Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, January 25, 2015

The Touch


His eyes race

Four hundred years of alcohol on his breath

Dead Man Incorporated

Discarded dreams in piles

Hope without a face in the mirror

His hands map out the pain

Experienced

The pyramid tattoo illuminates the room

Gold

He travels on high

The river flows over his face

His desire lodged between rocks

Like a paper boat

The concrete sweats memory

The touch of another

Saturday, October 4, 2014

The rhythm of the world

Sometimes my life moves too fast. I try to slow down. I try to center, meditate, close my eyes and find peace in the rhythm of the world.


The old man sits in the building, silent
his brain races with thoughts of clouds
he hasn't seen the light of happiness
the tension puts pressure against his soul
the earth moves like a slow motion murder
he stares at the wrinkles on his hands
a map of experience, existence
he longs for relief from the echo
he misses the former version of a boy
lost in the storm 
the angels swing on the playground in silence
he has a shovel, polished 
engraved with the names of memories
the cloud seeps through the crack under the door
the string unravels
he closes his eyes, asks for peace
the clouds become a pillow

and the angels sing softly in his head
B

Sunday, September 14, 2014

I want to be the ghost

It creates a printout to track her movement, her memory
desire swirls like clouds before the storm
where has she gone
the demons scatter from the darkness
I miss her when I close my eyes
the ghosts torment me
I long to float with the clouds
the demons pull me to the ground
they have created a machine

and I want to be the ghost


Sunday, June 8, 2014

Hesitation in Motion

The second sweeps like a slow motion suicide.
The clock face pure like the bleached skull of memory past.
He leans against the steel bars, watching, waiting as the clouds build.
He hasn't seen the sky in five months and longs for its spectacle of desire.
The sun and moon sleep on the heavy black numbers.
The energy of the storm builds, the pressure lives in his head.
Like a worn place in the movement, he watches for a hesitation in motion.
He waits 
watches 

for a hesitation in motion



Friday, May 23, 2014

a paper boat

memories, dreams flow like the river.
its force creates a vibration much like a locomotive
there is no love here it has been carried down stream 
the echo 
a ghost
it cannot be stopped, only muffled
we drop hope in the shape of a paper boat
on the waters edge.
a love letter to the sea
the walls talk to me
heat vibrates in the air
the ghosts cry out in silence

to be paper boats
B

Saturday, March 29, 2014

a continued dialogue with the boy

“Are you ready to put that in a coffin?”
“All that shit you carry around.”
“Are you ready to be someone other than who you think you are?”
“Can you let it go?”, “Can you be you, and not a version that you have created?”
“Those very things that you have clanged to, desired, have destroyed you”
“They have no value, now”
“however they are part of what got you here, without your love for them, you would not have made it this far.”
“the truth to who you are, who you can become exists at the bottom of a grave”
“are you ready to dig?”
“are you ready to work?, to uncover the truth.”
“I will stand beside you, I will hold the walls from falling in on you”
“I will guide you.”
“I will remind you when you are ready to give up”
“All that shit you carry around…bury it.”


The old man with the wide brimmed hat
B

Friday, March 14, 2014

The soul collector

Her dress is  made of the softest white cotton.
The white is mixed form the color of clouds and hope.
Her skin is fair and covered in the images of dreams.
The glow from behind her is golden mixed with harmony.
Her hair, a pale blonde is long, curly, holding pain in each strand.

I see her somedays, on playgrounds,
walking between houses, at the busy intersection.
I see her sitting in the clouds.
She can be my friend.

Every tiny cotton thread of her dress is made of souls, golden
She is earth, heaven, harmony.
She is peace, balance, freedom.
She is a collector of souls,
dreams, desires, memories.

