Long poem by
cassie hellberg | Details |
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Long poem by
Cyndi MacMillan | Details |
It is a terrible thing
To be so open: it is as if my heart
Put on a face and walked into the world.
Sylvia Plath, Three Women, 1962
Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque,
an incongruity, a clever imbalance
that spins collections her hounds facilitate.
Failures and fractures she bravely lanced
with noncompliance. Reader, rebuff collars
labeled as forewords, smug introductions,
for Plath’s voice is tenfold more a scholar
than those receiving undue benedictions.
Lofty beggars seek to bookend her words
and that empty space she instinctively refills
with her universe, a mayhem that girds,
unapologetic. Mirror images spill
over margins, searching for identity,
negating preamble, snubbing apathy.
Negating preamble, snubbing apathy
with language that flickers, catches, combusts,
her volumes of wicks, her lit soliloquies,
glint behind the stained-glass of trust.
There are those who are not really here,
they wander fault lines then crisscross chasms,
lost pilgrims who easily commandeer
unwary emotions. Some hearts just spasm,
pulled by their own nature, their delicacy,
for poetry is a weakness; poets die
between verses. Odes can become elegies.
The thin-skinned hear a snared rabbit cry,
and pray for the moonflower, always closing,
while cursing that page, unmoved and dozing.
While cursing that page, unmoved and dozing,
she corners rigid guides, keeps fingers poised,
synchronicity goes, the flow of typing
disappears, mislaid, that perfect noise
of a carriage return, a sound exclamation.
Joy is inspiration making its way home,
her Olivetti forages like a raven,
gifting found nouns, verbs that glare like chrome,
but love still flits, turns from hoarse requests,
and she longs for more than any man can give
for what snags worn ribbons will not rest,
it emits a strong beat, throbs as it loves.
Bless the bitter of life, all wisdom owing,
curse the open heart, its shadows showing.
Curse the open heart, its shadows showing,
for worldly delights take full advantage
of the wounded, their brokenness growing.
Everyday beauty wrings arteries, dredges
chambers with barbs, a prompt disobedient.
Fact, there’s no folder large enough to hold
elation’s girth, no ink conveniently
on hand to black out depression. So, scold
the yew, its roots and branches reaching,
then poke at petals for being complacent,
when all the while a candle is preaching
of give and take, surrender, luminance,
So, carefully archive apprehension,
revealing blue veins to tender lesions.
Revealing blue veins to tender lesions
requires much more than a room of one's own,
hours do dissolve, days lack cohesion
when milk sours and tantrums are thrown.
Solitude is in short supply, loneliness,
however, is overstocked; her mind tugs
at busy hands for attention, such darkness
contrasts to jammy smiles and sleepy hugs.
Elusive titles whimper each morning,
and short stanzas steep, so desperately,
all the while a manuscript is scorning
her swipes at dry crumbs, cold pots of tea.
A life sheds its months, gallows take delight
as sundials atrophy in the arms of night.
As sundials atrophy in the arms of night.
the moon blanches tidepools, suckles sand,
even the face of the clock is pulled too tight
and the new calendar can not understand
that writing is sex, is fresh bread, is air,
that time is a brute, quick fisted, rough,
that weeks come and go without a care
that a marriage vow is never enough
to mend adoration, repossess bliss.
Words make better lovers, rarely stray,
upon her lips, the impression of a kiss
feels as cold as sheets then melts away.
Paper sops afterbirth, accepts her all:
fossil and seed, shackles and free falls.
Fossil and seed, shackles and free falls,
unlocking visions, defying any cage,
art resists validity, upsets stone walls
to scale the scarlet heights of a rampage,
to breach the barricades to euphoria.
She excavates id, bares teeth at ego,
plays the parts of illusion and phobia
then infuses rhyme with soft indigo.
Colossus begins to shrivel as Ariel
unmans him, riding hard upon metaphors,
and will remain strong, constant, ethereal.
but curtailed are epics that still implore
like the cusp of dream long after you wake
Sylvia, ever lucent, ever opaque.
* For Craig Cornish, whose contest inspired this piece. Thank you, Daddy-O.
About this poem
This is my first crown of sonnets. It took over 25 hours to write, a full week of me-time!
These are modern sonnets and the syllable count is extremely loose, intentionally, as it would seem odd to keep things too tight when writing of Sylvia. If anything, I regret not being even looser, altering syllable counts DRAMATICALLY. Also, I used a great deal of slant rhyme for the same reason.
I really wanted to capture Sylvia Plath with this poem, and it was a real struggle. Her language is so precise, and I wanted to do her justice. I had wanted to feel, upon its completion, that Sylvia would have said, "Well, it isn't quite horrible. Not bad for a novice. And there are parts of me there, but only the smallest bits." I do not feel I did this. I feel like I didn't even TOUCH her mastery of language. But, it is good enough for now.. one day, who knows?
