Best Inpatient Poems
Unequally yoked didn't deny
common grace in an atheistic womb.
Half of the prayers were enough for him.
Blessed in health and time,
but reckless in his early years.
Under other tapestries laid all those fine linens of Egypt.
In each embrace, I placed a wager on just how slow your anger.
The hypocrite damns their own house.
Demons perched on the edge of puberty,
filled my son's eyes hopeless and left his rare word—flat.
Paper towels the papyrus of superficial coping
lines of scabs formed sleeves of braille
as the wages of sin reached for my son's throat mocking
two inpatient stays hanging in a precarious chemical salvation.
Another orphan from faith and repentance disobeyed,
juxtaposed with Job who lost ten.
Fear cultivated the prayers that grew
the humility that put your Son on the Cross,
and wouldn't gamble with mine.
Your general call turned effectual
A new volition has moved my son to gather
with those that feed the hunger
from the table of the Word.
When the hand of Grace shakes the elect
from their own slumber
in The Storm on the Sea of Galilee.
Taken back from Rembrandt's thieves,
no longer hidden away.
Beyond Jonah's anger that killed the vine,
and desecrated memories of seized temples
roam those ghosts of the giants of Lebanon.
Every idle word winnows the threshing floor
forever the wheat from the tare.
The solace that the chosen
are given in this life's labor
under The Cross that the world must hate,
divine regeneration gives the measures
of reverence and gratitude
for every thorn on this side,
and your Heaven full of treasures.
All you need is the will. Where there is a will, there is always a way.
But, my polluted mind couldn't see the path to success ahead.
No map exists to sobriety, or a magical compass to recovery
The lifestyle I once lived, so empty and desolate.
Only able to completely rely on my own self.
For recovery, you need people. And, people are willing to help.
I surrounded myself with all of the acronyms.
AA, NA, MIA. I felt lost in the madness.
A peer in recovery helped me find a start; a Detox program.
These words so unsettling to any real drug addict.
But, this time I was done. Beyond done, Completely over it.
Their medications allowed me to surpass that three day barrier.
A mark of achievement I had so many other times missed.
By day seven, I started to feel slightly more normal.
A pre-dope normal, one that existed before the drugs took over.
But, then I opened my eyes and I saw the doors.
I knew exactly where those doors led to...
They led to the street. They led right back to the needle.
So I just stayed, and moved right into their inpatient program.
A place I swore wholeheartedly I would never go.
The twenty-eight days can be summed up in one word: Reassuring.
Each day I grew more confident, and began to feel reassured.
Just when I came to an acceptance that recovery was truly possible.
Once again, I stood weary at those same two doors.
I decided to speak out. It came from a place of fear and despair.
I was directed into a new form of safe haven.
IOP, with an emphasis on the "intensive."
For four hours a day, for four days a week, I worked at recovery.
Each day building upon my new foundation of inner strength.
When, and only when, I felt completely ready.
I left IOP, and again I immersed myself in those acronyms.
I also found a healthy replacement for my abundant time.
The gym became my therapy, relieving me both body and mind.
Working out was my new "high." Only this time it was healthy.
Through the entirety of this life changing experience.
I learned many new things about life, about myself.
Proving that where there's a will, there is definitely a way.
It took first reaching rock bottom, and the absolute lowest of lows.
to learn first hand, that you can't reach the top, without first being at the bottom.
I’m a witch of the modern times,
Nay my caldron is not round but square,
It has four sides square, and it’s called a microwave.
No bubble, bubble toil or trouble, with this new
Modern age tool, I just add these mystical
Prepackaged ingredients, then sit there on my
Broom stick and drool.
Forget the bat wings, and the eye of nout,
I prefer the minute bag of hot popcorn instead,
Wouldant you.
I’m the wiz of a wiz with this squared box of
Miracles, from the mid-night munchies, to the
Commercial button pause freeze zone, on the
Talley blue screen.
There is no more a sacred sound ever heard
On this earth, then that dinging bell going off,
Then ever buddy scrambling to check out, what
Homemade goodies mom has cooked up?
