You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Suicide’ tag.

August 27, 2016

How close are we always
From swimming away;
The ocean calls, and you
Put on your one-piece

And float out to where
The water is too deep,
And you are too far

To safely return? Awake
And about to drown
A better alternative

Than going through 
The motions everyday.
When the bleak house

Is empty and no one
Else will do the vacuuming,
Escape can seem the best
Alternative. (Even 
when life is gone
at the other end

of your Olympic
swim.) Synchronize 
With every housewife

On the block; break
Your minivans and mops
In two. Remember what

You wanted once. 



This is Poem #155 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

Advertisements

June 25, 2016

ynwlizqlprzlrff7ax373qs54t6jc3sachvcdoaizecfr3dnitcq_0_0

Fold down the points,

He’ll get them back,

Later. When they have

The chance to make peace

 

With pieces of their selfish

Selves and with who he is.

At least he’s not red.

Tearing off and throwing 

Away Aunt Mildred,

 

Or his Boy Scout Troop.

(All of his dreams 

and aspirations.)

How can you disown 

your own

Child? Seek

 

Out help. Assure 

His blue star

Status in the world.

His entire future

 

Depends on it. 

 

This is Poem #103 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I challenged myself to spend a year in which I’d wake most mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee. By the end of the year,  I had written 241 poems.  Here, I have published second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state. 

April 20, 2016

80s-Vintage-Dr-Martens-14-Eye-Black-Quilon-Boots

Amy’s Doc Martens

Had mismatched soles,

When she sauntered

To England and back,

 

And then left Florida

For good. In her first

Will, she left

The 14-eye boots

To me and they

Collect dust on top

Of the memories

We shared.

 

She was up – left foot.

And down – right foot.

And the medicine never

Even had a chance

To help her. Scribbled

Wills and songs and Fridays

 

We’re in love. “I don’t care

if Monday’s blue.” Except,

 

She did. And

No amount of dancing in circles,

Jumping in her bouncing soles

At the Back Rail could

Lead her way to Tuesday.

 

This is Poem #62 from the  Poem (almost) Everyday Project. Starting in mid-January 2016, I decided for one year to wake mornings and write a poem before my first cup of coffee on each day that I didn’t teach. I was working part-time then, so in the end I wrote 241 poems.  These are second drafts of  those pieces copied directly from my journal with minimal editing from their “vomit draft” state.

Goodreads

Lady Diction’s Calendar

August 2019
M T W T F S S
« Jul    
 1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031  
Advertisements