Oh, Sylvia's typewriter was a Olivetti Lettera 22. It was portable!
Long poem by
Brian Johnston | Details |
- - - Chapter 1: Early Days - - -
My father was a rich man, la, *
Though schooled in poverty, (1)
As such he seldom raised his head,
The center of the ‘Dust Bowl' years,
Just thirty miles from home.
And children, seniors died from this
(Their lungs were clogged with loam) .
A huge tornado struck Woodward, (2)
Destroying our downtown,
It, cut a swath near one mile wide,
Dad fought back, doubled down.(3)
When storm had cleared, sky was fire red,
Dad put me in the car,
But roads were blocked in just three blocks,
The world become bizarre!
Barbed wire that penetrated trees,
Homes cracked like eggs insides,
Our home had grass blades drove like nails,
Into its wooden sides.
The biggest storm in history,
My dad was gone for days,
Storm victims sleeping on our floor,
The whole town in a daze.
Dad's rebuilt store, nicest in town,
Our home ‘across the track, '(4)
Attended too the poorest school,
But did not suffer lack.
Appearance was Dad's calling card,
No pretense there to see,
For ‘living too high on the hog, '(5)
Caused bankers misery.
The school board melted to Mom's charm,
(Or to her tongue of fire) ,
For with Dad's stature in the town,
Few dared to risk her ire!
Good teachers forced to leave rich schools,
Complained it wasn't fair,
Till they encountered Sis and I,
And found that they could care.
That was my mother's legacy,
And ‘ART' (6) the air she breathed,
Though slight she strongly stood her ground,
Our future she bequeathed.
We did not know the difference,
Just sometimes things were tough,
Our clothing did set us apart,
We always had enough.
There were some very poor kids there,
The same clothes thru the week,
Impoverished not just in clothes,
But that which all men seek.
I had a bike to ride around,
Of course it was a Schwinn,
And almost always home for lunch,
For Mom thought we were thin,
With two desserts at every meal,
(And Mom was quite a cook.)
But if you didn't clean your plate,
From Dad you got a look,
The waste of food a mortal sin,
A thump upon the ‘bean, '(7)
Made every meal traumatic fare,
And tears a daily scene.
My guess is Dad got worse than me,
Depression's (8) oldest child,
I mourn the innocence he lost,
That made his wrath seem mild.
Our parent's roles were well defined,
My dad brought home the bread,
My mom the joy of hearth and home,
Dad's entrance met with dread.
My dad did most the punishments,
But whippings weren't enough,
We even weren't allowed to cry,
To show we had the stuff!
Small wonder romance frightened me,
(So sure I'd be like him) ,
To challenge violence I feared,
Chose music over gym.
An auto-biographical look at family life impacted by both the American Great
Depression and the Dust Bowl years (1930-1950) in the Mid-West, divided into
This is a work of love and homage to the courageous and desperate people who
survived both. I hope that you enjoy it. New Chapters will be released as I complete
* When I was in the American Peace Corps in Tanzania, East Africa we had a group of
7 surveying assistants that were always with us in the first year and that we became
very close to. Their conversation was always sprinkled with 'la' and I thought it was
kind of cute. Like they might say to me, 'Why don't we stop in this village for some
food, la.' They used this word kind of like I use the word ‘OK' in casual conversation.
'You've got food in your teeth, la.' I really enjoyed this idiosyncratic affectation.
(1) ‘poverty' - born in 1911, my father was just 19 years old when ‘The Great
Depression' hit the US economy. The Dust Bowl began shortly after.
(2) Woodward, Oklahoma - the town that I grew up in.
(3) ‘doubled down' - after Dad's business was destroyed completely by the tornado,
he doubled his efforts to be successful in Woodward, borrowing heavily from the
local banks to do so.
(4) 'across the track' or 'wrong side of the tracks' referred to the part of town where
poor people lived, frequently, but not always, meaning 'colored people' as well. In some
towns no 'colored people' were allowed to live in the more prosperous 'white only'
area. Some towns (like Woodward) had no Negros at all. I take that back. One black
male did have a job shining shoes in the local 'Baker Hotel' but I think his home was
in the country somewhere (He did not live in town).
(5) 'living too high on the hog' - an idiom referring to people who have to have the
most expensive things in life and buy them frequently on credit even though they
can't really afford them.
(6) ‘ART' - My mother was a gifted painter and wood carver, but even meals she
prepared were done artistically. Art was always spelled with capital letters in her life!
(7) ‘thump on the bean' - to hit the offending child hard on the head with the
knuckles of your closed fist.
