Category Archives: suicide

That Morning

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Maori-Grey-Color-Ink-3D-Cracked-Face-Tattoo-On-Boys-Hand-For-Man
Pulled up to the curb
Hated building in sight
Drive shifted to Park
Pinging from under the hood

Tools for the day gathered
Unsnapped restraints
Body free
Yet, an unexpected hellish message came to me

Heavy chills from that winter day
Were nothing to the inward heat
Words tore through the chest
Filling up a now empty cavity

Pain sat in those words
Brushing off; tossed away
Snow fell in furried force
Muddled mind filled with numbing pain

The words made no sense
Content denied
The words finally made sense
As what was left flew away

No awareness of time falling away
Park was gone; drive remained
Yet no destination set
To a melted mind


We don’t grow when things are easy.

We grow when we face challenges.” ~ Joyce Meyer

Grandfather Speaks

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1st Chime: Midnight approaches. I’ve prepared for the darkness, urging it to mask what is to come. What needs to be done. What will be.

2nd Chime: I sit in her favorite chair. I have never done that before. The dent of her body is etched into the fabric and padding. I do not fit.

3rd Chime: Time. Time is going too slow. It is out of my control if I ever had any. My palms are wet. A tiny rivulet streaks down my brow into my eyes. It burns.

4th Chime: I gasp. My mouth. It feels like I poured ground cinnamon into the chamber. I cough clouds of red.

5th Chime: Hurry. Hurry. I need to. No. Wait. I can’t. Wait.

6th & 7th Chime: My calves cramp. I hadn’t noticed my knees were jumping like pistons. It won’t obey me. It won’t stop.

8th Chime: All. It’s not well. Not. The walls are closing in. There is wailing from the floor, right under my planted soles.

9th & 10th Movement: I heard no chimes. I’m fixed on the second hand as he struggles for the next second. The grandfather is moving time on.

11Th Chime: My lips are cracked. As I use my tongue to sponge them, I get the taste of copper as it sweeps over the swollen bottom lip.

12th Chime: Here. It is here. The elevated heart rate hurts my rib cage. There is a sour smell surrounding me. It does not offend. I am dripping wet with perspiration. It is time. It is time. I reach over to the frazzled side table.

The grandfather clock ticks eleven more.

On the 12th tick, the gun barrel is in my mouth.

I…

 

 

<<<<<<<<<<     >>>>>>>>>>

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

I host a writing group on Saturday mornings: Daydreamers Write! Prompts & Challenges. The above was from the challenge prompt: Strange things happen when the Grandfather Clock speaks. The challenge: Coat your piece in MOOD. Write in First-person & the narrator is not reliable. If you can, use all five (six?) senses. Some wrote prose, some poetry, and then…

The picture is ©Eric Freitas. If you want to see more of his work, the link is attached to the picture. His work is amazing, and Eric works on commissions. Check his website. 

 

Daydreamers Write! Prompt & Challenges  is a virtual writers group. We meet every Saturday morning (EST) from 10:00 am to Noon. Two prompts (2nd one holds the challenge), writing, sharing, constructive feedback, all in that two-hour slot. What I love about keeping this virtual is that we have members from both coasts in the US, and one from London. 

Click on the link, sign up for a membership, and then find the date you’d like to join in. Please send in the RSVP that is attached to that day’s invite. 

Any questions? You can leave me a message on the MeetUp page or direct to organizerdaydreams@gmail.com

One – Thirteen – Eight

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Thirteen years

Separated by a day

Tear apart Autumn.

 

Leaves die,

Their true colors surfacing

Until they fall.

 

It all happened too fast

As slow as it went

Eight years the aftermath. 

 

Two held out

Eyelids close for the last time

Left much unanswered with regrets

 

Stick it out, alone

As ideation throws itself

Against membrane walls.

 

Silence instead of screams

Close lips, open eyes

The yelling of the past is past.

 

There is a disconnect

Rejections, Turned backs

As the darkness of the night

Seeps into the coming day

Hiding is opportune

When one day is like the next.

 

 

Mathematical Equations Flow into a Bear’s Winter Den.

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Mathematical Equations Flow into a Bear’s Winter Den.

“You should let it go”

The Grizzly snapped

Claws sharp and bright

“Stop the hoping;

Nothings coming back!”

