small stones – March 29, 2016

Loren

for years, I carried you
felt the unbearable weight
of each burden you brought
lugged you from relationship
to relationship, to solitude
and still you crushed me

now you are a stepping stone
I place you beneath my feet
tread upon your back
allow you to feel the weight
of joy and love
depression, I own you!

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This Tangled Garden

The precious flowers that color and fragrance my world
are somehow lost to me today–no, not just today
for weeks, I am now realizing
I stumble over simple explanations
fret over words and phrases

My flower garden has become a nightmare
a tangled, unkempt patch of weeds
the home of trolls and wicked beasts
all strangling my mind to the point of numbness —

Is this what my future holds?
The digging, digging for the right things to say

If I could bulldoze the entire plot over, I would
and begin anew–an empty garden
Am I still young enough, well-enough?
or will I suffer my grandmother’s fate?
Unable to plant, I will merely pass away

Copyright ©2015 Ravyne Hawke

Two Thousand and Fourteen

~for TS~

You still linger there
On the cusp of thoughts
I’d longed to forget—
The way your smile
Enchanted me
Lips curled up—
You sucked on your lower lip
Whenever I entered the room
Your eyes left me naked
And vulnerable—
I still shiver
Not from embarrassment
But from the mere desire
I felt then
And now

I still wonder
Where you went for nine months
Why you left me
When I was so exposed
And alone—
Why did you chose midnight
Of the New Year
To return to me—
I couldn’t bear the pain
Of losing you all over again
So I ripped you from my heart
My life
But not my memory

We will always have College Street
And those six months of bliss
Even as my heart hardens
And these tears stain my face—
Will I ever find love again?

©January 2015, Lori Carlson

Poetry: The Persistance of Musing

As many of my friends know, and now some of you here will know, I am Bipolar with Borderline Personality Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, OCD, and the host of too many phobias. I wrote this poem back in March of 2014. It describes what I go through taking medication for my mental illnesses and still strive to write. I hope you enjoy.

The Persistence of Musing

Oh these bitter pills!
I am divorced
divorced from all my demons
but my muse too!
And then the silence
the unbearable din of silence
so loud, so loud
my ears ring from its Delphian melody
I grow accustomed to the dead air
a synthetic lull —
days become weeks and then months
the delicate balancing of my brain
a tight-rope act — ever so careful
and I wait

Slowly my mind acclimates
and the silence becomes stillness
the din, white noise — Hushed sighs
I hear you breathing
these bitter pills have not murdered you
but I strain against the fog
for each murmur you utter
Oh Catharine!
And there you are, my fallen angel
my dark child
Your words soak into my bones
softly, quickly — you have much to say
for beating against your wings, frenzied
the demonic bats await

And the cycle begins anew
I swallow more pills
brace for the cacophony of silence
the numbness of calm
the peace, I am assured will come
and I mourn the loss of your sighs
your tranquil whispers —
but I know you will keep trying
and I will reach for your voice
over and over and over again
’til death overshadows me

(c) 2014 Lori Carlson

A Typical Day

these bones rarely want to move
when the sun rises
they’d rather linger, linger
no matter how much I ache

and then the furball pounces
on feet and face
reminds me it’s time to feed
him and me

so it’s up to pee
then crunchies and water for him
take blood sugar and insulin for me
and finally breakfast (or lunch)

play ball with the puss while I read
emails and newsletters and poetry
and then I try to write something, anything
but often I fail

finally it’s nap time
and I curl up with black fur
as we sleep long into the day
only to be awaken by him, come home

It is a wash, rinse and wash again moment
up to pee, play with the fur, eat
try to write
and then the need to sleep, again

each night I am left with the knowledge
napping does not write poetry
but then again, neither does depression
and so I sleep

 

From The Daily Post, Rare Medium