(8) 'Depression' - Hard times, not mental issues. (Actually works both ways though
I guess!) Born the oldest of 3 brothers and one sister, my dad's father worked him
hard and used a leather shaving strap to whip his boys when he was upset with them
about anything. Grand Dad Johnston made my father seem like Florence Nightingale.
I believe that he beat his wife as well (just a guess) .
Long poem by
J. W. M. Earnings | Details |
He lifts me up on cloud nine
I’m a lost sheep in godly sleep
He nurtures me like His child – I’m feelin’ fine
I’m a joyful sheep in godly sleep
Dead leaves of dried hope and fervor-lacking faith blew away with the wistful wind – this depression…no one can comprehend or they might reduce to tears…you might break or bend, so let me replace your fears with unsullied, heaven-made hopes and fill your cup to the brim with perpetual cheers
I have left this withering tree because my mind rehearsed double doubts
Voices in my head howled heartrendingly: “They haven’t left the time to mend me, so I’m waiting for my end…I’ve lived a happy life and now I got to face my demise that I’ve tried to avoid for one hundred and fifty y-years”
I have been pinned to the spot; I can’t get over the fact that she left me to rot…I’m choosing to walk countless routes
I was once a lost sheep
But, now I’m enjoying my godly sleep
I’m skipping to and fro
In God’s green pastures…I lie…
I sing …I grow…I wander off…I fly…
I float…in God’s still waters –
His PEACE will never die!
I grieved for you as I watched you slit your wrists in crimson regret - painted red with shameful lusts and remorse...and I cried...cried...cried...knowing that you lost your faith in the Most High – I’m bewildered beyond logic and belief…
I’m dying for His relief to drown away my disdainful disbelief…my lavishing grief…
Don’t be shy – call upon Him for help and support and I wish you the best in all you do and I wish you go through more good times to uplift you above the surface; let me hearten you with optimistic spirits and be crowned with splendid anticipation; but, I must be responsible and mild
For your loving heart and consideration are slowly fading and dying
Sick of pretending that I have the ability to keep on flying, but I must keep on trying to earn back my wonderful sensation that I’ve cherished as I wild child
You’re killing me softly…with thrilling possibilities in mind – I don’t wanna be left behind…I miss you and there’s no one else your kind
Possibly, there’s an open door of opportunity to open up the eyes of the blind
Save me if you’d be so kind
Believe in me…don’t desert me, but instead – f-find me
Reflect on me…don’t lose grip of the rope of hope or lose touch of the ecstasy that’s next to sea
You inflicted pain upon me and it truly hurts me to the core – your disloyalty is the only thing I receive from a so-called healer
I was once a lost sheep
Mourning night after night…
I used to forlorn day after day
I’m alarmed and I’m yearning for Your light
Your might…Your delight
To get through my plight…to fight the good fight
I used to weep bitterly in dismay
You smoked me out like a cigarette…and I’m left on the street grounds like a cigarette butt – The moment you picked me up and I said yes for your sake, I submitted to the pleasure that it would give you and I, then I regret it and I became so upset
From your corrupting ways, I felt I had taken part of it and I hastily decided to fret
And now, I beat myself up for it...my mind is sky high with doubt and my body feels like a drought...dry with a lack of empathy and indulged in loathe and envy...I-I am upset
I was determined to win 1st place in this race of honor. I know that there are so much gold nuggets to find below the dirt of Mother Nature. It’s time to unwind.
I was drunk off of your confidence, but I don’t know how to do without your motivation near my side – I don’t mind you pushing me towards my goal as long as I get out of my comfort zone. But, I couldn’t run fast enough and I submitted to my failure…I fell to the ground in disgrace and my heart ceased from beating…I’m in appall right now and I bet
I need to pass this test – I should’ve tried my best, despite you leaving me behind as usual. Tell me this, sweetheart – I ever cross your mind?
Don’t stab my back with lies, but shed me the truth, so that we will be free from misery’s chambers. I found it hard to believe that I was on my own all along, but not alone; God is my backbone, supporting me along the way – I ignored the call of negativity and I picked up on positivity – it treated me alright and portrayed life in another magnificent light; it even traced me a smile of satisfaction for a while – I thought her awfully kind to do such a thing. I am Forever Confounded and Ambushed in your Lies’ Debt
It seemed as if no one could befriend a monster like me and I couldn’t help, but pray
That all hope, faith, and love would not perished from my sundrenched sight
It seemed like the end when I went through the dilemmas in my life – I remember being bewildered and going astray
I am overwhelmed by the cost of losing you again…I searched all over for you day and night
Don't leave me to die...don’t stomp all over me like your doormat
I am not your pet...and there’s a reason why I said that
I won't take your orders
We're not crossing borders
Can you feel me when I cry bittersweet tears of sentiments? Do you even care to see the liquid lament, streaming down my universe, aquatic eyes? Can you release my tension like breaking open boulders?
