Catch Some Wide Eye

Archive for the tag “sadness”

Pose and Repose


defenses wrecked
from years of scraping
my soul through sieves

scoop it into your hands
and sift
the screaming from the laughter

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Flutter


lemonade stand days
to boy band phase
that girl flutters her lashes
and then she’s gone
through the prom up-dos
to her first I-dos
your girl flutters her lashes
until she’s gone
whether death do us part
or she takes out your heart
that girl flutters her lashes
and then she’s gone

but i was always here
in my rawest impression
i was cradled by fear
guarding my sweet confession
wrapped up in waves of the dearest depression
when you flutter your lashes
or i take out my heart
(as it crumbles apart)
i was courted by fear
(so if you ever draw near)
and i am already gone
you just remember this song

Honesty is The Best Policy


Today I uncovered a betrayal. A betrayal of trust, confidence, decency and professionalism. My own mentor, someone in whom I confided my doubts and fears, thoughts, ideas and struggles fell for the bait tossed out by petty, lawless musicians about town. The actual betrayal began a long time ago, slowly. I sensed it seeping into my bones until, in one instant, I looked around only to find myself completely alone in the cold, cruel world, shards of ice dripping from my nose. A bureaucracy  a vehicle constructed to make the world a better place, to educate and grow has done nothing but cripple and harden me to the only honest truth. There is no one on my side in the whole wide world, and my little cardboard walls will soon come a crumblin’ down.

Til I Go With the Raven


all of your vindictive speech
a point past malediction
will not my stone army breach
they don’t have my permission

twenty years of suffering
a decade more of healing
songs that aren’t buffering
creative flowers wilting

out, OUT! go you into the dark,
away from my sole haven
for i shall keep my one last spark
til i go with the raven.

Haints


ghosts of yesterday evening
like old newspapers
have each a smell, a substance
familiar texture
and, i fold them
those terrible memories-
to read them later
with my black ink pen
and fill in the cross words.

Skyline


And in the sky,
the rustling of hundreds of thousands of wings
each black as char
signaling the end of an age.

With each flutter,
the world grows more black,
more imprisoned by the ones with the freedom to fly.

They clog our air,
they swallow the sun,
they eat our minds.

heavy day


too much death
for one soul
to take

no loved one’s arms
to hold me in

no love
much death
one soul

take

Inscription on Urn


goodnight, my lover
it is time to go
to that mystic place
where sleep cannot cover you
with her foggy kisses

my love for you is a lullaby

goodbye forever


with the good hand i
my dreams
remember
with the good hand
there was snow
fleecing silver
temperature flutter
like the eyelash
butterflies
bright and blue and lovely
there was snow
with the good hand
i marked clean lines
paper angels on the ground
paper angels all around
with the good hand
there was snow
for throwing, soft balls
slick with running sweat
with the good hand
car hit, sober
she was gone
and there was snow
there was snow
there was snow

and you


my soul
bobbing
up and down-
your little duck-
in that dark water
will never be shiny enough
to catch you, reel you, steal you
will never glint golden
like her hair-
your little duck-
the woman
up and down
who stole away
my soul

Whatever that means


Sometimes I talk about things so I can feel them. Because I know I should feel them. Because feeling them will make me feel human (whatever that means). The previous post was fueled by genuine, heartfelt passion- a passion for justice. It is perhaps one of the few things I’ve actually felt this week.

Emotions are a strange land. They can rule and conquer you. They can inform you. More often than not, they just screw everything up and confuse the heck out of you. I used to jump into relationships based on emotions. But feelings change and relationships die. After years of slamming my head into walls, I hunkered down for a few years and licked my wounds. I made a conscious decision to be aware of the partners I choose, to be the one to do the choosing out of a rational mind. This meant that sometimes I found people who were good matches for my personality, who were kind and fun to be around that I just wasn’t in love with. So I’d talk about them as much as I could. I’d tell my family, I’d tell my friends. I’d text or email the beau constantly. To know that he was there. To remember that I was supposed to love him. And after a while, the emotions followed in line. Because emotions come and go, but the decision to stay with a person is an act of will.

Death, however, has left its mark on me. Family, friends, fellow church members, teachers, coworkers, and now students have all left this earth in a hurry. After years of practice, my grieving [and fight or flight] process has evolved into a sea of blankness. If I hear a fight outside my window and threats about a gun, I can coolly call for emergency services and answer their questions with a level head. Not only can I do this, I have. When someone dies, it seems I have become the kind of person who’s supposed to hold everybody together right after it happens. Then, when everybody is well into their repairing, I break down.

This Saturday, one of the students I taught died in a tragic car accident. There were no drugs, alcohol or shenanigans involved. She was even wearing her seatbelt but lost control of her vehicle in a terrible storm and crash landed in a tree. None of these facts even ripple on the surface of my emotions, but I have had dreams. No, nightmares. So I know the facts are buried inside my subconscious, waiting to erupt.

