jonadine

It seemed too “un doctor-like” to say;

“Her spirit has fled”

So instead we offered to withdraw care

To stop the drip-dripping of the drugs

That were flogging her to keep going.

We knew she was already gone

Having seen so much death,

As physicians we offer facts perhaps devoid of truth

Her blood pressure is too low

Her heart rate too slow

You told me it sounded like

we were ready to give up

That you were praying for the miracle

That God would take her When He was ready

And not before

What we knew and had not words to say:

No battles left, the war lost,

God-given free will in the form of

Almighty Medicine

Keeping her tethered to the earth

To you perhaps she looked as if

She was fighting for her life gasping for breath

And it hurt you too much to let go

While she was laboring so hard

To deliver her soul

What you saw was the struggle to quit

Against the force of Medicine

Keeping her breathing, her heart beating

Blood sluggishly pumping

Against its will

I wanted to say “He has called her home”

But the role of doctor had me

wrapped up too tight

And you kept your vigil

Until she won the fight

I write because I have too. The shit wont leave me alone until I write it down. It keeps me up at night. I think maybe I need to find a way to write when I dont have the creative inspiration battering the doors down. i would like to publish my stuff someday, and waiting for the muse to strike doesnt seem like a particularly efficient method of generating a portfolio worthy of print.

Sometimes the hole in my heart feels like it was cored out

With something sharp, like a paring knife

The edges like barbed wire, bloody and metallic

like chewing on tinfoil

or licking the end of a battery

And that is when I am afraid

Sometimes the hole in my heart feels like it was burned out

With a red hot poker, the edges charred, and cauterized

I breathe in the ashes and they taste bitter

and shriveled, like the alum

my mother kept in her cupboard

and that is when I get angry

Sometimes the hole in my heart feels hammered out

with a mallet, the meat tenderized and macerated

and my whole heart feels like a bruise,

Like it will never stop hurting,

And I will slowly fade into pain and become nothing

And that is when I feel pathetic.

Sometimes the hole in my heart feels like it was torn out

that feral flower trampled and shredded,

my chest is tight with unspoken apologies

and drowning in unshed tears

like I am at the bottom of a well

And that is when I despair

Sometimes the hole in my heart feels like it was carved out

with meticulous attention and bloodless precision

planning deep and calm as a lake

guiltless as a cloudless sky

full of blame and rancor

and that is when it hurts the most.

You suck. she said, like its your fate

it pops my ears, the sucks so great.

You suck forever and an hour,

You suck 'til it's your superpower.

If there were a sucking test,

No question, you would be the best,

Or if it were a sucking race

You'd win the prize and be first place.

You suck all day and suck all night

'til babies weep and crops get blight,

You would suck if it were noon,

you still suck out on the moon.

You suck the birds and suck the bees

and suck the leaves right off the trees

You suck the clouds across the sky

and suck the whole damn ocean dry

You suck, she said, like I'm a girl,

You suck so much it makes me hurl.

You suck until your face turns blue,

and suck until your dog sucks too.

I feel, she said, that sucks so big

that it will snap you like a twig,

You'll break in two and then therefore

after that you'll suck some more,

You suck like you heard sucking's cool

Like you learned how in sucking school,

You suck in Noah and the Ark

the Empire State and Fenway Park.

You suck for real and that's no lie

You suck so much that you might die,

You'd suck if sucking didn’t exist

You suck so hard I made a list.

(Edited for flow and added content)

You suck. she said, like its your fate

it pops my ears, the sucks so great.

you suck all day and suck all night

til babies weep and crops get blight

You would suck if it were noon,

you still suck out on the moon

You suck the birds and suck the bees

and suck the leaves right off the trees

You suck the clouds accross the sky

and suck the whole damn ocean dry

You suck, she said, like im a girl

You suck so much it makes me hurl

You suck until your face turns blue,

and your mom says, well who are you?

I feel she said that sucks so big

that it will snap you like a twig

Youll break in two and then therefore

after that youll suck some more

You suck like you heard suckings cool

Like you learned how in sucking school

You suck until your dog sucks too

and the rest of the animals two by two

and suck in noah and the ark

the empire state and fenway park

You suck for real and thats no lie

You suck so much that you might die

Youd suck if sucking didn’t exist

You suck so hard I made a list

Let me use your words?

Mine are hollow bones.

Yours are laughing, jumping sprites,

While mine just drop like stones.

My words are fretful, narrow things

but yours are wide and free,

mine starve in corners, where they lurk

And yours are filled with glee.