You left me without any comforting shoulders…your words injure me – frankly, it tortures…
Nor does it nurture me with heavens’ light, but it makes me kiss the abyss of hazardous hells
On this perilous voyage, your hand you never did lend
Now, I’m spiraling into the black hole of vibrantless farewells
Long poem by
nick goth | Details |
Clock Watching Agency Idiots
Numerous times I have joined a work placement agency to do a mind numbing brain dead moron work, been on the poverty line. Hard up, broke. Take your documents in, sign on the dotted line and you belong to us right now. Send me to a crap place with crap people for crap money for a crap agency. Staff UK sent me to Constellation Luggage in a run down Victorian cotton mill, £3.60 per hour. Sorting out suitcases busting your balls emptying cargo containers, stacked floor to ceiling, from Red China. Up to three separate places on as many days when I worked a week. If the idiots have not paid me the week later, where was I at? At Fashion Logistics sorting out clothes; you can’t even take a crap without the idiots interrogating you. Don’t like it there? Walk home down the motorway from Castleton to Oldham, be picked up by the Old Bill. Taxi!
To Rescource agency, to be placed at Bernstein plc, Middleton. Now shut. A real flat pack craphole! C’mon you idiots! First the bits flat into the boxes, have to beat the record! Xxx many thousands, beat the other line! You lad, who me? Yes, you! You haven't put the piece in flat, we had to stop the line. Frig you, I don’t give a frick, I’m only here coz they won’t give me my dole. I left another crap job - Park Cakes mental asylum. I eye up all the birds all day and listen to the radio, c’mon 4pm! Agency idiots at Rescource agency even charge me £3 a day for the privilege of going to their crap job. The boss is okay, short skirt and bare legs, I’d dance close to her. Late night drinks in Manchester for this Yorkshire bint. I waited one and half hours once to be picked up, at 5.30pm - guess who drove thru the gates to the small pond/nature reserve in her Pug206? Kerry to meet her fuck, didn’t give a hell about me. Then my lift came, idiot, no doubt as your lover ravished you, Bernstein plc style.
After that crap I went on the dole for nearly a year, 2001. My, it was a sweet time paid for doing frick all but my book “Juniper’s Daughter”. I did other agency work, same old shit but cash went up slightly. Real crapholes like Shiloh by Primetime Placement agency, Primetime hicks. The gelled up prick in a shirt who drove a new Golf said to me: “We have a cushy (crap) job, we can’t seem to fill it. Not sure why?”(You should try this, you idiot). I lasted two weeks, I wonder why? Packing nappies for Welsh pensioners! Guess what? I packed all the wrong ones on purpose, how funny is that? I worked with a professional Bangladeshi gang member who was going straight, after killing a man in a car crash, a psycotic metal head and a burned out 30-year-old ex-rocker. My boss was a cow, he told me off for swearing on my first morning, the idiot. Guess what I did? Went on the dole again and stayed there three long poverty stricken lazy years doing my poems in my mouldy council flat.
Did a bit more agency work with Esprit agency at DTS—that was okay. I loved working with the girls, some hot ones there! I used to dream about them when I got home.
Other agency work I did was crap in more ways than one, moving crap for Epping council at Cory Enviromental with New Wave agency, Aug and Sep06. Finished that, onto the dole again, not in smelly Oldham but in posh Essex! How I’ve moved up in the world. Was on it six months. What will I do next? More crap agency work? I’m registered with Blue Arrow, Triangle, Adecco and one I forget. Not got a single day’s work, what does that say? All crap! Run by southerners.
I won’t mention my temp to perm crap jobs that weren’t agency but here’s a taster – Littlewoods, Glyn Webb, Dunelm and Adomast come on down! I nearly forget, one agency put me down as a fork lift truck driver at a craphole hire and fire ’em place called Metool. Yet I was told I would be a van driver’s mate and then a lorry driver, not flt. What the frick’s going on? I walked out halfway thru my 3rd day. The dole is calling…all crap!
As the years pass, so do the shit agencies in-between free government cash. After I moved back north I was on the dole for three and a half years. I finally got a job back in the biggest craphole in Oldham - Park Cake Bakery! Run by two agencies, both crap: Gi Group and Alpha. Had an interview with Alpha. Idiot who ran it liked a certain team; I don't. No job. Then Gi Group and I was putting cherries on cakes again. For 11 months I did it before I did my grand walk out and left the dump.
After that I did some agency courses. Castleview were pleasant Gerordie lasses. Did the course. The promised job interview never turned up. A letdown. Twit! Number 2 agency course was ok. I had the interview but never got the job. Why? Screwing the system. Before I emigrated, I registered with Blue Arrow and did five weeks at Littlewoods, Shaw. Four weeks training to get up to speed, a weeks work including New Year's Day and then laid off! Nobbers! No more agency idiots messing me about doing muppet work.