But the tragedy has built over the past week. One of my students has an extremely rare, life-threatening illness. Another has an incarcerated father. Still another is homeless after being put out by an abusive parent. Other than reporting the abuse and making sure the student with an incarcerated parent is not homeless, there is not much I can do for these children. These kids are pretty much my life; they are part of my family, and I love them. I am proud of every wise decision they make, and I suffer when they make poor ones. I want the best for them, but this past week has only brought them the absolute worst.

The problem is, at least for me, I don’t feel a single thing. I know these incidents bother my mind. However, I don’t perceive the sadness in my heart. I think my body is trying to protect me from it, but that is frightening. It’s frightening because I know it won’t be able to hold the sadness inside forever. It’s frightening because I don’t know when or how it will burst forth, or if I’ll even be able to control it when it does. So I’ve been trying to psyche myself into feeling them now, when it still matters by talking about it. I talk about things so I can feel them. Because I know I should feel them. Because feeling them will make me feel human (whatever that means).

mother, please don’t die


ǝƃɐɯı ɹoɹɹıɯ ɹnoʎ ɯɐ ı
ǝlıƃɐɹɟ ǝɹoɯ puɐ ǝɹnʇɐıuıɯ uı ǝpɐɯ
ǝʌol ɹnoʎ llɐ ɥʇıʍ ǝʌol ı ʇnq
uıɐd ɹnoʎ llɐ uı ǝɹɐɥs ı
sǝʞɐʇsıɯ ʍǝu ƃuıʞɐɯ

sǝʞɐʇsıɯ ʍǝu ƃuıʞɐɯ
uıɐd ɹnoʎ llɐ uı ǝɹɐɥs ı
ǝʌol ɹnoʎ llɐ ɥʇıʍ ǝʌol ı ʇnq
ǝlıƃɐɹɟ ǝɹoɯ puɐ ǝɹnʇɐıuıɯ uı ǝpɐɯ
ǝƃɐɯı ɹoɹɹıɯ ɹnoʎ ɯɐ ı

i am your mirror image
made in miniature and more fragile
but i love with all your love
i share in all your pain
making new mistakes

making new mistakes
i share in all your pain
but i love with all your love
made in miniature and more fragile
i am your mirror image

i sing my own lullabies


my song is the earth
into which you plant your feet
hoping for the stability of another day
while sculpting the songs of tomorrow

Wrapped in Blankets


i cannot tame the tumultuous masses

that tremble within her gasping cough

nor can i tear the pale, yellowed skin

from confining the misery of her contorted face

as the chills bring her closer

to their distant reality

something not here

something not yet away

i feel the hot sting of tears

draping my mind as ever

she cannot go

she cannot die

she will not

Misery Chases Me in Circles With a Staple-gun


when i see you
my soul spasms
eking out a shrill cry
it has not uttered in centuries,
and it takes a thousand blankets
of the highest woven thoughts
to stifle the sound
for if you catch my soul
i will have nothing

Rio


te di todo que podia
todo que podia imaginar
y entre mis venas
un chorrera de tristesta
salia con gana
goteando mi melodia
de melancolia y desilusion

I Knew


when the cough syrup died
and bled its sticky red blood
red, red all over
all over my lovely blue carpet
where only hours before
i lay huddled in a mass
messy mass of tears
tears and pain
when the cough syrup died
i knew
just like when she hit me
hit me like a child
hard, hard
many times the pain
from the bones inside out
from her hands outside in
from the brain, from the soul
from a life out of control
she’s out of my control
i knew
something died in me, too
and i knew, and i knew
and i knew

Worthless


my feelings reach out to you in wide strokes
like tentacles searching for a dream
wildly swirling in faded tones,
but what is a feeling in the face of fact
in your left-right punches
towards my lonely dignity?

i am a hollow world wrapped in tinsel
while you reach out to me in wide strokes
like needle and thread searching for a seam.
my wooden tears flow softly
carving out words that you forgot
scrape, scrape upon my flesh and bones
what is written upon my weary heart

the meaning and purpose have been lost in the living
i am all that remains
you are all that is hidden

~Doraline Evans

1943


Photo of Blue Wild Petunia (Ruellia carolinien...

Image via Wikipedia

in my picture frame pressed with flowers
i, a very long time ago,
sent some thoughts to a memory jaded
and was met with swift, cruel winds
and my picture frame pressed with flowers
bent to drink in the cool dew
stooped to take the blow to heart
as often the natural things do
in my picture frame pressed with flowers
once, a summer’s night turned to gold
and the children’s ears burned at the sound
the laughter, the rose bud glimmer in the snow
as i sit by the window and looked outwards
upon a very long time ago.

[Inspired by the video below.]

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