There are times that it really hits me
that my life has not been what I expected
in some ways, it is the opposite of what I dreamed of
and in others, it is exactly what I dreamed of
I never imagined my precious and precocious younger son would take his own life
or that my grief would be so big and unmanageable that I can't breathe at times
but I did meet and marry my best friend and build a life with him
and we are still married after 32 years
I never thought that my oldest son would be who he is and do what he does
or that I would be so very proud of that person, despite him putting aside the beliefs of his parents
I never thought I would write poems that I would put out there for others to read
and get them published as often as I can
I never thought I would work in a psychiatric hospital
and love it for the most part
I never imagined I would befriend and encourage people
with the same illness my son had and it would encourage me
and keep me going when I want to curl up in a ball and just cry
I never thought life would be so messy and painful
yet, beautiful and joyful at the same time
“Lake Shore Drive”
by Positive Mark
I sat the sun on a roof while I re-tied my shoe, and told it to rest up right there.
I quickened my pace, with a mask on my face, just in case all the others might care.
The piers on the inlet hold envious midgets, fake preachers, and lovers of dope.
Societal beatings, anonymous meetings, and new comrades help restore hope.
I shoe shine and grin at the trouble I’m in, as I live my unmanageable life.
The gardens are fed with the faces of dead men who died by the gun or a knife.
The stingray approach, and they glide by in pairs, while the deep thinkers welcome new moons.
The young people sing of the madness life brings, while the old fiddles bellow new tunes.
A preacher just lost his handsome grandson to a substance that long held him for ransom.
I wonder if we’ll ever win.
I picked up the sun from the top of the roof, and started my running again.
Like ghosts in my pockets, weighing me down,
burdens echoing with quiet sorrow,
coiling tight around the soul in silent pain.
Some weights like umbrellas cast aside after storms,
others iron shackles, rusted, locked in permanence—
all carried unseen, but deeply felt.
Knots in the spine, scars engraved on the mind,
tangled threads, riotous roots of clinging shadows—
held tight, wrapped in sorrow and guilt.
The weight of unspoken words,
unfinished tasks, unkept promises,
and unmanageable memories—
all soaked deep in regret.
Letting go is not an option
when remorse is all you have,
and anguish your only friend.
Of course, a clown
is always clowning
as poets paint their write --
before with pen and ink
dip we nibs wells of performance
transforming dark ink
to colorful spectacle in showtime
spot of light -- like the pancake
our many harlequins,
like Arora, a rainbow
after cloudburst
real tears or daisy squirt?
we apply our big-top makeup
to cover-up and hide
otherwise unmanageable crowds
of deeply incised hurt --
Snot nosed, barefoot
Chanting, walk the streets
Spit flies from mouth, food on cheek
Green, ripe, and free
Dirty and unkempt
Unbridled and unmanageable
Wild child
Dolls and toy trucks
Mudpies and hopscotch
Bugs and jump rope
Torn clothes, holes in socks
Scraped knees and mud on shoes
Marching on, they're marching on
They're marching on
Drums rattle, off beat
Out of tune flutes, cowbells and slide whistles
Ringing bent triangles while singing loudly
Songs without chords
Melodies without rhythm
Games without rules
Things without reasons
Love without need
Enjoyment without thought
For the sake of it all, I guess
Enigmatic thinkers, unfamiliar and strange
They're marching on, they're marching on
They're coming here and soon
They've got a lot to say
They're coming out to play
Their voices cannot be drowned out
For nothing else is louder
Boredom. B O R E D O M!
It encompasses the brain and swallows it up.
Your vision becomes altered,
you imagination takes control
and the world becomes an unmanageable mountain
of wet clay.
Unable to be delt with, the boredom lies heavy over
your body restricting you of any logical function.
T.V. commercials have newly discovered depth,
and Pop music lyrics swim uncontrollably
through your head: "do you want to ride in my Mercedes boys?"
Gravity becomes magnified,
the weight of your own body is pushing you
through the floor, and the thought
that Elvis may still be alive breaths hope
into your lifeless world.