I've emigrated out of craphole!
Long poem by
J. W. M. Earnings | Details |
I grieve for your safety, sis, and I pray for you almost every day –
Depression does leave a big impact on us in a negative way
But I think you think I’m crazy…tell me if I am…
My heart’s devouring curiosity, pain and sham
And still – there’s questions left unanswered…
I feel awkward…I feel unheard like a loner at school, hovering around, yet
Staring at a blank screen before me…hurting my eyes a bit to a certain degree
I see that I have a long way to go with my writing process
I see my past unwind – set me free…the time will never leave me be
I’m living in a fairy tale, never truly bowing down to true success
Let me be…let me flutte like a butterfly out of its cocoon
Let me be who I want to be…let me shine bright like the moon
I’m glistening in the moonlight – I love you more than before
I wish the night away…hoping for some sunshine
I’ll stay with you till the day I pass away
We’ll fight this depression wars…if only you were mine
We’ll go through remorse and romance
Together…forever…we’ll dance in a serenity-indulged trance
Do you hear the wind, whispering their “goodbyes”?
Clear skies beam upon me for a little while at last!
Nothin’ but joyous skies feels therapeutic to my eyesight…
Forgetting the dilemmas that I’ve encountered and the horrid past
Clear baby blue skies hang above our heads in polished delight
Can you see right through me?
Will you ever see me in this reality?
You are bothering me, DEPRESSION!?
All I see is dismal clouds passing me by, accepting derision as a friend instead
of a foe
Should I just move on with life? Why do I feel the urge to cry?
I stab myself with frustration and hurt badly – I feel guilty for your crimes and
your sympathy will never show…let the wicked wind blow!
It pierces like an arrow that flies by night, hitting bull’s eye
Regret shouldn’t get the best of me
Why should I have an unwanted guess by the name of Anxiety?
I’m alone at last…but the future is left unknown
And, yet I don’t groan and God’s my backbone –
I accept the truth of it all…
These scars won’t heal at all,
Can’t help but be in the helpless frame of mind and the shattered state
The stars dim when city lights illuminate the ebony skies, revealing the
cemented ink painted in the atmosphere, unwavering without a smear of fear
Hold on to the bars before you – hold on to me, my love – I can’t help, but
hesitate – I keep thinking of my future, fretful fate
Please wait for me till the dawn scorches aflame like the planet Mars, but until
then – turn the wheel! Turn the wheel!
Hold on to the rope of hope – it won’t harm us, my dove! I can’t escape my
ruins, but I can change for the better and pick all the pieces up and sweep
away the debris - all we are is dust on the ground, rising like the horizon of
the sunset…stimulating our eyes with undying appeal
From where the sun now stands,
I’ve been succumbing to tragedy and preparing for the battle that lies ahead
How I wish upon Tomorrow to see you smile and lock hands
With me…with me…and go ahead of me – put your doubts and worries to bed!
Borrow happiness from me instead! You don’t have to return it back –
If it’s something you lack…come on and open up a crack!
Your hands as cold as ice in Antarctica…it’s frostbitten and I freeze to the bone
You’re concealing this warmhearted soul within you…do you want to be left
But, I won’t leave you without a trace, hiking this mountain on your own!
I know it’s dying to come out without a doubt like the dawn,
Shyly pushing away nightfall by projecting the sun in the sorrow-whelmed
Giving us sunlit glee…converting into flourishing ecstasy – God has my back!
Put your heart at ease and make Depression your slave –
Desert it forever and pick a different route to tread on…self-control keeps me
Oh! Perhaps, you were naturally made for me, but I must behave
I’ve had harder days than you – I’ve been through so much worse
Are you a refined, splendid gift or are you just another wretched curse?
You restored peace to my verse, angel of ambitious bliss, spreading about
good news with glorious grace!
(I can see your halo, spinning around and round and round your head like
Though I was tattered and torn by remorseful spirits, you were my childlike
You and I dismiss the blues and we figure out the mystery’s many clues,
placing our feet in other people’s shoes with empathy traced on our face!
I put my daily worries and distrust to sleep… I can see you weep…
The laments hits us too deep…I’m out of luck…all I thought I was was a loving
But, I was enchanted by the mirror and what it reflected with jubilation that’s
as shiny as a silver, noble sword –
A new spirit, radiant with compassionate, elegant elation …my heart beats in
Long poem by
Amrapali Tendolkar | Details |
The Earth dry and bare; waiting eagerly for the drops of care;
Caught in the hot, steaming summer’s snare;
The flowers and creepers decorating window sills; all look desolate and ill;
As the nature withers away in the sun’s merciless glare.
