Submissions by dfwtinman
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
65 yo and I have taken up the pen (key pad) after a long hiatus. My focus in writing now is on having a clear intention and then realizing that intention.
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
4th Mar 2014 5:26pm
4th Mar 2014 5:26pm
The Mad Truth (re-worked)
Mad mash-up of thought and actions
cloaked with a word: episode.
Call it what it was---
a fuckin' meltdown.
Try staying up for 3 days,
running your mouth overtime,
agitated, obsessing over bullshit.
See if understanding greets your episode.
The Holy Bible of Madness--- the
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,
Fifth Edition---isn't the Word.
It too is a mad mash-up--- of notes compiled by a committee.
Diagnoses stretch like my ass on Seroquel---
Dysthymia, Major Depressive Disorder, Anxiety...
cloaked with a word: episode.
Call it what it was---
a fuckin' meltdown.
Try staying up for 3 days,
running your mouth overtime,
agitated, obsessing over bullshit.
See if understanding greets your episode.
The Holy Bible of Madness--- the
Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,
Fifth Edition---isn't the Word.
It too is a mad mash-up--- of notes compiled by a committee.
Diagnoses stretch like my ass on Seroquel---
Dysthymia, Major Depressive Disorder, Anxiety...
587 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Feb 2014 1:13am
23rd Feb 2014 1:13am
Pike County wholly reworked from Paradox of Plenty (as of 2:45 pm CST, 2/24/12)
Pike County
"This continent teemed with manifold projects and magnificent purposes.
All of us are called...to create the first great American Century."
—Henry Luce, in Life Magazine: February 14, 1941
Maude was born and women tended Matilda Ellen’s birthing wounds.
Coal- sooted men sat around, ravenous, swapping stories from the mines.
In far off New York, at that very hour, Anne Edson Taylor, a teacher,
became the first human to survive going over Niagara Falls in a barrel.
Strange that folks had to go to such...
"This continent teemed with manifold projects and magnificent purposes.
All of us are called...to create the first great American Century."
—Henry Luce, in Life Magazine: February 14, 1941
Maude was born and women tended Matilda Ellen’s birthing wounds.
Coal- sooted men sat around, ravenous, swapping stories from the mines.
In far off New York, at that very hour, Anne Edson Taylor, a teacher,
became the first human to survive going over Niagara Falls in a barrel.
Strange that folks had to go to such...
685 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Feb 2014 00:09am
18th Feb 2014 00:09am
Breaking Through Maude (Reworked. F/k/a Little Poem Before the Storm)
Tough as a coal-camp boot
she’s no longer here
in the day or in the dark
from grandmother to ghost
to gone
I write little pieces of her life
throw them about
bones from a witch's bag
trying to make sense
or peace
'til a moment ago
no words would come
now they tumble downhill
heavy and hard
as stones
she’s no longer here
in the day or in the dark
from grandmother to ghost
to gone
I write little pieces of her life
throw them about
bones from a witch's bag
trying to make sense
or peace
'til a moment ago
no words would come
now they tumble downhill
heavy and hard
as stones
607 reads
1 Comment
SELF POEM
Published
15th Feb 2014 11:52pm
15th Feb 2014 11:52pm
Angel of Madness
"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."--Edgar Allan Poe
nightly the news plays
midwife to the dying
deathbed doulas
feigning compassion
thank God psychopharmacology
dabbles in miracles
that Trazodone turns tumbling
boulders into sleeping stones
my most-days mind is a loupe
magnifying cracks into crises
bringing far off fires close up
catastrophizing
but somedays my mind is far away...
nightly the news plays
midwife to the dying
deathbed doulas
feigning compassion
thank God psychopharmacology
dabbles in miracles
that Trazodone turns tumbling
boulders into sleeping stones
my most-days mind is a loupe
magnifying cracks into crises
bringing far off fires close up
catastrophizing
but somedays my mind is far away...