You leave my heart
haunted
dismantled like a train wreck
broke and unmanageable
left to decay
As time passes I have no feeling
everything remains numb
void
lost
your heartless in your love
jumping from one to another
leaving a trail of dismay
and many more haunted hearts
In trainwrecks
I know you both
Want and so too should wish
To expect a response
From all the other people
Apart from yourself
Even if that response be
The merest tiny
Subtlest of nods or blink's
Hiding behind a smiling blackened eye
Because they are simply unable or lack
the inner strength or stomach for the fight
To stand up or speak for themselves
In order so they can show you the pathway
But yet then again aren't you just
so to the problem as well
If you yourself expect others to do
Something you have yet yourself
Seemed unable to accomplish or do
Because that offers others
In similar powerless unmanageable situations
Surely no solace or form of help
In fact makes matters way far worse
If other victims don't seem to care neither
on her lawn
four pink plastic flamingos
peak above a March snowbank
twisted forms caught in forlorn evasion
beak-body contortions like wrestlers resilient
in pretzel formation
unmanageable remnants of warmer days
denied the dignity of upright
plastic muck ups, a nostalgic weep of summer
wishing a solar Florida footing
their caught spirit of iced- playfulness
a pink flamboyance
teasing an icy surface
four plastic birds, frozen status
kitsch defensive
misplaced images like on-line love
wing swept longing
to flee this barren snowbank
nudging a tardy spring's erosion
with its courtship fringes
Poem posted April 13, 2023
Ah, to write
to gather random thoughts
corral them
Giddy-up….whoa….style.
Chase down those tumble weeds,
itinerant thoughts
blown by the whimsical winds
of imagination
into ever unmanageable
clusters of confusion
straining at the painful restraints
of barbed wire freedom.
A delusional state of self imposed
unconscious conformity
ever alert for the “rustlers”
who would cut the wire
breech the delusion
change brands
claim victory.
John G. Lawless
©12/19/2021
Utterances offering the wrong ideas
Like murder-planning spears:
To their recipient an enough sting
But to the source songs to freely sing
The seventy-two teeth of crocodile,
Together jammed and survival is for a while;
Participating voices ascending mountain tops
Like they are sure there should be no stops;
Their height a far cry from teaks;
Path the resonating bellows and laughable squeaks
A rivalry of cacophony
And festival of polyphony;
Rude demonstrations of rude interruptions
And recreation of volcanic eruptions.
A contradiction of the other voice is a goal,
The longing for it, down the soul;
The gentle questions for trickery,
The applauding hands from mockery.
Insults first fruits are slaps unendurable,
Their predictable lasts, blows unmanageable.
Equation invasion pilot light;
Substance abuse out of sight;
Bargain donors Delight;
Quantum disturbance;
Humanity really hurting;
Relying on physical denying the spiritual;
Unmanageable
intangible
Spiritually ignorant
Disloyal spiritual immigrant;
Work and toil;
Loosen soil;
Help me Lord;
For I am more solid and spiritual;
Table mound of dirt and clay;
With the breath of God in Me;
Unimaginable
unmanageable
intangible
spiritually ignorant
I am chosen
I am a
Spiritual Immigrant
2/29/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
MY 37TH ANNIVERSARY
After years of inebriation
My life was just a mirage
My friends had lost all favor
Communication was all nonverbal
The smiles were no longer dulcet
My diligence to be a model employee
Had become a delicate affair
The allure of a promotion vanished
My life had become unmanageable
Then, I hit a pivot point
I finally came to my senses
Like the Prodigal Son of Scripture
Who returned home to his father
I returned to my Heavenly Father
And now live a life of serenity
On January eleventh 1982
I lost my desire for alcoholic brew
I now have the consolation
Of living my life anew
23 February 2019
For the contest sponsored by Michelle Faulkner
Streams of purple flow on your skin,
While waves of white stamp your smile,
And your top is a choppy ocean of love,
An unmanageable free sort of wild,
Then you create a beautiful soft and a smooth,
You create a bubble so clear,
You create a tender all over my skin,
With your perfectly colourful sphere,
And the fragrance you leave, aroma of pure,
The perfume of absolute clean,
Leaves all of me feeling honestly new,
Like a candle lit night of serene.
You’re my perfection of soap, my most intimate block,
My closest to being a flower,
That I hold close to me, my most cherished of moments,
Whenever I’m having a shower.
Shine, cats-
that which is to disdain for having life is no...
Gritted teeth,
grind'd mind,
hallowed speak,
hind benign...
She told too much about the little things,
dice-
mice-
china-
advice...
The creepy carry of device,
often called social spice.
No spine now,
all is tight,
tingle-
height-
nothing chooses what,
resides-
confides-
exemplifies-
co-enterprise's-
it's all-
sight,
mighty,
teedy,
divine,
light,
grit-
signs of fit...
White-
bite-
light-
benign,
benign!
Like in your holy land where there is an ancient church standing tall over a hill, your good work shall find...
Swipe-
saunter-
disaster-
shallow hunter-
callous...
Immaculate palaces,
and unmanageable addictions.
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