Friday, 20 July 2018

Life Of A Depressive Cycle (July 20, 2018)

Over the horizon
Darkening clouds gather
Thin black line forms
Ominous signs of trouble.

Past storms heralded
Sudden dramatic plummeting
Emotional barometer
Dangerously low levels
Threatening life.

First stormridge hits
Like an unmarked riptide
Abruptly overpowering.

Written poems fall
Covering soulscape
In emotionally laden words
Like sleet of ice.

Months may past
Before another poem.

Second stormridge arrives
Black rain clouds
Unburdened themselves
With tear stain streaks.

Eerie silence descends
Locked on emotional
And physical drained soul.

Hidden war
Viciously fought
Outright control of soul
Any misstep-Death.

Not all fronts
Visibly seen campaigns
War of attrition.

Internalized anger grows
Appetite-ebbs and flows
With the waistline.

Interlocking walls built
Brick upon brick
Kiln fired by isolation
Mentally and physically
Fatigued soul.

Craving all levels-sleep
Unfulfilled need
Debt grows.

Bedside clock/radio
Signals time
Not days passage
In hypnotic light/dark dance.

Concept of time
Nothing more
Last meal/bathroom break
In physical world.

Ideation stays passive
Not active.

Upon active stage
Suicidal plans decoded
Static-free reception
Properly aligning
Mental receiving dish.

Becomes a weapon
Wanting pain gone.

Code Delta
Pain over.

Long slow recovery
Rebuilding mental bridges
Collateral from the war.

Despite this
Never reaching
True mental equilibrium
Falling just short
In recovery.

Therisa © 2018

Author’s note: How some of bouts of depressions are like, for me.

Society's Wilderness (July 18, 2018)

I don't remember
Who was the first person
That I taught me
How to hate myself.

It may have been
My younger brother.

Or the kids
In the rural schoolyard
Upon starting kindergarten
Attacking verbally
And physically
For being different.

Not sure
If it's a mercy
Or a curse.

Having forgotten
Those young boys’ name
Who taught me
Being openly transgender
Is playing Russian Roulette
With one's life.

In publicly saying
I wanted to be
Wonder Woman
At the age of 7
During the 1970s.

Spending the next 28 years
In destructive self-denial
Thoughts of daily self-harming
Never far away.

Viewing life
A living death penalty
Without any appeals
Or hint of parole.

Never waking up
Next morning
After a night’s sleep.

Anger grows
Having survived
Through the night.

As I move around
The edges of society
Seeking the promised land
From the wasteland
I have walked.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: From most of my life, I have endure the verbal, physical and mental abuse from others, because I was different. In the case of my family, my mother smothered and manipulated me, taking every major decision out of my hands, as she tried to protect the 4 year old child, who came upstairs, with her mouth blown wide open from electrical burns. As for my younger brother, he’s a narcissistic person, who needs the attention of others.

Tuesday, 17 July 2018

Early Sunday Thoughts (July 15, 2018)

Is a hard task
When anger has fueled
The drive forward.

In moving
From that place
All souls go
Before the last dance.

Feeling like
You're betraying
A part of yourself
By doing so.

As a civil war rages
Deep within one's self
Which way
Does one turn?

In what direction
Everything can change
In a heartbeat.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: Early Sunday morning thoughts. Not exactly sure, where I going right now, as I should be sleeping. My smartphone displays the time of 5:08 am.

Must be tired, as several lines of verse are rhyming. Sigh.

Golden Voices (July 17, 2018)

Rose tinted memories
Of those days
So long ago.

Father and child
Bonding together
Over a game
The child loved.

Grand old game*
Unfolding before us
Over the car radio
As we visit family
Or the cottage.

Where everyone is equal
Of players’ skin colour
To the listeners’ imagination
As they ran out
Onto the field.

“Hello friends”
Marked Blue Jays broadcasts
For 27 years
By hall of fame announcer
Tom Cheeks (1977-2004).

With first partner
Early Wynn (1977-81)
Then Jerry Howarth (1982-2017).

Called both Toronto Blue Jays
World Series championship
In 1992 and 1993.

Kept a young child alive
With their voice of hope
As bullying and abuse
Became too much.

Offering the chance
To saviour
Life’s rich bouquet
And to dream
The impossible.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note:

*Nickname for baseball.

A poem for Poets United’s midweek motif writing prompt: Greatness / in honor of Nelson Mandela International day). How two men saved my life.

The Ugliest American (July 13, 2018)

President Trump.

At long last
You've achieved greatness
Of epic proportions
Unseen by history.

Since humanity took
It's first step
Walking upright

Don't be so bashful
Mister President
About your historical milestone
Hiding in Scotland
For two days.

Your adoring public
Wants to celebrate
In fun filled ways.

What's a few words
Between bosom buddies
At the G7 and NATO meetings
A few drinks won't cure.

Might want to hide
All sharp pointed objects
From British Prime Minister May
German Chancellor Merkel
And the rest of the EU leadership
At future gatherings.

Just to be
On the safe side.

Don't want
Any diplomatic incidents
Do we.


Some people
Just can't take
Constructive criticism
In any form.

Never mind
Your generous offer
Of free room and board
For those unexpected guests
At your Mexican border
From Central America.

Some overzealous minions
May have gotten carried away
Following orders
In offering hospitality.

We all know
It's hard to find
Properly trained minions
These days.

So raise a glass
In saluting you
President Trump
On your accomplishment.

Therisa © 2018

Author’s note: A satirical poem for Poets United’s midweek motif writing prompt: Greatness / in honor of Nelson Mandela International day).

Bridge Builders (July 11, 2018)

We talk about greatness
A person doing
Extraordinary things
Beyond normal ability
Like they're super human.

Overlooking people
In our rush
Moving through life
Doing everyday things
Taken for granted.

Only stepping back
Upon reflection
Do we see
The extraordinary ordinary
Come forth.

In offering
An understanding ear
That's non-judgemental
To people
In mental crisis.

Rebuilding bridges
Towards stability
Until they're accessing
Professional help.

Simple sounding task
Many don't have
Necessary patience
For this.

Navigating a system
Often leaves one
Feeling frustrated
With various barriers
To overcome.

And yet
There they are
On the frontline
Fighting the war.

Where no one sees
The emotional mental
And physical cost
Behind closed doors
To them.

Please don't wait
For days like
Nelson Mandela
International Day
To honour them.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: This poem is dedicated to those people, who are the real heroes, in the mental health war, friends and family. Even strangers, who open their hearts to those, in need.

Part of the Poets United’s midweek motif writing prompt: Greatness / in honor of Nelson Mandela International day)

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