B

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Dreams

where did she go? The girl with the golden stitch
who is he, old worn and weathered hat
the sun is back and beats against the clouds
he has lost, silence, science 
the drip of the leaky faucet
the tremble 
the sky spins and smiles
she has moved on 
the man with the hat never smiles
the cloud in his pocket breathes
his hands are a map of the past
the shovel hangs on the wall
polished, clean, reflecting light
little orange bottles hold dreams
waiting to be released into the sky
what does the vessel keep
he looks into the mirror
the clouds dance
he keeps her close
safety, comfort

they have always loved
B


Saturday, February 22, 2014

The boy with the box in his pocket

caffeine and nicotine
Byrd and blue ink
a pill for this, a pill for that
change
clouds talk to me
my hands tremble
who is he
a ghost
change is good
growth
the sun burns his vision
it can never be dark enough
he keeps a cloud
in a box
in his front pocket
a prisoner
captured during the war
the trumpet plays
in his memory
he meets someone new
he takes a pill
his hand trembles
the clouds remind him
change is good
Byrd plays
ink dances
he keeps the ghost
with the cloud
in a box
inscribed on the lid
change is good



B

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

The girl with the missing stitch in her dress (unedited)

He sits back, a blanket covers his body
Like a skin made of wet lead
The weight of the clouds press down on him
He dreams he can stop the rotation of the earth 
The ghosts watch as he lets go of the chair
The demons hide in darkness
A cup of coffee illuminates the world
She is eight years old and
Wears a dress woven of dreams
She smiles and the clouds lift into the sky
Her dress is missing a stitch
He will be it
On her palm like a tattoo, breathe
He has waited for her 
She glows and the ghosts gather 
The blanket is infinite and full of sorrows
The rotation stutters

Sunday, February 2, 2014

continued (unedited)

The vibration is real but he can't hold it
his hand trembles; to grasp, to hold
A ghost of memory
to remove the lid, his eye flutters
The ocean echos, builds
Clouds move like dancers in slow motion.
The light flickers, but burns
the vibration makes the flame shutter
like a moth, the ghosts dance
like a vibration of memory
of which he cannot hold

Monday, January 27, 2014

To find numb (unedited)

Sometimes the stress is
Transferred to pain.
My teeth hurt
The day vibrates
Where has numb gone
Although he refuses to reflect 
The wall presses against his torso
I close my eyes
And see static
Like walking on air
The days vibrate
I am a ghost
A passerby
I observe pain
Static lives in my head
My hand trembles
I seek balance
I close my eyes
The pain makes my teeth hurt
I hold my hands together
Grasp at harmony
The wall shutters 
The vibration calls to me
To find comfort 
To find numb
B

Saturday, December 28, 2013

1988- Journal entry

I wrote this when I was early in my recovery and still trying to figure out what was going on around me and within me. I was 18 years old...

Life is a mirror, look at what you see.
The crowd behind you begins to flee.
The rage you feel begins to surge
you clinch your fists, you feel the urge
Shatter your life, break the mirror
feel the pain, the pain is fear.
your all alone, no one around
the thoughts in your head are the only sound

it really sucks, its always the same.
the life I lived was a no win game.
Try and be happy I know I should.
Try so hard...I wish I could.
To end it all I think I would.
All I did was fucking cry.
I never had the nerve to die.
Every thing's the same, nothing new.
What am I suppose to do?

It's my desicion
I'll decide.
to take the ride
or run and hide.

B


Saturday, November 30, 2013

The spiral

The spiral echoes from the dead
A dark empty vessel
Torment abounds
The yellow bottle has my name on it
The clouds move
I reach for something to grab, hold
My soul is calloused
Like a mouse in the wheel
The spiral echoes from my head
I have dug many graves
A dark empty vessel
The shovel has my name on it
The world spins
I try to turn off my thoughts
My brain is corrupted
Bacteria on the edge of the dish
It calls out to me
Take a deep breath, close your eyes
You are not alone.
Some graves are shallow
The spiral echoes from the heart
A dark empty vessel
Torment abounds

B




Wednesday, November 27, 2013

To see everything and nothing

the sound of laughter
loneliness
to touch without
to see everything
and nothing
the wounds call out
they appear in the winter
a reminder of emptiness
they once summoned
illustrated
she checked my pulse
and touched
to see everything
and nothing

B

Monday, November 25, 2013

The Envelope

Why do these things fill my head
Can't make them go away
The sun reflects off of everything
Close my eyes
the sounds of nothingness
I touch his head, smile

I see the leaves dance in the breeze
Can she see my face through the clouds
The clear sky, like glass, reveals
The cloud yells out to me
It wants to be touched
put into an envelope and tucked
into the wound
She uses it like a kaleidoscope
It feels like heaven and nothing

I touch his head, smile
and close my eyes.

