Tag Archives: Poetry

Mental Health

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I have tools at my disposal

To keep my house happy

Good for trimming overgrowth that presses against the house

Or repairing damage from the environment.

That one is good for sawing down trees that might work their roots under.

This one helps me patch holes in the walls.

This glue prevents things from falling to pieces.

This paint keeps it cheerful and waterproof.

If I spray the house often, I keep the bugs out.

Moisture is inevitable, but it shouldn’t damage,

And it’s most important to keep the bugs out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To make a friend

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How exactly do you

make

a friend?

Out of the thin air

Out of the faceless crowds

You pick someone

Then come

Delicate first efforts

Some texts, some calls, some online discourse

Soon you can get a little closer

No sudden movements

Don’t scare them off

Feed them frequently

Small gifts

Eventually they trust you enough

To let you into their house

Hug them whenever you want

Get drunk together

Go for nothing drives

Drop by uninvited.

You don’t make a friend.

You tame one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Measuring in Decades

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The older I get

The more time me stretches out behind me

Once I measured my life in weeks

Now I measure in decades.

That milestone, ten years ago

This one fifteen.

I once lived a whole lifetime in fifteen years.

Now I’ve lived two.

Time is a funny thing

It starts out slow

And if you’re not careful

It picks up speed

Like a freight train

Before you know it

You run out of track

So put on the brakes.

Breathe

Savor

And measure

This living moment

In seconds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

under the drill

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Gadzooks! I forgot to post this morning!

 

 

the dentist

drills to shave the edge off my crown

raw

agony

blooms

I take myself away.

Relax into the pain.

everything I have learned

from years of dysmenorrhea

comes instantly into play.

Relax.

Relax more.

it’s that or wriggle

and you best not wriggle

under the drill.

it’s not very sensitive, is it? he says.

nooo… that hurt. I reply

and we all have a good laugh.

 

how strange we humans are.

how trusting.

 

I open my mouth again

and let him do it

ten more times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the world is first frostbitten

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When the world is first frostbitten

tender trees touched in thin ice

When summer shows its back

abandoning you for a faraway land

When winter’s wan face smirks at your peephole

hard fingernails tapping your door

knowing it will soon be strong

enough to crack your lock and let itself in

When everything disintegrates into blue and white and crispy brown

and the wind, mad surgeon, lacerates your summer softened skin

 

then the clouds part

affording you

one

glimpse

of heavenly light

a welcoming patch in which to stand

 

When you know you are about to lose it for good

that is when the warmest sun shines

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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