depression

Glass Jar World

lillian9 Comments

I am afloat
no eyes, no touch
in this senseless world.

This cadaver cavernous world
dreams dissipated, despair afloat
you see me, but do not touch.

Ignored. Here, not. Not for touch.
Gasping in your fragile world,
I am no one, simply afloat,

afloat, a glass shard, in your no-touch world.

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Tritina written for Day 7, NaPoWriMo. The Tritina: three, three line stanzas and a final concluding line. Three “end words” are used to conclude the lines of each stanza, in a set pattern of ABC, CAB, BCA and all three words must appear in the final line. Another poetry sudoku! Photo Credit: Pickled 2, 2009 by Antoine A. R. Hunt, Bermudian, 1967: in the Collection of the Bermuda National Gallery.

Oracle

lillian13 Comments

Card table covered in dusty gauze scarf,
book case with tattered paper backs
two chipped coffee mugs
and one stuffed black bird.
This basement flat, windows dark
gold stars and silver moon
taped on black garbage plastic.

She sits, tarot deck in hand
gnarled fingers poised to read,
nail tips brown from nicotine.
Curling grey wisps of hair
bejeweled barrette, three stones
so obviously missing.

I watch wearily. Smell her breath
and incense stick. Shove down
this nauseous urge. I must hear.
She must tell me what I need to hear.
And she hoarsely begins to speak.

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Written for Ms. Quickly’s prompt, this way to the oracle.
Photo Credit: Ruxandra Moldoveanu.

Loretta

lillian3 Comments

Happy in her new digs,
plywood and metal scraps,
original resident dead.
A step up from cardboard,
if she could eradicate the smell.

Comic strips, the colored ones,
wallpaper of choice.
Condoms stored in knock-off bag,
Pick your flavor, pick your place.
But no, not here. Not in my space.

Golden locket round her neck
broken knotted chain.
Daddy’s picture kept within,
missing god knows where
always hangng near.

Mama’s image burned one day.
Albatross memories
seared in heart.
Flailing arms and slurred tongue,
bottle thrown. Crashed into her soul.

YOU. GET. OUT.

And so she did,
grabbed the locket and ran.
Happy sweet sixteen.
Birthday promise made that day
always kept, these many years.

Sobriety.
Eyes tired, never shut.
She saw their faces, every john.
Every thrust she felt,
every punch and hunger pain.

But slurring, oblivious sot?
She would NEVER be her.

a-girl-eerily-exhausted-1537602

Photo credit: Linda Lacerna. Somehow, in this holiday season, my heart is drawn to those who have not – the Lorettas of this world.

From Her Side

lillian2 Comments

Like a dust storm
swirls of grey, dark, darker still.
Whirl of words stick to skin
broken twigs, stabs of blame.
Misery clings to eye lids,
sneers and looks of disdain
seen in every moment of wakefulness.
Like sheaves of wheat broken in the gale
she droops, snaps, folds in to herself.
Years of neglect wrought this reality.
She disappears, marginalized,
haze floating on the wind.
Mouth open, silent howls, she succumbs.
Responsibility acknowledged by no one.
Acrid pain swallowed,
she chokes on life.

SONY DSC
Photo Credit: Patrice Dufour

Here But Not

lillian7 Comments

stockvault-macaw137674  photo credit:   Geoffrey Whiteway

The macaw flew out the window
and my world became inescapably grey.
Poe’s raven without naming text
no black, no white.
Like peering closely at a newspaper,
pica type-print not visible
only paper fibers
etched in fine lines of shaded grey.
Guaranteed indelible ink
smudged by presses.
And no voices.
Only empty word bubbles
suspended from flapping mouths.
Filmed eyes watch stick figures
slink nearby in slow motion.
What happened to me that day?
The day the macaw flew out my window.

Dedicated to those who live in the throes of mental illness or depression,
invisible too long.

Secret No More

lillian14 Comments

Like a bruise on peach skin
her flushed face was mottled
from too much handling.

He stood across from her
tapping his spit polished
wing tip shoes.

Quiet, festering
until his fist slammed
into the glass table top.

Cornucopia upended
plastic fruits
clattered to the floor

as she stood, silent
eyes cast down
waiting for the barrage

she knew
would come.

peachs-1327003

WP Writing 201 Prompt for Day Four: Limerick, Imperfection and Enjambment (poetic device where grammatical sentences spill into next verse. It seems I’ve slipped to the “dark side” with this poem, using the idea of imperfection and enjambment. Obviously, this is not a limerick – for that, go to the Humor Category and see the G-tarian poem. 

Introvert

lillian10 Comments

Like a blurry scrim
hanging on the back stage wall,
she veiled her feelings
as she played her role in life,
in the spotlight but aloof.

scenaII__03A_10

In response to WP Writing 201: Poetry, Day One. Three prompt options: 1) write a haiku or tanka; 2) include the word “screen”  or write about some type of screen; 3) use alliteration.  I’ve hit 2 out of 3. This tanka (syllabic lines of 5-7-5-7-7) uses a scrim as its primary image.  A scrim is a piece of gauze cloth that appears opaque until lit from behind — often used as a screen or backdrop in the theater.