I sit in the sun room, I am shaded for the sun
is only newly risen, low slung, just above the horizon,
behind me, over my shoulder, early morn warm

Slivers of sun rays yellow highlight the wild green lawn,
freshly nourished by torrential rains of the prior eve

The wind gusts are residuals, memoirs of the hurricane
that came for a peripheral visit, your unwanted cousin Earl,
in town for the day, too bad your schedule
is fully booked, but he keeps raining on you,
staying on the phone for so long, that the goodbye,
go away, hang up relief is palpable

The oak trees are top heavy with leaves frothy like a new cappuccino,
the leaves resist the sun slivers, guarding the grass
from browning out, by knocking the rookie rays to and fro,
just for now, just for a few minutes more,
it is advantage trees, for they stand taller in the sky
than the youthful teenage yellow ball

I sit in the sun room buffered from nature's battles external,
by white lace curtains which are the hallmark
of all that is fine in Western Civilization,

and my thoughts drift to suicide.

I have sat in the sun room of my mind, unprotected.
with front row seats, first hand witness to a battle unceasing

Such that my investigations, my travails along the boundary line
between internal madness and infernal relief from mental pain
so crippling, is such that you recall begging for cancer or Aids

Such that my investigations, my travails along the sanity boundary
are substantive, modestly put, not inconsiderable

Point your finger at me, demanding like every
needy neurotic moderne, reassurance total,
proof negative in this instance, of relevant expertise!

Tell us you bona fides, what is your knowing in these matters?

Show us the wrist scars, evidential,
prove to us your "hands on" experiential!

True, true, I am without demonstrable proofs
of the first hand, my resume is absent of
razors and pills, poisons and daredevil spills,
guns, knives, utensils purposed for taking lives

Here are my truths, here are my sums

If the numerator is the minutes spent resisting the promised relief
of the East River currents from the crushing loneliness that
consumed my every waking second of every night of my years of despair
                           divided by
a denominator that is my unitary, solitary name,
then my fraction, my remainder, is greater than one,
the one step away from supposed salvation...

Yet, here I am sitting in the sun room buffered from
nature's battles by white lace curtains which are the hallmark
of all that is fine in Western Civilization

I am a survivor of mine own World War III,
carnaged battlefields, where white lace curtains,
were not buffers but dividers tween mis en scenes,
variegated veins of colored nightmares, reenactments of
death heroics worthy of Shakespeare

Did I lack for courage?
Was my fear/despair ratio insufficient?

These are questions for which the answers matter only to me,
tho the questions are fair ones, my unsolicited voyeur,
they are not the ones for which I herein write,
for they no longer have relevance, meaning or validity,
for yours truly

I write poetry by command, by request, good or bad,
this one is a bequest to myself, and also a sidecar for an old friend,
who asked in passing to write what I know of suicide,
unaware that the damage of hurricanes is not always
visible to the naked heart

These hands, that type these words are the resume of a life
resumed,
life line remains scarred, but after an inter-mission, after an inter-diction, an inter-re-invention
in a play where I was an actor who could not speak
but knew every line, I am now the approving audience too...

But I speak now and I say this:
There are natural toxins in us all,
if you wish to understand the whys, the reasons,
of the nearness of taking/giving away what belongs to you,
do your own sums, admit your own truths
query not the lives of others, approach the mirror...

If you want to understand suicide,
no need to phone a friend, ask the expert,
ask yourself, parse the curtains of the
sun room and admit, that you do understand,
that you once swung one leg over the roof,
gauged the currents speed and direction,
went deep sea fishing without rod or reel
and you recall it all too well, for you did the math
and here I am, tho the tug ne'er fully disappears,
here I am, here I am writing to you,
as I sit in the sun room.

Memorial Day, 2011

The thought of becoming stardust
when you die
is a reassuring one.
Being strewn across millions of
light years seems exciting.
Witnessing stars being born,
planets forming life,
stars collapsing in on themselves
and becoming black holes.
It's appealing compared to
going to a gloomy underworld,
or worrying about a punishing hell,
who deserves to burn and who will become angels.
It wouldn't matter,
you'd be apart of the growing universe.

Reflective intercessions  
With my Rabbi teaching me lessons.
Thinking about my undeserved blessings
How at times I stumble
And is it not humble .
When I think my living  is impressive
Ponder my past push play in my perspective
How can I see a mirror and just be partially reflective.
Guess its the fact that I see my body and thing I have grown.
I should look into my optics..
The windows to my soul.
There are only two options
Serve God or Sheol
Deep down I know..
Life and death.
The truth is real don't suppress it
Now check the lyrical expression..
Satan is waiting
Anxiously anticipating
For me to fall he loves corrupting Gods creation..
He wants me big headed feeling myself like masturbation
While he eating my soul, mastication
But to Jesus my life shows dedication
Walking with God I don't identify with procrastination..
Yet time  passes...
And how do I hold God close..
Attacked by worldly passions
Time is hand and hand with deaths approach..
Control fate like when we crush crawling a roach
Its cool to be a man's man
But if Christ was one, would there have been holes in his hands
Cause clearly it was in line with Gods plan..
Holding on to what is cool its like holding on to sand ....
Pointless ...
Nevertheless..
I am giving it my best...
Reflective moments only partial when I am looking at flesh
God is using me
Satan wants to abuse me..
Entice me with demonic opportunities
Like have sex with that chick with the big booty...
Challenges but I am not stupid
No I am not stooping
To a level below Gods standard
Reflective to see if I'm walking in Gods planning

I often sit and contemplate and think
God in all his righteousness was right
He gave this earth to mankind as a sigh
Of his unmerited love from above
Saying have rule over all then the great fall

When will I ever feel set free
Will you be the first to relive me

Your approval is my master
Chaining me with silent laughter
Making forgiveness my greatest enemy
While my guilt grows stronger in me
There is refection of success
All the while striving endlessly without any rest
Knowing inside what could have been
The realization of my sin
I see myself true reflection in the mirror
And I ask myself once again
Today will I see myself win?

Something I am proud to say
I choose to no longer live that way

It's the ultimate challenge that I had to face
Finding a life of balance I fought hard to gain
I learned to live a new way, finding the real me
And I love my life today living life as free

I still sit and contemplate and think
How God in all his righteousness, yes, was right
Giving earth to mankind as a sign
Of his unconditional love from above
Saying in the earth have rule over all
Then took the time to forgive us for the fall

wounded from the breast down
Red Cross crying from above
reach out for your flailing sacrament
and find only rivers and streams,
flowing divergent from your heart.

the hospice cannot save you from
the clutches of blinding light,
as the doctors who cut off life support
fail to find the wound

in your hands lie
all you ever hoped for, screaming. dying.
run away stop crying stop feeling
but as you lay, their bullets pass
over you in retreat.

the soft wind caresses your face
as the final tomb closes outward,
escaping your lips are final words
nobody will ever hear.