#dark
#LifeAsAWriter
#myself
#EdgarAllanPoe
#LifeStruggles
873 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
8th Feb 2014 1:28am
8th Feb 2014 1:28am
THE PARADOX OF PLENTY (Updated stanzas and edited some adverbs)
This continent teemed with manifold projects and magnificent purposes. Above them all...the most exciting flag of all the world ...was the triumphal purpose of freedom. In this spirit...all of us are called,...each in the widest horizon of his vision, to create the first great American Century."
—Henry Luce, in Life Magazine: February 14, 1941
Eliza Maude Francis Horn was born in 1901, born already
knowing
that crying got you nothing. While the women tended the
birthing wounds
of Matilda Ellen Barbe Horn, the...
—Henry Luce, in Life Magazine: February 14, 1941
Eliza Maude Francis Horn was born in 1901, born already
knowing
that crying got you nothing. While the women tended the
birthing wounds
of Matilda Ellen Barbe Horn, the...
591 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
7th Feb 2014 1:41am
7th Feb 2014 1:41am
Nursery Rhymes.
Jordan, of Dayton in frozen Ohio,
returned to the doorway of her childhood room.
Looking past old wrongs and regrets,
she set herself to
sweeping away years with a scrapbook broom.
When you fade away it's hard to find a way home,
though 'twas as I'd left it, claustrophobic and cold.
The lines I'd rehearsed thinned just as
we met, leaving me
struggling to keep straight the tales that I'd told.
I'd "been expected", she said, her lips to my ear
She'd prayed for Santa dressed in daddy's clothes.
Then wryly smiled...
returned to the doorway of her childhood room.
Looking past old wrongs and regrets,
she set herself to
sweeping away years with a scrapbook broom.
When you fade away it's hard to find a way home,
though 'twas as I'd left it, claustrophobic and cold.
The lines I'd rehearsed thinned just as
we met, leaving me
struggling to keep straight the tales that I'd told.
I'd "been expected", she said, her lips to my ear
She'd prayed for Santa dressed in daddy's clothes.
Then wryly smiled...
623 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
27th Jan 2014 4:40am
27th Jan 2014 4:40am
Conviction's Closet
Each night, my intercessions ended
with the prayer that night, itself, would not.
Devotions discharged, I'd dive into
my mateless twin bed, above which hung
a fading portrait of Cassiel,
Archangel of solitude and tears.
Unwarmed by winter's sallow sun,
frost still clung to my bedside window.
Night slowly surrendered its shadows.
Exhaust-colored ice formed and reformed.
When I think of my Ohio home,
I think of Legos and Lincoln Logs
littering the floor of my closet, ...
with the prayer that night, itself, would not.
Devotions discharged, I'd dive into
my mateless twin bed, above which hung
a fading portrait of Cassiel,
Archangel of solitude and tears.
Unwarmed by winter's sallow sun,
frost still clung to my bedside window.
Night slowly surrendered its shadows.
Exhaust-colored ice formed and reformed.
When I think of my Ohio home,
I think of Legos and Lincoln Logs
littering the floor of my closet, ...
715 reads
5 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
19th Jan 2014 5:56am
19th Jan 2014 5:56am
Electroconvulsive Therapy
I spy exits and contemplate escape,
as my wheelchair wends its way
from ICU to the Fifth Floor.
Three squares a day,
served on trays that bear my name
(a name ostensibly Top Secret).
I share painful memories with other imperfect strangers.
Just part of the game I play
to win my release.
Soon, fate lets freedom evanesce.
So it's "plastic sporks” redux,
while doctors search for vital signs that I'm okay.
After good-time served, I am paroled.
My ride waits for my emergence, ...
as my wheelchair wends its way
from ICU to the Fifth Floor.
Three squares a day,
served on trays that bear my name
(a name ostensibly Top Secret).
I share painful memories with other imperfect strangers.
Just part of the game I play
to win my release.
Soon, fate lets freedom evanesce.
So it's "plastic sporks” redux,
while doctors search for vital signs that I'm okay.
After good-time served, I am paroled.
