I have come to embrace
The very love that links to your face
Tears don’t give it justice

It can’t be real
Much like the love I will never face


Details | Free verse | |

I'm Your King

A burst of white light gamma rays, overbearing a flash of brilliance burns through to my soul everything is like hell the world starts to melt in the blink of an eye just the cold blackness of night I don't care if I am not again what I once was, for at this moment I am greater now than ever before I took the path between teetering, tight roping walking right up to my right divined in my unholy state I thought I told you I am your king still you sit there, hesitating I know you hate me what does that mean? I hate just about everything still I'm chosen I did not wish before now bow down to me refuse me no more for I shall always be your demon until you accept me as your King. I don't even know you though you say we used to be best of friends, you and me the day you ditched me I remember now exactly how it played out back when we were just tiny things even back then I still was King you thought me stupid just a ruse I would laugh inside, you see? not one of you single, mean people ever even knew me in a world, mostly seen to me that is why only I can be your true King and bring forth a new source of light everlasting. As two worlds collide slowly aligned one wrapped in shadows one bathed in white evils swirling in the clouds above I'll always be the king you love to hate or despise as in your blood I thought I told you, I am the one I am the way, the way out shall be shown breathe in my spirit as it carries you away breathe in my faith it shall carry your empty space and deposit you gently on a cloud just enough higher than you've ever dreamed of for I am king now, and your in my hell your in my imagination, I'll just never tell you'll feel as though dreaming, you'll feel now if you try and see you were always found the most shared in the light cast upon me the last bright star in heaven. Denounce my name, if you may One year later, still not afraid A black sheep, a darkened spade That's just life, I'm not right I'm in the wrong, follow along Like a piper, I'll pitch a song Mesmerized, the weak wills sing I thought he told you, he's still our king.


Details | Verse | |

A Tortured Spirit

A tortured spirit, earth bound wreaths in agony,
trapped within human body, desperate for freedom.
To be able to escape and hide from other's sight,
to escape the whispers that cut like knives.

Always chained, seeing nothing from balanced point of view.
Reading friendly gestures as threats, wanting love and yet,
unable to give back due to fear and lack of trust.
Forever tied by the silken threads of bi-polar.

Looking always with suspicion on friendly gestures
searching them for hidden agenda or betrayals.
Often over loving, smothering the participant
only to suddenly withdraw and push them away.

Talking to one's self often just privately ranting
blaming all but one's self caught up in madness.
Few things seem to relieve this sense of persecution
and so this tortured soul fights on forever trapped.



Details | Free verse | |

Deaf and Gone

I am whatever you say I am...
but, let's get back to reality...

       Three short years ago, this room shined welcome mats across a screen of doldrums.
A place of unfamiliarity that screamed, 
"You don't belong!"
Yet, a voice of reason spoke and said,
"Expand yir' roots. Venture beyond the comfort zone. Academia resides inside that room, but know you won't be alone."
Repeatedly,brainwaves declined what my wife and editor had told me.
I'd say,
"no way, I'm givin' up my soul for free, they read, they pay, like it's always been, the way it's going to always be!"
Unbeknownst to me one day, and with a slight of hand, my "Open Sores" were put on display and surprisingly more than a handful of great ladies and nice guys began to give feedback on what I had devised. 
This interaction was something very new, helpful, and impressive. For a change, it was something real.
For years, those around me were quick to give praise with hidden reasons. Constructive criticism is amazing, and I welcomed being corrected or set straight.
Now there are those who choose to shut me down without explanation, and call me names.
DO NOT mistake me for sophomoric! These words bleeding from my guts have no style and need no approval. There is no thinking involved here, no plan. If you don't like it, fine...don't censor or bracket me in. So what if I am illiterate?  If you don't like "street poetry" or the pathetic stuff I write, don't read it. If I offend you, tell me.
We should welcome those who are different than us. 
Words of truth inspire movement, like fire.
I came to this room to expand my horizons, step outside the box, learn, help, grow. 
There will be no apologies dealt for being different, or for being labelled as something uncomfortable to you. 
This has been an ok room so far, but there is some clique trickanery going on.
If the dictionary must come into play, let me recommend looking up the term "Poetic License."
True, I may not be the writer you prefer, or aspire to be....but tread carefully my friend, for you have no idea of my profession. I've made a fine living, for a good long time, spewing words onto paper. I came from nothing, and may still be nothing to you...still, I do what I love, have no boss.
I am not an aspiring writer who dreams of a life, I live my dream. In conclusion, I must wish you luck in finding what you peddle poetry for. Until then, keep 