Now the crook top is dandy, and the stove
Maybe handy for more flavor, or special
Occasions of the holiday persuasion,
But I prefer the minute satisfaction,
And gratification of this microwave
Magician.
My personal idea of home style cooking,
Is pierce the bags plastic top, and stir,
Then serve, boy that broke this fevers
Sweat, are you ready to eat my young ones.
Now in my spell books of cooking perfection,
There’s just no place to plug in this modern
Tools connection.
So these massive volumes are just dust
Collectors, but I have a dust buster for
This readies problem, I just have to pop
Dinner in the magic box first, before I can
Solve them.
So what will it be tonight my friend,
Pizza or Pasta surprise, with an Abracadabra’s
Ding, and a POP, I can feed a whole troop of soldiers,
Or a hungry family of five.
Just call me a modern wizard with technical
Support, the best invention of all times
My microwave caldron, with its four
Squared sides, excuse me please,
The bell just went off!!!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO MY DAUGHTERS AMANDA AND ASHLEY
And also to the inpatient animals of the world, thanks mom!
Things never come out the way you planned, or the way you envisioned, but they do always come out perfect. Because God designed our lives. And his design always comes out they way He planned. We get inpatient, upset, we pick a fight with Him at time, and we try to make what we think is best happen. But instead of God returning the same behavior to us that we give Him, He continues to work His design. He continues to give us our perfect life. So if we just trust, be faithful and enjoy the perfect life we seem to not notice things are better. Life is better. The little things that don't come out the way we want don't bother us as much. Live the perfect life.
Blinded by the lights;
But in a rainbow of the night,
A lone star
Shines just as bright.
With the rise of the muffled cries
Of joyous pride,
A priceless moment captured in time.
As I stand within a crowd,
A memory is to last a lifetime.
With inpatient feet,
As the heart starts to beat,
No thought was conceived
To what could be.
But here we stand,
Listening to the music from the band.
The ground starts to rumble,
For there was no fumble.
While at the end,
And all smiles aglow,
I look toward you,
That gleaming star,
For that shimmering Hope you Bestowed on us,
And say, Thank you.
Not once did I question your Love for me
By my side you stood
Safe within your shadow I grew
Believing in all i could be
You gave me Faith in me
Blessed by Love.........
You wanted the best for me
You worked hard to prepare me
I could feel the fear in your eyes
As if you had seen to much
Inpatient to my innocent disregard
I remember your words as you would help me with my studies!
"Why do you look to the sky for a answer?! The answer isn't written in the sky!!"
Armed with Loyalty you set me on course.......
Beauty in the Lord was your Gift to me
How my soul yearned to find your path
Thy Lords Kiss was yours alone
My path would not be yours
As Thomas I was to doubt........
" And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ"
As I look into the Heavens....
Yes......the Answers Are Written in the Sky......
I Give My Thanks to Thy God.....For Your Love and Light........
The rain slides off my hair,
soaking me wet.
The sky seems to be crying over me,
I don't care.
In the middle of nowhere,
without no soul to speak with.
Should I embrace my fear?
Tears are coming,
though not mine.
But I await my fate,
inpatient for all to end,
not worried for ones deathly drop.
I never had my laughing days on this smiling planet,
nor smiled at gracing sunsets.
No need for me to be where I have my wrongly self being,
in a world that doesn't want me in it!
Can't I be free?
escape, without it not labelled a sin?
My words doesn't breach a sound!
Am I bound to disappear with just one argument?
I now don't feel the need to fear,
useless waste from above.
But I do regret for what soon my breathless body didn't become,
maybe in the end it'll turn out to be all I was.
They will finally see,
a lost poet.
Instead you'll be seeing tears in my lifeless eyes,
like fallen old crusty papers,
with no expressions,
nor emotions of any kind that suits your almighty mind,
for ever no sense.
Throw away my heart and mind into dark flames of hell!
Feel my fury from the heat of not understanding!
All vanished within my last dying breath.
Don't cry for me,
cry for yourself.
Dead writing,
like me forever,
I was........
Misunderstood.
