The Poetry of Suicide

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A woman whom I do not know,

not even close,

took her life this morning.

~
It was in the news,

more grisly to the imagination,

than the simple passing,

the mortality of our

human condition.

~
Word was immediate,

she hanged herself.

~
Listen to the words,

hear them

resonate,

like a deep dark echo

on a hot summer night,

when we know,

somewhere,

something is wrong.

~
The thing about poetry is,

we write it as an expression,

sometimes we clear the air,

other times,

the toxic nature of our lives,

unfolds on paper,

the ink a spillage of prophecy,

and yet,

still no cure for depression.

~
Just words again,

words on words upon words,

and

still no cure for depression

~
I tell my kids,

the ones that listen in the classroom,

call someone,

use the phone, text,

use your mind to reach out,

despite the exhaustion,

yet there is that,

the fatigue piece,

whomever the motive

second-guessing

always here.

~
Have you met depression?

~
That dark place where every

misgiving one might possibly imagine

rears its ugly head,

it is incapacitating,

walls that do not exist,

screams that no one might ever hear,

and yet,

they do hear them,

incriminating, defeating, hopeless,

some of the words,

in the mind of the act,

while the rope tightens,

the air suffocating the misery,

the life lost in a couple of

real convulsions.

~
We lost a lot of people

in the pouring out of this ink,

there are more ahead,

tonight, last week, in a couple of days,

hours,

a few minutes from now,

there is someone will

forget they exist in a community,

find the door,

we are all welcome inside.


dedicated to the life of Kate Spade and all suicide victims past, present, future

Suicide Hotline 1-800-273-8255

(I’ve had my days, we all have, stick together please)

photo – Pinterest

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The Moon Spins While Being Human

Just when – a life – began to know,

the world would turn upside down,

up and down,

the roller coaster of living,

that piece of life,

that living peace,

the part of never knowing exactly why,

why not,

why should we begin

to feel there is a real reason,

it would be so easy,

they often say that in the final moments,

don’t they?

don’t they,

didn’t they ever give you any indication.

Did you know,

did you have any idea

at all.

 

It is in life’s conclusion,

we begin to realize,

forced really,

to know the beginning of answering

questions that will forever

be the haunting edge of wondering just how,

when,

why is it so simple to reason now,

when earlier in the day,

weeks ago,

that one time, that sunny afternoon,

where laughter always seemed to bury

the pain.

It was then,

the indicator

suggested we should all plan our lives

around being together,

knowing we would

always understand,

always be around,

be able to answer the …

there is a certain mystique in

recognizing timing and the essential

point

of no return.

 

She was as simply beautiful as

a spectacular morning sun,

his wit,

the ability for him to carry a room,

he’ll never know just how,

he’ll never know,

it is really too bad,

too bad,

when we all fail to realize

the beauty of life is being able

to face the demons head on.

 

Face the demons head on,

the spirit moves you,

to understand the world is

as simple as the day is long,

left in the hands of a complication,

we all have to recognize

there is a moon held in fashion,

for everyone,

for every one,

every

one person that suggests the same,

the people we care about,

care about you as well,

they all do see the same moon …

 

When simply we wonder

we always carry the same

the same familiar response,

we all can be in one,

holding true

to a realization.

 

We are all in some humane form,

responding to the same moon.

 

 

I Have This Friend

Cares about people,

sacrifice,

will go that extra,

sort of realizes the game,

wants little recognition,

doesn’t really need validation,

just wants a good sense of healing.

Sound familiar right,

the sort of ‘friend’ we sometimes envy,

not looking for a lot,

except the well-being of others –

sure there are accolades,

people love to be complemented,

yet,

seems clear to me,

this friend,

only supports the beauty of others,

those healthy moments,

epiphanies are a remarkable reality,

for that soul with compassion.

~

Have a friend like that?

I believe you do, I think we all know,

when we meet that sense of humility

long before entitlement.

