POETRY RANDOM THOUGHTS AND STUFF LIKE THAT…
I sacrificed myself on the altar and begged God to give me back my soul
I wondered in this wilderness I was lost in the fold
I wrote pages and pages till it became a scroll
I fasted I starved myself and I paced the floor some more
I talked to myself and searched for riddles beyond hidden doors
I spoke to the gods and whispered to the moon
The sky mocked him.
It smiled with red lips,
the way women smiled at men—
other men—in their finely tailored clothes
and laughed the way children laughed,
sharing in jokes
he never understood.
He belonged to a club of one.
Others saw an expansive horizon, an endless
open road,
but when he looked out from the bridge,
he saw the sky curving in on itself,
beckoning him with grey fingers
to fall into its cold center,
it was somehow inviting–
he wondered if he might find peace there.
For the ekphrastic prompt on dVerse. Paintings by artists who experienced mental illness. I chose the painting “Despair” by Edvard Munch above. This is not based on feelings I have ever had.
I fell to the wayside
Posters over dry land
He searched for me
I moved like a vagabond running from the ripper
I was a ghost
I thought I had escaped the hunters grip
It scoured taverns speakeasies and bath houses looking for me
I was clumsy
Running from the hunter
I was set up
Ambushed by love
I laid bare searching for something so rare
I honored the sabbath and respected your status
I mantra’d the lords prayer
I prayed while scared
I covered my hair
I lowered my eyes conscience of the devils glare
I searched and searched but the gods weren’t playing fair
I paced the valley of the kings searching for rings and pretty things
Searching for you
I gathered all this information even before I felt his hands
‘Cause that’s what women do
Investigative reporters
So much better than Nancy Drew
We’ll be home cooking dinner and at the same time watching you
His hands were so powerful they split adams and made me two
Its been three weeks now and I’m still collecting his residue
I go to church on Sunday to praise God for making not only one hand
But 2
There was something in his gaze
And not even a short paraphrase could describe this mans hands
Sinners Traders and Judas secretly know
I looked deep within and asked
But Lord is it me though
I know your voice that so mercifully freed us
So I wait patiently and diligently
For a real Jesus!
❤
Need to put some distance between this forest
Latitude
Dialogue not complex enough
Platitudes
Feel all alone in this room
Solitude
Costume not heavy enough
Magnitude
Tryna’ find some happy
Gratitude
You’ll never understand why I eat the way I do
Don’t try and diagnose me
Because I will eat you away too
For Halloween I want to be a morphine drip
So I can crawl backwards through my veins
And nod sluggishly off into corrosion
Mixing this chemical with the rain
I want to be a morphine drip
To plunge into this open rip
Keep me filled to slow this painful trip
LAND OF THE FREE
YOU CAN’T FOOL ME
THIS RAG IS TAINTED WITH HYPOCRISY
RIVERS STILL TORTURED DAMS STILL RED
AND SHE USE THAT SAME COLOR TO REPRESENT OUR FUTURE THAT’S STILL DEAD
CENTURIES
OLD HAG!!!!
I AIN’T GOT NO LOVE FOR THIS CLOTHE
SO F*** THE AMERICAN FLAG!
Silvana und Ulf auf Weltreise
mobile home living and lifestyle
all the trinkets of the day
One Poem Per Day
Daring to Dream: Short stories, poetry & songs. Next target: 300 Followers.
Vibe alone for a while
A place to show my work
Short stories
By Tracey L. Bhattarai
The daily adventures and mental meanderings of a teacher, writer, mother, and life long learner
Small wins for the discreetly radical environmentalist, in French and English
open mind art ;)
author of speculative fiction
Welcome to my mind. Watch the first step, it's a doozy.
Gratitude, Ask & Believe
mentalnotes1 