Stages and steps are the structures of Life’s nomenclature
a little mind isn’t ready to go through its rotating disk,
quick and fast void of much strain, no matter the way
but such an inpatient method carries the most risk.
Building upon contentment to slowly reach prosperity,
such energy is diverted for unholy accumulation in a brisk.
No item is beyond such eyes in need of sedation
the Lord of Moscow fighting to also be the mayor of Bisk.
Possessions beyond reach stimulate more awareness and sensitivity,
unconsciously and rapidly, mindfulness undergoes a frisk.
The unnecessary search for more, never nearly gets exhausting
but disappointment nods, tagging such a person with asterisk.
Enormous wants so large, yet squeezed by the mind and limbs
lands one in a tornado, subsequently throwing everything in a whisk.
There was an earlier time
that came to mind
this day I heard dangerous fears and angers
called cowardice instead,
back 200 years ago
in the United States,
when Northern industrialists,
relying on southern cotton
to mill fabrics
clothing cotton-picking slaves
and other whiter folks,
joined Southern slave-owners
to refer to Abolitionists
as cowards.
Moral cowards
for threatening Orthodox ecopolitical viability
as it was misunderstood
in that 200 year old time and place.
Naming radicalized revolutionaries
Cowards
might provoke despair
to further points of violence against innocents,
the non-bullies of democratic process,
majority rule,
but will not dissuade inpatient intolerance
of their view
that what we say of them
is what we, in fact, are.
Whether this radicalized voice and action
is to Abolish further violence,
further buying and selling of sacred nature
further hubris of owning what can only be gifted,
borrowed through mutual consent,
or to Abolish established inclusive democratic peace,
makes all the morally healthy difference.
Yet, in either case,
whether healthy or pathological radicalization,
naming the Abolisher a coward and a fool
needing to be stamped out
will merely spread this nascent revolution
toward further violence growing higher boundaries
to hopes for cooperative sanity.
When we look behind the normal public tour
of terrorist acts and actors,
the rhetorical reviews and guided stories
most frequently told,
we are likely to find a long familiar risk
to public health;
variations on cultures of patriarchal abuse,
matriarchal neglect,
and desecration of RightBrain ecopolitical equivalence.
For this reason, if no other,
choosing emasculating words
like cowardly and disloyal
and unfaithful,
is a choice to notice only deception
while revolutionary inception festers into flowering
further blasts of suppressed anger
hyped up hate
furthering Earth's climates
of pathological fear.
Purple Chakra
She wears in dreams and enchantment our mad hatter’s hat
cloaked in violet desire and so called co-incidence of purple
Just a few blossoms Jacaranda from the doom of rock bottom
I spelt the word ‘love’ with the petals in between roses and colour
the wannabe hippie of times long gone by on a path yet unknown
A rehab from drink and from madness confinement in mind
body soul removed from temptation inpatient impatient solitude
‘So strange this beautiful woman here before your arrival she
formed a small purple heart on the manicured lawn. You would
like her she’s Tanya Michelle bright and emotional calls herself Tai.’
A visitor truly unknown pitched a few days after un-thought of no
sense no connection no intention no blossoms of meaning or reason
a fairy tale story frog princess prince sensation out of the purple
‘You must be Tai I am Kai I suppose we have something in common’
a beeline from nowhere how I knew I not know may the Universe tell
synchronicity spelt out from the winds gravitation pulled in together
Now we dance to the moon and swim with the tides scent the fragrance
sing to the tune of fortuitous fortune paint purple mad sanity in words
rainbows melting pastels poetry in motion poet trees’ hot temperance
Just one word had been spelt one heart in the garden of freedom
two seeds released rising high in the air in miraculous sparkling
waters dust from the ashes volcano erupted meaningful madness
We travel together ever since wear hats purple hair flowers dreams and
infusion have been flying ‘Taikaiwe’ on infinite eternity from that
momentous moment enshrined in the blossoms
Written on the 21st June 2016-06-20
From Kai Michael to Tai Michelle
For contest: Something Seemingly Insignificant
And Unexpected Changed My Life
HOT SUMMER DAY
hair’s fallen, wet.
clinging shirt with sweat.