As the Bear pounces on you,

Teeth clamping on

Growling “No one’s complete.”

She’d advance then goes still

Hot breath steaming your face.

Your legs quiver

Barely holding you up

As eyes bore into yours

You can’t look away for

No place to retreat.

“Prove it!” she demanded

Pushed full weight against the rocks

“What do you think you deserve?

What offers can you keep?”

She came to you,

Not the other way

Break all the fucking rules

Then she came, then pushed away

Retreating then imploring

Over tumbling common ground.

Repeating past confusions,

Not again, not again

There’s a challenge, a test

It’s denied. unspoken, yet

Rend your mind wide

Show that you bend,

Expectations leveling out

Leaving little behind.

Except you.

You are easily left behind.

Unique in a good way,

“Not trashed,” she opined.

In that moment

Invisibility leaps forth

Blurring the Grizzly from taking

More than you’re worth.

It ripped into you

Left bleeding before the crowds

Who feeds into the invisible shroud

You’ve donned again, for as always,

It is always around.

“Prove it!” was demanded

Never given the chance

So, you are forced to turn and run.

You stumble,

Head an aching mess.

And you trip, you fall

Excoriated, shattered, so fucking deep.

It is easy to hide

You’ve established that fact

Yet a question remains:

Is it easier to just die?

 

 

 

Singing Songs of Joy and Peace

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Singing Songs of Joy and Peace*

 

 

We know what strict is

In the counts of the missing

The missing found

Splatters of their former selves

Shatters of what memories we had

Pushing away the viewpoints of before

It has to be forgotten

Or drag us into the mud

Meaningful deaths, but not now

They graphically get pushed away.

 

The clarity of the season was here

Wintery chills drifting along open skin

Particles inappreciable in white shells

Ingesting the soot of the days and nights

The wet becomes us

Slogging through the cold

We’re nothing but walking icicles

Degradation in our feet

 

Mornings must start with songs of Joy

From barracks to fields

To lift any spirit that could be raised

Through enforced blockage of what’s to come

Songs of Peace enforced taking Joys place

Blaring out, amplified unjust

Home is dancing in the street

Yet no dance here; our patterns are strict,

As long as this weather held.

 

Mercurial temperaments of nature

Have no sense of staying put

Wished away, ignoring petty whines

Pleading prayers always unheard

Chilled or sweltering

We melted or froze

In the fullness of time,

The weather changed.

 

Of the frozen deaths

We revoked our hearts

Set to extra toils

Making up for the dead

Of our sweat drenched backs

We camouflaged our hearts

What was left of them, numb or dead.

 

As long as this weather holds

“This” becomes mythical

While we wait; We wait

Continuing to give up lives

Joining the unremembered in their weather passage.

The egregious screws are welded holdfast

As we sing songs of Joy and Peace

Nevertheless the vagaries of weather;

Nonetheless what clasps us to those songs.

 

March on.

Opposite actions enforced.

Strictly.

 

March on.

~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~     ~~~~~

Author’s Note:

“Songs of joy and peace” come from Joni Mitchel’s beautiful song, River. I had listened to it only minutes before when I shut off my music app and tuned into that night’s writing group, River River Writer’s Circle. The prompt was “When the weather changes.” The above happened, was shared, and got the suggestion: “Think about expanding this out” (well, “stretching it out”). So, I let it sit, came back to it, and the above is the result.

Thank you, Ms. Mitchel. A sad, but integral song for many.  What I wrote is no reflection on her song. The fourth line of the first stanza stayed with me.

The opening stanza from Joni Mitchel’s River is: 

It’s coming on Christmas
They’re cutting down trees
They’re putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

Songwriters: Mitchell Joni
River lyrics © Sony Atv Music Publishing France, Joni Mitchell Publishing Corp, Sony/atv Tunes Llc Obo Joni Mitchell Publishing Corp., Wb Music Corp Obo Jam N Bread Music

 

EDIT: Boy, am I dense!

Joni Mitchel’s River

RiverRiver Writer’s Circle. 