My ride waits for my emergence, ...
599 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Jan 2014 11:47pm
18th Jan 2014 11:47pm
Shinto Winter (newer version)
I worry for the people of Japan
across whose lands
afterwinds still blow.
I worry her children
dream of reptilian things
grown large and misshapen.
Last night I dreamt
of Fukushima, Shinto demigod.
Fukushima trembled in fear
of the Sun Goddess
Amaterasu, Kami most high
whose light shone in Heaven.
Covetous, Fukushima
stole Amaterasu's necklace
that he might have its power
for himself.
Her necklace gone,
the Sun Goddess grew pale.
From his sky perch ...
across whose lands
afterwinds still blow.
I worry her children
dream of reptilian things
grown large and misshapen.
Last night I dreamt
of Fukushima, Shinto demigod.
Fukushima trembled in fear
of the Sun Goddess
Amaterasu, Kami most high
whose light shone in Heaven.
Covetous, Fukushima
stole Amaterasu's necklace
that he might have its power
for himself.
Her necklace gone,
the Sun Goddess grew pale.
From his sky perch ...
558 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
19th Nov 2013 11:00pm
19th Nov 2013 11:00pm
Shinto Winter
I worry for the people of Japan
across whose lands
afterwinds still blow.
I worry that her children
dream of reptilian things
grown large and misshapen.
Last night I dreamt
of Fukushima, Shinto demigod.
Fukushima trembled in fear
of the Sun Goddess
Amaterasu, Kami most high
whose light shone in Heaven.
Treacherous Fukushima
stole Amaterasu's necklace
that he might have its power
for himself.
Her necklace gone
the Sun Goddess grew pale.
From his sky perch ...
across whose lands
afterwinds still blow.
I worry that her children
dream of reptilian things
grown large and misshapen.
Last night I dreamt
of Fukushima, Shinto demigod.
Fukushima trembled in fear
of the Sun Goddess
Amaterasu, Kami most high
whose light shone in Heaven.
Treacherous Fukushima
stole Amaterasu's necklace
that he might have its power
for himself.
Her necklace gone
the Sun Goddess grew pale.
From his sky perch ...
576 reads
0 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
18th Nov 2013 3:03am
18th Nov 2013 3:03am
Turning 56
Age muted by the glimmer,
candles blown, a wish forms
unbidden in the dark;
I am dying to know whether some plan
predates my path to this celebration.
Or is my next (and every) step uncharted?
D'où Venons Nous / Que Sommes Nous / Où Allons Nous
The artist sought answers,
but settled for arsenic.
Are there any living truths cached in
56 Holes of Aubrey, 56 Minor Arcana, or 56 layers
in Aristotle's Universe?
Perhaps I am descended from Cimmerians...
candles blown, a wish forms
unbidden in the dark;
I am dying to know whether some plan
predates my path to this celebration.
Or is my next (and every) step uncharted?
D'où Venons Nous / Que Sommes Nous / Où Allons Nous
The artist sought answers,
but settled for arsenic.
Are there any living truths cached in
56 Holes of Aubrey, 56 Minor Arcana, or 56 layers
in Aristotle's Universe?
Perhaps I am descended from Cimmerians...
886 reads
2 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
12th Nov 2013 5:12am
12th Nov 2013 5:12am
The Porringer
Bottle by bottle the bowl fills
as colored capsules chime
a piper's tune
No one hears my confession
Much less my poison promise
to break all others
The Morning Star
lights my path
but sheds no heat
This crazy porringer
holds tomorrow in its orbit
a gravity all its own
To no one in particular
I say goodbye
a handful at a time
as colored capsules chime
a piper's tune
No one hears my confession
Much less my poison promise
to break all others
The Morning Star
lights my path
but sheds no heat
This crazy porringer
holds tomorrow in its orbit
a gravity all its own
To no one in particular
I say goodbye
a handful at a time
#suicide
#bipolar
#drugs #MentalHealth
#drugs #MentalHealth
611 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by dfwtinman