I need to use your words,

'cause mine don't work so well

Yours are humming, living things

while mine just sort of smell.

I could use your words

To say just what I mean,

My words are used, wrung out old rags

You couldn't use to clean.

I cant use my words,

for they have all run out.

They are withered, sere and lonely

And they just sit and pout.

Let me use your words?

Your words are strong and light.

My words are crooked, useless twigs,

and I really need to write.

What does it mean?

That I dreamed you

tall and whole.

Strong, straight and well,

with a practiced patter:

sharp as a cutting remark.

You would think it was funny, too,

that you were gay in my dream.

Completely, limp-wristedly,

a flamingo in style,

violently fashionable.

You wore a silver jumpsuit,

like a mirrored disco ball,

and had a bowl haircut,

(What were you thinking?)

and grinned like a shark.

What does it mean?

That I dreamed you a future you never had

and it was FABulous.

Did I dream you an afterlife?

A beauty school dropout, angelic frankie avalon heaven?

Maybe it means I forgive you,

But I'm sure it means I still love you,

funny little brother,

And I kind of hope the pearlygate smile

and gossip benediction await all of us.

And I kind of hope the pearlygate smile

and gossip benediction awaits all of us.

*I wrote these two lines to complete the final stanza. I think it gives it a better balance.

I dreamed you tall and whole

strong, straight and well,

with a practiced patter

sharp as a cutting remark.

You would think it was funny, too

that you were gay in my dream,

completely, limp-wristedly

a flamingo in style.

You wore a silver jumpsuit,

and had a bowl haircut,

(What were you thinking?)

and grinned like a shark.

What does it mean that I dreamed you

a future you never had and it was FABulous?

Did I dream you an afterlife?

A beauty school dropout, angelic frankie avalon heaven?

I don't think it means I forgive you

But I'm sure it means I still love you.

I had my hands on it

just a moment ago,

sturdy as cinder blocks and

clinging like a barnacle

to that rope hung over the cliff.

That hard-won grip

was the product of

An ordeal of travel,

The anxious feet and

nervous fingertapping

of a hundred headaches.

I worked for it, and now

that gnarled grip is

frictionless

the hemp turning to an eel in my hands

its slipping, I can feel it

And that freefall awaits me.

What am I going to do?

I'd like to add "Make excuses for other people" to this list.

You are mine, my shopping friend with the tired feet

with whom all things miraculously fit and are my style.

You are mine, my laughing friend with whom drinking is perilous,

For the contents end up exiting my nose more often then not.

You are mine, the friend with whom I have eaten and drunk

until I know all your habits, even exactly when you will go wash your hands.

You are mine, the friend with whom I can be obnoxious,

and know always that there is comfortable silence waiting for me.

You are mine, my cake eating friend with whom birthdays are spent,

the party is maaaahvelous, and the presents are your presence.

You are my snuggle friend with soft blankets and scary movies, my friend who makes popcorn and sits on the floor.

You are the scary friend, the mean girl born to make the lowly crawl, and behind your back I praise you constantly.

You are my umbrella drinks friend, the Tijuana friend, the friend in Alaska who swears like a trucker.

You are my coffee friend, barista friend, the one who drinks mochas deliciously.

You are the sister of my heart, my tear-wet shoulder, my loyal friend and fierce defender.

I am yours, your trip to the ocean, your sunny vacation, your silly road trip to nowhere in particular.

I am yours, your loyal friend, the one who will always come when you call.

I am yours, tested by distance, forged in faith, and tempered by time, these ties are now unbreakable.

I am yours and I love you. For god's sake, don't die. 

I looked for you first around the corner from the by and by,

and then in between the tightly wound yesteryear

and in that big bag of fortnights.

I searched in the long ago basket,

and I tried looking in the piles of hereafter

and the subsequent afterward.

I thought I must have missed you in the current instant,

that perhaps you had gone rushing to the immediate future

or maybe got lost in the crowds in the recent past.

And then I found you, my perfect new year,

Snug underneath yesterdays plans

and wrapped up safely in tomorrow.

I think this might be done...I like the rhythm.

You are mine, my shopping friend with the tired feet

with whom all things miraculously fit and are my style.

You are mine, my laughing friend with whom drinking is perilous,

For the contents end up exiting my nose more often then not.

You are mine, the friend with whom I have eaten and drunk

until I know all your habits, even exactly when you will get up to go wash your hands.

You are mine, the friend with whom I can be obnoxious,

and know always that there is comfortable silence waiting for me.

You are mine, my cake eating friend with whom birthdays are spent,

and the presents are your presence.