The men and the wives; the kids and the wild;
All are enduring the summer’s waterless exile;
They are waiting for the rain; to relieve them of the heat pain;
And of that life which has become a sweaty turmoil.
The wind strong and gusty; makes the roads yellow and dusty;
And the air around becomes suffocating and musty;
The birds forget to sing; their lilting, musical thing;
Even as the tree leaves wristle and make noise so husky.
Then come the Monsoon showers; falling first on boughs and flowers;
Making the trees and plants glisten and glower;
So the monsoon comes in grace; driving away summer’s trace;
Lashing at window-panes with its all-reigning power.
As the monsoon drives away the summer heat; with its raining rhythm off-beat;
And the flower buds open up to return it’s greet;
And as the water seeps in soil; a refreshing fragrance arise;
While the rain continuous to cool down hot gardens and streets.
The Earth grows green; and water droplets gleam;
On the smooth, waxy surfaces of the leaves;
Everywhere the flowers grow; in pink, red, white or yellow;
While buds make their way blushingly between tendrils.
The wet and soft soil; now grows fertile;
And tender green plantlets push through the Earth in style;
Through soil the tiny saplings peep; as their sown seeds begin to reap;
And the plants and crops shake off the Earth’s temporary curse sterile.
As the raindrops go pitter-patter; water in puddles begins to gather;
And the little birds begin to chirp, twitter and chatter;
The insects begin to hum along; their irritating and happy song;
While due to rain and wind the roofs on houses begin to chatter.
As the showers for some moments cease; after giving Earth life’s new lease;
And the pitter-patter of rain is gently appeased;
The sun coyly shines; a cloud it half hides behind;
While the fluffy clouds move along with the cool breeze.
The fields now green and bright; are an artist’s sheer delight;
Pleasing to the senses of smell and sight;
The fresh air so sweet to breathe; that with pleasure the body writhes;
In the newly born rainy sunlight.
But this sunlight so quickly goes; as thunderstorms blow to and fro;
And Earth engulfs in darkness that now grows;
The wind rises and howls; with a voice that trembles all souls;
And day and night this gale roars.
The trees in fear tremble and shake; as leaves, twigs and branches break;
And the life of these trees is put up at stake;
Birds in nests cower with fright; and due to cold shiver with all their might;
And live in fearful anticipation of what else the storm may rake.
The monsoon now shows its ugly face; gone are its days of grace;
Rainy calamities take its place;
Cyclones and floods destruct worldwide; the raging sea throws up its tide;
“Nature reigns supreme”, we are forced to say.
Same is the life of man; may he do what he can;
But destiny will always play a hand;
What all will man control? So he should let destiny play its role;
And enjoy life and act as the situation will demand.
Somedays will shine the sun; those days life will be fun;
And work will be successful how much ever it’s done;
Somedays by the fun you will tire; and will long to get back into the attire;
Of normal life, however boring or glum.
Sometimes hope will come out; like a tiny plant sprouts;
And will remove from your mind every shade of doubt;
It will be a bright, hopeful ray; but for long it may not stay;
So we must make most of it when hope sprouts.
Just as the shower of joy; after summer comes out shy;
So shower of success will come when you have almost given up the try;
It will wash away your helpless sigh; and will give you a new will to try;
Which will help you succeed by-and-by.
Just as the sun goes behind the cloud; when thunder is heard aloud;
And darkness suddenly falls on Earth all around;
So also failure will touch you once; its upto you to prevent its repeated occurrence;
Or due to failure remain depression bound.