shoe’s barely protect
my feet, from the pavement’s heat.
i climb aboard the bus, no
air conditioning, of course,
and head to the bustling city streets.
perspiration stains and inpatient glances
all shout, with the fervor of a wet dog, shaking himself.
i depart this catacomb.
windows decorated with sundresses and sandals.
the dummies never bat their eyes nor stink,
though the steam seeps into every crevice.
i’m glum and irritated,
the heat pressing on every thought.
i’ve come here to find a gift -
and i do i do i do
not in the shops
but in the street.
i hear the uproarious laughter
of children.
the city street has sprung
a fire hydrant leak.
oh those tinkling voices,
like crystal, lifting up my spirits!
oh the joy of splashing waters
and the serendipitous smiles!
oh how i can live
through the glorious eyes
of happy children.
my heart forgets my complaint.
9/16/2017
Eve Roper’s Hot Summer Day Contest
1st Place
The duck plunged under water
but unable to endure
the headstrong falcon followed him
beneath the meekly sewer
While falcon’s feathers all were soaked
Duck rose in the air
and mocked the bird of prey
who was drowning there.
Love is a match you hold against the dark
Love, the circling moth embarks
Love, the hope that falls apart
Love is the knife you hold in my heart
Love inpatient, unkind regard
Love is everything you aren't
Love is the gun that goes off at the start.
In the China shop, screaming about missed sleep
In the ravaged church, mourning defeat
Scorch the earth and then retreat
The virgin inside, calling to me
I am the god you could not be
I am the demon that you freed
Love, unforgiving and unclean
Love, the gun against your teeth
Love,
Get down on your knees
I didn't know
Raindrops
Could taste like
Bad medicine,
Novocaine
Shot
The wrong way
Numbing
Everything
Down to my
Fingertips-
In the
Inpatient
Care
They hide me
From
Myself,
Drugged up,
Those raindrops
Only heard,
Never touched
As if you can
Recognize
Pain from a
Distance
And learn to
Ignore the
Pitter patter of it,
Just background
Music
To a
Symphony
Of memories
I'm supposed to
Put on pause,
Or delete
Altogether-
But I would need
A
Skin graft
Of my
Wrists,
Hips,
Lips even,
To forget
All the reasons
Why I've
Ended up
Like this-
It's been two weeks
Since I got stuck
Between these
Same walls,
Checked up on
Every five minutes,
But
Nothing
Has changed.
She is still gone,
And no God
I could ever
Pray to
Could or
Would
Be able to
Fix that-
There is no
Band-aid
Big enough,
No shock
Strong enough
To bring her
Smile
Back to me-
All I have left is
Stolen time,
Framed and
Frozen,
A gravestone
And a faulty
Memory….
Maybe
It would be
Best
To just
Forget,
But even now
I look for you
When I hear
Your name,
Your seat goes
Cold
Next to me
Like an
Unspoken
Shrine
Only a fool
Would touch
And
Desecrate,
And when it is
Completely
Quiet,
At night,
When we used to
Skype
I still hear your
Laugh
Like an
Echo
Mocking me,
A melody
I will
Never
Hear again….
I remember
Exactly
How I found you
That morning,
The sirens
Coming alive
At 3 am
When
Everyone
Should've been gone
To bed,
And the
Smell
Of the sterile
Hospital
Just the same
As the one
I'm in-
Lately,
I've been
Recording
All the
Words
I should have
Said
Earlier
But didn't,
All the missed
Opportunities….
But I'm one day
Too late,
And today
I will be
Searching
In vain
For bits of you
At the bottom
Of bottles
And stop signs
Where the
Sidewalk
Ends
Until
Someone drags me
Away...
And stops me
From following you
Down into the
Gutter
With the rain.
It feels like I haven't seen you
in ages.
Spending time with you was
the greatest.
I wonder if you still know what
my name is.
Not seeing you, I really do hate
this.
I never planned this
And never planned in your book
I would be infamous.
I hope you never think my love
is ancient.
Let the past go and let are love
be the agent.
I know I hurt you and your
tired of being inpatient.
I will love you and your heart I
will maintain-Mario Perez