You are my umbrella drinks friend, the Tijuana friend, the friend in Alaska who swears like a trucker.

You are my coffee friend, barista friend, the one who drinks mochas deliciously.

You are my snuggle friend with the soft blankets and the scary movies, my friend who makes popcorn and sits on the floor.

You are the sister of my heart, my tear-wet shoulder, my loyal friend and fierce defender.

You are the scary friend, the mean girl born to make the lowly crawl, and behind your back I praise you constantly.

I am yours, your trip to the ocean, your sunny vacation, your silly road trip to nowhere in particular.

I am yours, your friend whom you shush in public places for being a little too loud, even though it never works.

I am yours, your loyal friend, the one who will always come when you call.

I am yours, tested by distance, forged in faith, and tempered by time, these ties are now unbreakable.

I am yours, like a duckling, I have imprinted, and I love you. For god's sake, don't die. 

It is a bit heavy on the Greek myth imagery- but not in an interrupting, or at all displeasing to the reader way; the images you chose, especially having Echo and Narcissus, then Morpheus being referenced almost back to back made it sound like a good romantic poem. I wouldn't have known it was about your brother if you hadn't stated that outright.

 

Otherwise, especially since this seem like it's an older piece, it seems that you've had a very solid style and very mature writing for a long while now.

 

I noticed the distinct Greek theme you have going in yor poems in here, and keep hoping it keeps up. A very mythological background have I as well (mainly Greek and British).

I almost didnt use the Echo, Penelope and Morpheus references, in part because I thought it made the poem too romantic. I did some research and decided finally, that they were the best fit, not only because they were the best allegory for how I felt, but my brother was a very romantic person, a very red roses and candlelight sort of guy when he was alive, so I left them in as a tribute.

You are mine, my shopping friend with the tired feet

with whom all things miraculously fit and are my style.

You are mine, my laughing friend with whom drinking is perilous,

For the contents end up exiting my nose more often then not.

You are mine, the friend with whom I have eaten and drunk

until I know all your habits, even exactly when you will get up to go wash your hands.

You are mine, the friend with whom I can be obnoxious,

and know always that there is comfortable silence waiting for me.

You are mine, my cake eating friend with whom birthdays are spent,

and the presents are your presence.

You are my umbrella drinks friend, the tijuana friend,

the friend in alaska who swears like a trucker.

You are my coffee friend, barista friend,

the one who drinks mochas deliciously.

You are my snuggle friend with the soft blankets and the scary movies,

my friend who makes popcorn and sits on the floor.

You are the sister of my heart, my tear-wet shoulder,

my loyal friend and fierce defender.

You are the scary friend, the mean girl born to make the lowly crawl,

and behind your back I praise you constantly.

You are my trip to the ocean, my sunny vacation,

my silly roadtrip to nowhere in particular.

I am yours, your friend whom you shush

in public places for being a little too loud.

I am yours, your loyal friend,

the one who comes when you call.

I am yours, tested by distance, tempered by time,

and forged in faith, these ties are now unbreakable.

Like a duckling, I have imprinted, and I love you.

For gods sake, dont die.

Nice poem, Jomeansme. :-) The personal anecdote of the girl's fall from grace was well done, and I found the final stanza of the poem particularly interesting. Touching upon the way the girl's own poetry has changed in a poem about her was a great idea that captured my attention, and the final two lines of the stanza rang true in their sad mercilessness. To be honest, my least favorite part of the poem was actually the references to Greek mythology, as somehow the name-dropping of Daedelus and Icarus didn't really feel as genuine to me as some of the other elements of the poem. I generally love the imagery tied to the metaphor, such as "her wings made of words" and "flesh of my flesh spirals out of control," but I wonder if these images could speak for themselves without spelling the actual references to Daedelus and Icarus out to the reader? Also, on more of a nitpicking note, I had a hard time envisioning the "melted" broken wings of words, as it's hard to tie melting to words in my mind. "Scattered" or "disarrayed" maybe?

 

Anyway, very good poem Jomeansme. Welcome to the Mighty Pen. :-) Here's hoping there's plenty more to read from you in the future.

There were two reasons why I used "melted" in that particular context. One, the wings Deadalus made were made of wax and feathers, and so it seemed true to the stroy to have the wings melt. Second, melted implies disfigurement, warping of a previously straight thing. I think you are right, that the blatant reference is unnecessary, but I like the way it sound sout loud, so I left it in.

I. Love. That.

Well done, drawing all the elements together for the gran finale.