I think we sometimes choose to cut down a fresh pine,

rather than allow the forest to grow …

I think we don’t realize just how naked we become.

When I Cannot Breathe

There becomes a slight pang,

grows with each sense of desire

perhaps some might call it pain,

yet this speaker would suggest a small fire.

There becomes that need to understand,

yet the clock ticks its metered reality,

and the notion, the ideal, some aspect

of hope,

is filtered down again,

to a one-time solution that never satisfies.

We can sit here all day long and spout off about

success, recovery, decent appraisal of our lives today,

though the path seems clear, still we wander,

when turbulent seas settle in to the mind,

there must be some reaction, an outlet, a place

to land the angst we have so often gained control of

in the past.

Yet, I want to be here,

this present of serenity,

this presence is all I ask.

How might we figure out some way

to address the constancy of

of

of

inherent failure modeled around

a sometime human compassion.

Other time a stigma whose most powerful advocate

must be the man, the woman, child,

the benefactor of resource gone awry.

There it is then, that transference is well on its way.

Get thee to a session old man,

Get thee to a human factory of love.

8 Years

gambling

Eight years ago, I stood by your side,

listening to your story,

wondering how life could become

such a travesty of pain and confusion.

I felt fortunate to not struggle your loss,

that loss of confidence,

that departure of reasoning,

the ability to throw your life away

without a second’s thought,

all for the mantra of a seething monster.

~

Eight years ago, I stood by your side,

telling my story,

how life had dealt me difficult times,

how my chances were failing,

how suddenly I no longer knew what gambling meant.

I only knew despair, fear, and grandiose notions,

of survival, of playing the game, of beating the odds.

When before I judged the world around me,

today’s court included me,

ownership and honesty knocked on my door.

~

Today, I do stand by your side,

and I am grateful,

but there is no credit in my arena,

that belongs to the power of giving,

all of you my recovering souls,

all of you that wake with every glorious day,

to proclaim to the listening voices,

‘today, I didn’t gamble, today I am clean!’

Today, I rise with each waking sun,

knowing I have been gifted with harmony.

~

Eight years ago, the urge to gamble, an insidious addiction,

suggested my life would be better if I stood next to all of you.

If I Could …

… I might just decide to disappear,

like a folktale that doesn’t receive

recognition.

I don’t really wonder about outcome,

that’s not the point actually,

that’s more the reason I just cannot

step off the ledge and fly away today.

Now do trust me conscience when I speak to you,

I will not forgive a soul that believes me,

for this is a fantasy and what better way

to create a story than allow some conflict

to raise some particular alarm.

Imagine if when the dust settled there was nothing wrong,

and the world would continue at a normal beat,

you know, listen, if you bend your ear close,

you’ll get the rhythm – it really hasn’t changed

since whenever a man and woman

discovered their seductive parts

would create more … conflict.

Yet when the ashes do finally blow away

in the wind like the old song goes,

there will be too many memories that remain,

too many moments that suggest

that purpose piece we all struggle to discover

remains a pleasant blue, an iridescent glow

that calms everyone at the end of the day.

So hug me with your words, I will stick around

to watch her grow, to see him succeed,

to share my world with you,

the challenges that give me pause.

If I could … I’ll be right by your side.

Let’s watch the sunrise together, again.

If Words Could Free

If words could free the missing

from the perils of their unknown pain

we might see the streets filled again

with laughter, children, delightful screams.

If words could free the lonely

longing stares in sideways mirrors,

drifting time zones, hurtful glances

might dissipate with passion in our hearts

If words could free the angry

we might see less of the fury

of disconnected families; of nations

wondering why it became so ugly

If words could free the back alley argument,

the ones where people yell

long before they ever understand

we might know a different sort of peace

If words could free the ignorant mind

that seeks to destroy their neighbor

for the color of their skin, we might

then know the reality of humanity.

If words could free the politics

of living with our own beliefs,

then maybe someday we might

understand the human condition.

If words could free we might know love.