Monthly Archives: August 2013
More great poetry from someone I didn’t know of before.
as many of you know, my teenaged daughter killed herself 20 years ago. this speaks to my heart
Reprinted from years ago when he lived in a dirty old concrete box full of overcrowded rooms [now he lives in a new, clean concrete box with only one roommate!]. One of the first poems he showed me. It was in the first year of my work as the last watercooler in hell. We spent months just talking and sharing poetry every week.
This one broke my heart.
written 2/21/09 6:25 p.m.
We watched a butterfly be born into the world
Held hands at a scary film
Thought silly jokes were funny
Smiled with our eyes
I love you was spoken a lot
Mingled with other couples
Broke up once or twice
People talked about our relationship
She wrote when I was gone in jail
This is where we failed
My time was longer than her love
Have a picture of her I can’t tear up
It looks like she is shaking her finger at me in the picture
Wish I wouldn’t have made my mistake
Stakes were too high for me
Alone again with 40 men
This next is mine, this morning.
Arrive by jail van
drive through a garage door that closes behind you
the world has turned upside down
everyone has latex gloves
“Take off your clothes and get in the shower to the right”
frightened, you look for a human face
you may not see those clothes again
people are watching you through a mirrored window
instructions come from the wall mounted speaker
high above reach
“If you can’t clean yourself properly we will send someone to help you”
you don’t want to be touched by those rubber hands
you do your best to obey but it is hard-
nothing makes sense, you suppress an urge to scream out loud
they are making sure you don’t have anything
anything at all
you are truly stripped by the time they let you into the next room
“Put on these clothes. We will help you if you can’t do it by yourself”
again you comply
“What is happening to me?
What happened to your face?”
“We will help you to get better”
time, ushered along, nothing is right
[correct, true, accurate, factual, fit, satisfactory]
go to your room
. . . .
Doctor: “My job is to diagnose your illness,
and take you to court if you refuse them”
“I’m not here to talk to you or listen-
in fact, if you see me coming that’s bad news for you”
and, you think, I still haven’t gotten my self back
(or my clothes and by the way
NPR never sent me the tote bag they promised during the fund drive)
. . . .
oh God, if I’m crazy what does that make
No longer in the 50 Building, since no one is there anymore. I wonder, can I change the categories? I’ve added the tag “spirit heart”. I should go back and find all Jim’s poems and re-tag.
In the cuckoo’s nest, songs drift down from Bird #3.
Re-printed from Journeys Newsletter, with permission by author:
A Formula for Life
The day begins, ready or not. Shower and shave as I, Spirit-Heart, gather pen and paper.
I try to write well as the twelfth year passes.
Creatures crawl, slither and Mother Earth spins like no tomorrow. Life flourishes in the warming and drying dew.
Jesus is listening to my morning prayer. He blesses me this morning with food I enjoy.
The gravity pulls me down, toward the land of meadows. I will listen to the snow-birds sing with twilight rays.
Clouds form from taking moisture back and I start singing the lyrics to “Amazing Grace”.
My personal feeling is to trim the fruit trees in the meadow. Life needs pruning to strengthen core belief, philosophy; theory if there is a will there is a way.
These moments of shaping me, trees, life to form honest behavior. I see creatures in this ecosystem on the mountain.
The trees are pruned and I head for the creek to wash and work muscles.
Aging gives me permission to have reverence. Mother Nature folds into death with a seed to unfold life again.
My soul will go to the living universe, as I am a cup of universe soul. Life gives, takes, gives in the ecosystem and I will remember that “Law”.
I retreat to the shore after my swim from working muscles gentle, and reflect the moments I cherish while in a fold, unfold style.
Chasing History Trauma
The child wailed, cried, scream with flood of tears
Jimmy, abuse and resentments buried the feelings to smoldering rage
Red, fire, anger, digested as food for the soul
Fighting this rage made him engage hostility
Settling in the void was this smoldering rage to rise by triggers
Thrashing out, acting out is all release shown
Learning Kung-Fu meditation, give the energy to an orbiting void
Souls and Spirit, chat to entities of the orbit surface and supress
Trauma of disguise comes when future triggers are alone
Jimmy sees the micro-world split from essence
A “Recovery Tree” planted as essence in the tiny orbit
Kung Fu meditation makes the tree bloom
No more pain for trauma- sane, as the tree bark absorbs negative soul, spirit
This tree in the void is essence that holds spirit & soul orbit
Now when triggered, pain hurts just a little
Roots and trunk grow to knowledge and wisdom as he begins to giggle