Thanks, I appreciate your comments and your help.

I like this one, I think it is tied up nicely by the final stanza and gives the feeling I meant it to.

what an expressive "gut" poem, taking raw emotion and making it a painful cry of beauty.

This one I have worked on for years, I think its made it to its final form.

In a lot of ways drawing from greek myths is very visceral for me, since I learned the imagery when I was very young. The story of Daedalus who built the Maze of the Minotaur and his escape from prison where he was thrown so he couldnt reveal the Maze's secret again has deep roots in my childhood. He was a father, who built wings for himself and his son, and during their escape, his son flies too high, playing with his wings, and the wax melts and he falls to his death. I have strong memories of the illustrations in the book as well as my own feelings about the story and how Daedalus must have felt watching Icarus fall, knowing that if he had stayed in prison his son would still be alive.

This poem is not subtle, but then, neither am I. I think this one is actually best when read aloud.

Pain is always new, no matter how familiar. Eloquent. Welcome to the Pen.

Its true, I have been trying to frame a poem about my brothers suicide for years, but couldnt find the imagery I needed to express it. I finally went with imagery that has deep foundations in my childhood. A book I had from even before kindergarten was a text of greek myths. There were beautiful watercolor illustrations in it and I memorized every story before I hit the third grade. The first stanza references the story about what happens to gluttons and drunkards when they go to hades. Cursed with endless hunger and thirst, they are standing in water or below fruit laden branches all of which move away from their hands when they try to collect them. The second stanza references the story of Sisyphus, also sentenced to endless labor. The third stanza references both Echo and Penelope, who pined for their loves, and the fourth stanza references the story of Morpheus, who went to hades to try to rescue his wife, but failed because he disobeyed the gods.

The imagery was designed to evoke awareness of death, endless pining, and guilt, but separated by time, so that the feeling isnt quite as immediate as in other poems I have posted up here.

I feel that maybe its a little self indulgent, but maybe most poetry is, I think.

Ive reached for that fruit only to have it shrink

back from my hand many times

and I am sure that the water in this pool has run dry on some other occasion

when I have knelt to drink.

Why are the hunger and thirst so strong? The loss so new?

You'd think I'd be used to it by now.

When I remember your silly laugh, the arguments we had;

sibling bickering, and that half smile you used to give whenever you were feeling cocky,

why does my heart ache so?

I have managed to roll this stone up this hill before... so many times

Why does it still make me so tired?

You'd think I would be used to it by now.

I have woven this shroud before, I think, as I rip it up,

The loom should not still be leaving blisters on my fingers.

I still argue with you, and still you dont answer,

all I hear is an Echo, pining away, and it sounds like a shriek of agony.

Why does it still deafen me?

I should be used to it by now.

She rose through her youth with dreamlike grace.

Poetry and dance shone

about her like a nimbus.

She flew, her wings made of the words

she wrote with furious abandon.

She soared and spun,

whirling, drawn to the warmth and beauty of genius.

How like Icarus, spiraling ever higher

Wings spread, laughing wildly

Free and uncaring

Too close to the sun.

I am Daedalus watching first in prideful fascination,

Slightly jealous,

Then staring in growing fear,

Then frozen terror.

Eyes tearing, heart breaking,

as flesh of my flesh spirals out of control,

burning and injured.

Arms reaching, hopeless grasp

unable to slow or stay the conflagration

Now she is a haunted shell, wandering.

Wings melted, useless.

Her words lost, her dance stilled.

She fell into that perfect insanity

like hateful gravity sucking her down

To the unyielding earth.

Blackened and smoking,

Broken, scarred, disfigured,

She lives.

Her dancing step

Now lurching gait.

Gestures, mindless and meaningless,

Hold the echo of her prior grace,

now all the more ugly

For having once been beautiful.

I thought the tears had all dried up,the oceans I cried for you serene and still, dark-deep and blue-green,the schools of memoriesplaying in coral reefs of the past.I thought that wind had died down,tornados gone out of season, whirlwinds nowbecome gentle breezesthat would occasionally ruffle my hair.I was sure those earthquakes were over,all the buildings swallowed up and ruined, no structures remaining,the occasional tremor; a harmless rattle,nothing left for it to destroy.

A deceptive riptide pulled me, floundering, out to sea,

the thunder shuddered, and shook the sky,

Monsoon boiled behind brimming eyes,

and I was blistered by that lightning,

it burns me now this force of nature,Hurricane screams tear at my throat,

That maelstrom stripped me to bare bones

seething beneath mountains of furymy magma heart consumes me.