Depression Poetry in Four Phases
I.
Heart laid raw and tender on the block
Heart laid raw and tender on the block
Pinpoint precision vessels interlock
Traverse a trail with Robert Frost
Ask the butcher what it cost
To cut away the ugly parts
Failures and false starts
The road we’re taking calls my bluff
Will they drag me out when it gets rough?
II.
Like Emily D I will write
my poems during my
breaks after we pass meds at night –
Amateur work life high
careening with cancer careers –
manifested into
dark meaning myth – dancer appears –
taps unrested on cue –
I’ll play golden gongs for my friends –
Hear rhythm in my head –
Make my little songs – love pretends
I exist without dread
III.
I’m just a mom who pays the bills
I wake up and takes my morning pills
I live as a modern day Sylvia Plath
I purchased a house with no bath
The gas oven clearly fits the task
I trouble family without my mask
I never was the best in math
I went to school just to ask
Am I wasting time as an empath?
Money goes down the drain
I drop out like a downed plane
I wonder what became of my purpose
If lack of doctorate makes me worthless
How long until I go insane?
IV.
it was never perfect never done
paint dried out s l o w l y in hot sun
over time it’s more doldrummings
i carry it like e. e. cummings
strings of this heart strumming
but now I pull it out of my p t
o e
ck
ck
laid raw and tender on the block it
asks me what I need this time
place coat over
puddle to block the grime
before I step in filth and s
i
n
k with the crime
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Typo in stanza 3, line 2: *take
Tracking the elders , as am I.
Nice to meet you fellow traveler.
Have a blessed morning.
Love you morning folks!
And love:
Ask the butcher what it cost
To cut away the ugly parts
and the shape of this poem:
strings of this heart strumming
but now I pull it out of my p t
o e
ck