Details | Rhyme | |

Today the Darkness Comes

Today the darkness comes.
Music is subdued and low --
measured beats -- an ebb and flow
of oboes and of drums
to pace the sluggish feet.
I do not choose to meet,
this day of blacks and grays,
the collared priest who prays
but, ultimately, betrays
the cant that fills his days
with repetitious words.
I view the streaming hordes
descending from the church
steps, watch them as they lurch
about -- in apparent disregard
for any ordered exit from
the sepulchre, dank and dim.
They met to worship Him --
but I -- I try so hard
to suspend my disbelief --
to find, in faith, relief.
Yet, still, the darkness comes.


Details | Rhyme | |

Forgotten Memories

Forgotten Memories

seconds, minutes, hours and days
these pass to most in uneventful ways
s'o's' is a common phrase
yet to some times pass in torment and haze

a sound, a smell, a sight we glean
can nudge the mind to places more mean
places and times long ago pushed away
visit the mind with a will to stay

we know it is troubling and a not wanted visit
but the taste is bitter or sweet, which is it
some say be strong and pass it away
once the claws are set they want to stay

deep in the mind the battle is fierce
your heart, your soul, the claws will pierce
seconds are minutes, minutes are hours
hours are days as life darkens and sours
                         
not battles rage or depth of sea
no limits set for him or me
for circumstances vary of tragedy and pain
no one can limit  loss and gain
                                  
we must reach inside and pull ourselves free
not to live as him but to live as me


Robert Gene Stoner Jr  ©
10/30/14



Details | Free verse | |

Tension Waiting

The swordsman who draws his blade
Heart racing at the keening of steel on scabbard 
Tension coiled, poised for the unleashing
Held back by muscles tight with glee.

I am as the soldier, held in stance,
The lioness crouched beneath the concealing grass
As it sways back and forth, as insects sing along the day
Her every breath is halted, her veins do not pulse,
And just as the swordsman stands
They are statues in this moment,
Statues of derision,
Mocking, with their stillness, the very charged tension within.

And I am as the lioness frozen before her pounce
Coiled with motivation and purpose,
And I am as the tongue held with words clinging off its’ edge
Ready to lash out and strike with direction
But I am as the frozen purpose, held tight
Waiting, for a warrior to stand before me
For a reason to uncoil, to lash out with words and pounce.

But I am now as the pen halting before the purest of paper
White and supple, in askance for the lightest touch
A slash of the tip, drawing lines in ink
Lines like a hunter’s bowstring, taut with intent,

As the pen lies frozen above its prey, the falcon petrified aloft still winds
I am the need coiled tight like a wound jack in the box
But alas, there is no victim to frighten,
No pray to pounce upon, no sword or bared neck to slash against
And I am here, with pen frozen, ink ready to be drawn taut
And I have nothing to draw in the ink, no prey or purpose to evoke
I am coiled tight with energy, but it is release that so eludes me,
I am coiled tight with purpose, but it is direction that so denies me.

And here I am, pouncing at ground before me, 
Slicing away at the air around me
Scratching away with a dry pen, on paper still white in askance
I write about…
I write about the coil within, and the lack without
And alone I wonder,
Is it enough, is it enough to go on, a wound up box
Waiting for the slightest touch, the weakest parry, to live.


Details | Free verse | |

Pay Attention

Pay attention
~~~~~~~~~~
Just when she thinks the coast is clear
In walks the ghost with a smile and a can of beer
“Come over here - let me tell you a story”
“Sit on my lap - you don’t have to worry”
“Do as I say and it won’t be gory”
 
Pay attention
~~~~~~~~~~
As the ghost tells his bed time story
Strokes her hair and tells her not to worry
Listening to this ghost and his horrific sounds
Her body is stiff, her heart pounds 
She tries not to cry as his pants begin to round

Pay attention
~~~~~~~~~~
“You know I love you” the story begins
“Don’t tell mommy” the story ends
Back in bed alone in the dark
The ghost and his beer have left their mark
An innocent “bedtime story” is how it all starts

Lay

**Submitted to Crystal Wilkins Childhood Memories Contest
*Won 2nd place