I just realized it. Not planned at all. Doh! Oy! :::palmface:::

 

 

 

City Song, My

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Fuck the city

Overblown, hyperactive concrete and stone

Greasy street food; greasier people

Racing around, step on or over

Searching for the bright lights

Eclipsed by the shadows




To hell with the city

Nearly everyone’s oppressed

In some misguided way

Bend your neck, never knees,

As the fight to make it

Truth ends in buckets of the kill.




Screw the city

As it screws with you

Power, status, held in slimy claws

There’s heartache in the streets

Trod upon with running shoes.

You deserve what you get




Obliterate the city

Turn off the lights

You can’t see the stars shine

Blinded eyes obfuscate

Nothing to see here; move along

Dwindle yourself; something is wrong.




Fuck the city

Obsessiveness and greed

Hatred and fear

Isolated in ignorance

Shriek your outrage

Bellow your unscripted song.

 

Promises of People

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Darksit

Do I think living is a waste of time?

Depending on the day, I usually do

What stays with me in a world of No’s

Doesn’t make the future really glow. 

 

There’s sadness on a constant basis

There is no day that I don’t hurt

Even isolated from the isolated

The noises outside breaks into the room

 

Look at all you’ve got to live for

Imagine all the people who’d hurt

It is easy to get so distracted

By promises of people who say

 

Each day there’s awakening

Going through routines

Then you fall into that circle

Of repeating the same old things

 

What makes joy bleed away?

Why does nothing stick

Push away the best you can

But the pain is always there

The pain is always here

 

Look at all you’ve got to live for

Imagine all the people who’d hurt

It is easy to get so distracted

By promises of people who say

 

By the emotions they express

Or hide away in their own ways

When reaching out is near impossible

When no one wants to cope with you

 

So, scream your essence to pieces

Locked in your muddy head

Stop playing that you want to go on

I’m fine, I’m fine, fine.

 

Look at all you’ve got to live for

Imagine all the people who’d hurt

It is easy to get so distracted

By promises of people who say

 

I’m tired

I’m so tired

I wish I wasn’t here

Why am I wasting time?

 

Screeching Fury

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campfire

(Credit: Pavelk/Shutterstock)

Screeching Fury

 

Everything is darkness.

Raging fires, flaring high above our heads

Distant light snuffed out by the night.

Wounds never heal; we ooze out of ourselves

Stuffing gauze pads, cover with bandages

Not closing, not lessening, never clotting

Infectious nature saturate places uncrossed

There is beauty in moments

When the glare inside is strong

But it fades, it fades

As more darkness surrounds.

 

For some, existence changes

Opening senses, letting them coexist

Abstract perceiving demands explanations

Or relief.

What should and what should not be

Or, hide from it all

Behind flickering words

On flickering screens

On flickering pen on paper

Being part, while apart

Everything is darkness.

Still, for some

Brightness endures.

 

 

 

What It Is

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Crumbled mass of memories

Beating to remain

Drift away in pieces

Day by week

Week by month

Our chorus has refrained.

 

Let the days go by

Time is translucent

Affixed by artificial means

Seconds are meaningless

Hours, years, what do they share?

Try to keep track of this dark despair.

 

Say: “It’ll be over soon. We’ll return to normal.”

Hope that’s true, but, it’s written in the wind

Carved deep by our wants

Fashioned by others invested greed

It’ll all be over soon.

Hah! Don’t hold your breath.

 

Don’t cross my boundaries

While I obliterate yours

My space is limitless

Go back to other shores

I am eternally right

You know you’re always wrong.

 

Don’t come closer

Don’t you fucking dare.

Hide behind a wall of hate

Imagine I don’t give a shit

This world is for the taking

One breath will never come.

 

History becomes what we think

Nothing learned; ours to repeat

Our earth creeks and shakes

As it senses and retaliates

In the beginning, one

So at the end. None.

 

Crumbled mass of what we were

Bleeding to remain

Feeling wasted, dried to dust

Yet we wait behind closed doors

Time isn’t after us

Nothing is holding us.

 

**Apologies and credit to The Talking Heads.

 

Nightmare Reflection: 2020 AtoZ Blog Challenge

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Reflection #atozchallenge 2020

 

NIGHTMARE REFLECTIONS

NIGHTMARES FROM AN UNBLEACHED SOUL

The AtoZ Blog Challenge 2020

Writing In Captivity

The AtoZ is a challenge. I take that seriously. Since 2011, my first foray into this, I have changed gears from year to year. I like stretching beyond my comfort zones. Some of it has been well taken in both Stats and comments. Others, like this year, not so much.