Sometimes through demotivation you will go; sometimes loads of success you'll know;
For we need all types of experience to make us grow;
Like some days it is wet; some days the sun for long doesn’t set;
But then it needs both the rain and the sun to make a RAINBOW…
Long poem by
J. W. M. Earnings | Details |
You’re like a backpack, jam-packed with memories of High School’s fun times and hard times…I know I had weaknesses back then; in addition, I had strengths that I still lack
You carry everyone’s weight including my own…you crumbled into sand and I am a stone – a waste of space and I am used to jump rivers to rivers; I wish I can have no record of wasted time, but I have to forget about it and forgive myself for downfalls
You’re like a sponge – soaking in our stress and I was that one magazine, frozen with abandonment on the magazine rack
I’m a distraction to you – you’re wasting valuable time…but don’t hesitate; come on, now – I know how it feels to feel alone, wandering around, never earning any cheerful calls
I’m writing words of self-centered feelings – logic and reason doesn’t exist in the misty midst of my frame of mind…
But these feelings aren’t as bad as committing an awful, pricey crime – I’m through with feeling guilty for crimes I’ve never committed in my life
These feelings come and go – I just had to confess
I didn’t mean to delete your progress…but, this time – I’ll make it up to you by polishing you with extra grand bliss, not another stress layer; sorry, but there’s some issues to distress
Once again, like a hurricane, you blow into my mind
Which was once filled with happy thoughts so kind
Deliver me up from drowning in the river below me…
You say you love me;
You never showed your true colors to me
I look at you suspiciously
But you ran me over with your hate
Misery…I want to change for the better of things
Blessings never fade away…away…
In my mind’s eye…I see you sway
Today, I’m alone and awake
At the break…break…break…
Of dawn…suddenly, the sweet sentiments of blissful merriness are gone
I’ll be gone…I’ll be fading to gray
I’m disappearing this sun-drenched day
You are like no other . . . the Father sends you XOXO’s
You’re like a mat – you’re constantly stepped on…with rejections and woes
I’m like YOUR unwanted tool –
I screwed up your progress and acted like a fool
Right in front of you and I Pushed your Buttons at the wrong time; you proved me wrong
‘Cause I accused you of being the guilty one, but you backed it up with proof that you were the victim all along…
Fine, I admit it – I’m the criminal by your side…
You’re drifting away, under the spell of your petrifying pleasure that disguises itself as a cure
You pushed me aside…and I felt under pressure beyond measure…you are cursed by the devil in the messed-up mirror
I closed my eyes…it’s too late – I’m corrupted and enchanted by your side
I rolled into the death cart
I realize that you’re the one I prize…I’m innocent in the eyes of many...I’ve cried
I’ve cried. I’ve cried. I’ve cried.
A river..a river……..a R.I.V.E.R.
Deliver me from bondage & my future’s a mightyyy blur
I guess deep down inside, I always knew you would (you abandoned me honestly)
Still it hurts that you left without anything good (you left me with nothing heartlessly…)
YOU finally took heart
Once upon a splendid time, my young heart broke apart
I kissed the abyss of hopelessness
I need a piece of peace right now...and maybe a fraction of your satisfaction...
R I V E R bliss...
Drowns me with ecstasy's demise
I need someone or something to save me from the endlessness of my distress
You were the gold I truly, sincerely prize
You are to my heart-and-anxiety-filled mind a wonderful blessed surprise.
You make my long lost and forgotten heart and love rise
I bleed...the stains are left on my window pane...you were my living sacrifice
Don't seek me, I'm not wise...you tore me down with oblivion and negativity…the knives in your eyes pierced me...with never-ending dread
Stabbing my heart of hope with your hurtful lies of abominable hatred…we were higher than the clouds overhead…I can’t put these racing thoughts to bed
I'll rise like a skyscraper...I won't be weighed down by gravity...
Oh no, not anymore – you won’t take away the precious tune of my heart’s melody
To say to me, carelessly, for what we were…our future was a mighty blur
Y-you left me like worthless trash – you didn't really care, I'm sure…
I’m sure there’s other fish in the sea…but, I will endure with life and try to find another cure
We were 1…whatever happened to that?
Who release the rat? Was that you, cat?
We are 2…what’s wrong with you?
Why did you lose your other shoe?
There it goes again…. ………
With those worthless excuses in your brain
Face the consequences like a wo-man & hop into the tranquility train
Refrain from driving me insane
Or I’ll drive another mysterious lane
I slammed the abominable door shut…I still remain sore – you should of not of uttered those words…now, I shed the many tears of sorrow and pain…is there any hope in store?
Long poem by
Terry O'Leary | Details |
The Tale below was carved one night,
Upon the Stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might
Well James made Beth his lovely bride
(And angels smiled, though teary eyed)
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied
Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
As bright as blood, a ruby Stone
...and brighter still, as love had grown
.........and brighter still, as love had grown
Soon James was sent to man a sail
So Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were bright, her face was pale
.........her eyes were bright, her face was pale
“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
Said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn
. BETH’S TALE
1. The Dream
One night, within a dream deformed,
The cawing of a Crow informed
“...a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
.........a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed
The Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
Your James... denied by Davy Jones!