2009
B

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor

I take a pill to deal with the world; I take another pill to deal with myself

I take a pill for the day; I take a pill for the night

I take a pill to move through the day

I take a pill to forget about the day

I take a pill because I hate myself

I take a pill because I hate my life

I take a pill because I cannot deal with the world

I take a pill because I am depressed

I take a pill because I don’t know what happiness is

I take a pill to remain free

I take a pill to not harm myself

I take a pill to not harm others

I take a pill to love myself

I take a pill to love my life

I take a pill to love others

I take a pill because I take a pill

I hate taking pills

My name is Brad and I have a mental health condition. I wanted for so long to believe that as a person in recovery that I had been freed from my condition. I believed that I have a good program of recovery and that through this program and all the hard work I had put into it that my mental health condition had been resolved. I found that although my mental health and substance abuse where inexplicitly tied together, I needed to work on both issues simultaneously and independent of each other. It took a trip to the hospital a couple of years ago to force me into acknowledgement of this complex relationship. I found  that I was confused, I felt threatened, I felt like I had made a mistake. I have worked with a good Doctor who understands this complex relationship and I have placed myself in the company of many people who in their compassion have helped me identify and deal with myself. My brain is wired differently. Through the aid of medication I am a better person to myself and others; and this is what I want.
I take pills because I have to.
B

Monday, January 14, 2013

Pause


Pause
Stanza 1

I don’t remember her ever telling me she loved me.
She stood across the room and yelled “What’s wrong with you?”
I don’t remember her tucking me at night.
She continued, “you’re worthless, just like your father.”
Pause…
I put anything into my body that would make my sadness go away.
He sat across from the desk and asked,” So why do you cut on yourself?” I replied, “It feels good”
Pause…
“It feels good compared to what?”
“Life”
She sat across from the desk and said, “We are really concerned about you, how can we help you?”
Pause…
“Can you give me a different life?”
He prescribed me an antidepressant and said, “You are suffering from severe depression”
I remember being upset and taking 20 or 30 pills at once.
Pause…
I hated my life.
She sat across the bed with my baggie she found in my jacket.
Pause…
She said, “I’m going to show you what you’re doing to yourself.”
He stood across the cell and said,” We’re going to teach you young guys a lesson.”
Two inmates held me against the bars as he punched me in the ribs and stomach.
I fell to the floor, lifeless.
She said, ”I love you.” and O.D.’d on a hand full of Valium.
Pause…
They pumped her stomach and I cut an M into my wrist.
Pause…
He sat across the courtroom from me, “the state is pursuing a minimum 15 year sentence”
He put the gun to the side of my head and threatened to pull the trigger.
She lay next to me and cried
Pause…
She said, “ I love you, but you’re killing yourself”
I prayed he would pull the trigger and finish what I had been trying to do.
He approached me from across the room, grabbed my arm, and pulled my sleeve up.
She stood across the hospital room, monitoring my vitals
I told my little brothers through the visitation window
Pause…
He sat across the desk from me, handcuffs smothering my wrists.
We know you did this, fingerprints, eyewitnesses, statements, and photographs, proof.
If I thought it would get me high, I put it in my body.
Pause…
I sat on the edge of the highway overpass   trying to jump
She sat across the bed from me and said, “Lets OD together”
He sat across from me in the day room and said, “What are you in for”
I was slowly destroying everything around me.
Pause…
She sent a letter to the court
He said, “If you don’t change your behavior”
He said, “We are tired of dealing with you”
She said, “We found you unacceptable for our treatment program due to the severity of your involvement”
Pause…
He said, “I didn’t need to be here, that I needed help”
She said, “There was a different way”
He said, “You need to get away from your family”
He said, “We don’t know what to do”
She said, “”I can’t be around you like this”
He said, “I don’t want him in our home”
She said I was a “very troubled and people have given up on me”
He said, He said She said, she said,

I
Wanted to Pause…