I am pleased with what I chose to do:  write 26 Lyrical Poems under the theme title. Write every day in April, except Sundays. I have written poetry before, many well received by the readers. But, I write in that style intermittently.

This was truly a challenging April.

If you’ve followed from April 1st  with Awakenings to Zealous O’er the Seas, you’ve experienced my venting, wistfulness, wishing, observations, and anger through my words. Some I rhymed on purpose, some I just let the words loose.

Every single poem was written with a genre of music or musician’s styling playing in my head. I did not intend to appropriate any specific song; it’s the overall mood they convey and are masters of. I’ve written songs before, but I have no knowledge of musical notation and I don’t play a musical instrument. I hear it inside and then turn to someone to collaborate with. From humming it out, setting the beats (as I see them), hearing it played,  gets me going. Seeing how the meter is off from one (or many) line(s) starts my rewrite of the lyrics if needed. Tweaking the piece, scrapping whole verses, you know: first to finished draft.

The music that drifted around me as I wrote the poem daily (I don’t pre-write) is varied:

  1. Big Band/Crooners; Folk music; Rap (as I understand it); Sea Shanties; Rock; Heavy/Thrash Metal; Alt Rock & Alt-Country; Punk; Romantic-ish; Blues; Singer/Songwriter.
  2. Artists:  Tom Waits; Leonard Cohen; The Kinks; Joni Mitchel; Peter Gabriel; Kate Bush; Sousie and the Banshees; Alestorm; Dean Martin; St. Vincent; later Beatles; Beck; The Clash; The Cure; and others that my mind can’t latch onto right now.

Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul

Why Nightmares from an Unbleached Soul? What does that mean, to you? What do you think it means to me? I asked that question near the end of the month and got one response.

Noor Anand Chawla wrote:

I think your title alludes to the fact that you lay yourself and perhaps your worst fears, bare to your audience, through these 26 pieces. “Nightmares” refer to your worst fears, and “unbleached soul” refers to the absence of restraint and being absolutely honest about your feelings.
Perhaps my explanation is too simplistic? What do you think?

Noor pretty much nailed it. I feel that nightmares go beyond our sleep. They are all around us. It could be people, situations, personal fears, perceived fears, and hurt that you feel has been done to you, or that you have done to yourself.

Noor also got the “Unbleached Soul” part. I would add to that when we follow the crowd, stop thinking on our own (or made to stop), refuse to look at things from another angle = Bleached. Soul or Mind: interchangeable.

Overall, I am a non-conformist. I despise the statement “We’ve always done it this way!” For me, there is no box for me to think out of. It’s been imposed on me time and again. Not my thing. I’m creative. I don’t always follow mindless rules, inflexible, with no desire to even listen to a different POV. Sometimes I’ve done that: those are the times I get headaches constantly and down more aspirin than I should.

Try Noor’s blog (link above). I think you’ll enjoy her writing.

Overall 

I love the AtoZ Blog Challenge. I’ve come across some amazing writers, and many have become online friends. Their pieces are varied from all types of fiction to creative non-fiction to reviews and more. That’s a big part of why I come back.

As I mentioned above, I like a challenge when writing. This gives me that opportunity with the potential to reach well beyond the people who follow me. I’m not hawking for new followers. The performer side of me wants people to want more, for the readers to take what they will from the piece that can touch them &/or make them think.

I am disappointed, again already mentioned, with my stats and comments this year. This was the smallest audience of all my years participating. I went out on a limb, poured a lot of what’s inside of me (as Noor mentioned), and while getting some amazing feedback I wonder what didn’t connect with others. Normally, I’ve had serialized stories that are long in length. I get that. Long posts are sometimes passed over, especially when you are blog hopping.

If I join in again next year, I have a lot of contemplation ahead of me.

Big thanks to Arlee Bird and all the other hosts who worked on this year’s Atoz Blog Challenge. It is obvious how much work they have put in. It shows in many ways.

Big thanks 2, to all of my readers, commenters, and supporters. Too many to name, but know your interaction is priceless.

Stay safe and healthy, everyone.

missionaccomplished