His spirit gone, his flesh and bones
...are resting now amongst the Stones
.........are resting now amongst the Stones”
2. The Quest
Awoken by the ebon Wight
And beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light
Throughout the realm I rode a roan
Until, in time, I reached the Stone
...where shades and dreams in darkness groan
.........where shades and dreams in darkness groan
While skipping up and down the sky
A missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a Swallow cry
.........enough to make a Swallow cry
For someone stole a star or two
And something else that fate withdrew –
...my jewel of joy, my James Bijou
.........my jewel of joy, my James Bijou
The shadows of the evening swelled
Where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled
The Stone, beneath the sky, stood cold –
Between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
A Raven on a branch, enthroned,
Her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
I lay beside the Stone, his bride
I lay beside the Stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died
The rainbow of the moon fell dim
A midnight Swan soon ceased to swim
...as if to hide all hint of him
.........as if to hide all hint of him
Between the willows in the swale
There sang a Bird, a Nightingale
...which left me faint and feeling frail
.........which left me faint and feeling frail
I felt him breathe within a breeze
Responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees
“I miss you too, my darling Beth”
Re-echoed from the Ship of Death
...the future buried in a breath
.........the future buried in a breath
The Stone lit up a ruby sheen
And clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen
Above, the wretched Raven soared
To where the Ship of Death lay moored
...beneath, the icy ocean roared
.........beneath, the icy ocean roared
I’m joined with James beneath the Stone,
Though to the Ship my spirit’s flown,
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone
That night the wayward winds were weird
The Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared
At dusk, the craven shadows crawled
At dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the Stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the Stone two names were scrawled
The Raven sits, with wings outspread,
Atop the Stone which shades the dead
...it sometimes shimmers ruby red
.........it sometimes shimmers ruby red
Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
Their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps
inspired by ~fc~
Wight (obsolete): a supernatural being, creature
Bight: a bay or gulf
Swale: a moist depression in a tract of land
Long poem by
Vee Bdosa | Details |
There did they go into the cyberspace
where none but the great of heart
have ever gone before
and they did find great pleasure unto the night
for it was a time of love and understanding
and she did say it is good.
And when they did awake unto the dawn
then he did see a mass onto his shoulder
that had not ever been there before
and he was sore afraid.
Then he did say unto his mate, whose name is Mae,
what is it that has aflicted me in the night
and bonded itself onto the very body of me?
And she did reply unto her husband,
I know not.
And so they did consider the mass
and it was firm and round as a gooses egg,
yet it was of the mass that was thrice the size.
So she did lay her hands onto the mass
and did say,
is it now with pain, for I have given it a great charge?
But he did reply, nae, I feel it not.
And so they did go with the coming day,
even as the sun was high, unto his physician,
who counseled with some of his own, as to the matter.
And they did touch, and poke, and wonder
at the mass, and then they did say
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
But one of physicians did ask
of what great need do you have of this arm,
and the man did reply, it is not the one
with which I write my name.
And the husband, whose name is Fred, did inquire
as to how this mass ever came to be
and so has attached itself onto me?
And there it sits, as if bad things to come.
Then his physicians did reply and say
nae, it is naught to worry about
but we can remove it if you have the desire.
And the wife did say unto the physicians,
who were with great skill in the matter,
this he does have,
so the husband did say, it is so my desire,
I have great needs that it be gone.
But the physicians did reply
it shall be taken away in twelve days,
for that is the only time
that is not already spoken for.
And so they did agree.
Now when the night came and he did lay again with his wife,
there came a great trembling from deep within
his body, and he did shake to his very toes.
And she did say, husband, why is it that you shake?
And what is it that maketh your body wet all over,
as if a rain has fallen on the very place you lay?
And he did reply, I know not.
But he was with great fear and did wonder
as to what the mass could be.
And his wife did then say,
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
But he did think on the matter and then did say,
this must surely be as unto a sign from the maker
that my time is at hand.
Surely my life has been filled with goodness
but has brought me unto this very day.
And she did say,
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
And as the day grew near,
but was even the second day unto the removal,
the husband did worry and say some more,
my life is at an end
for the very inside of me does now quake
and my hands tremble at the sight of the mass.
Yea, mine eyes cannot bear to gaze upon it
and it has become an abomination unto my sight.
But his wife did say,
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
Then there came onto the tube, as if an omen
and a sign unto its own,
that a man had a mass and surely it had taken him away,
as if a robber had come in the night.
And he did grieve, for the day was almost at hand,
but did go unto his physicians and did say,
see how my body is wet and trembles at its' sight?
How is it that this thing has come unto me?
And what are the tingles unto my skin
is it what cometh from a lipoma?
But the physicians did shake their heads
and then they did say
you have the stress.
And so he did wonder at what they did tell him,
and when he looked, the mass was still there.
But the physicians did say,
it is a lipoma, and it is nothing more.
And one of the physicians said
if it is not a lipoma, the betting is off.
And then the man did return to his home
but trembled in the night.
Now when the morning did come
and the woman reached for her husband,
she found his space to be empty
and wet where he had layed.
and she did say, husband,
where is it you have gone?
But she heard not a reply.
And so she did go into the bottom of the house
where she did see him hanging from a beam
and then she did cry.
And so the constable did come, along with the scribes,
but the wife was with great grief
and did say o! that my life has such dismay
because of the lump that has taken him away.
What manner of thing has fallen to me?
And the scribe, who was to tell of the matter,
asked of her, what is it that has made you grieve?
And then the constable did say
is it the mass, that has made your husband
to end his life?
And she did say, it was a lipoma,
and it was nothing more.
....© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet