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Heidi Franke Mar 16
I walked into
An old building
Vacant yet
Lived in

I opened
Door after door
Peering into
New air

I realized
I was searching
For what was
To be

There were
No windows
On the doors
For a reason

I could not peer
Into the future
The past
Was futile

There was
No knowing
Left only to patterns
Or engagement

I could stop
Walking
The corridors
Of this wood abode

One more door
To go
What was next
Solitude or sorrows

As I stood alone
I met the room
With nothing to lose
No compass for death
Live your dreams. Don't be discouraged.
Heidi Franke Feb 2024
Today my son
Is to be sentenced
To prison. He
Lives 23 hours a day
In a jail cell, he will move on
Steeling courage few of us
Ever have to experience.
Consider your luck.
His mental illness
never to be a crime.
Will there be light for a prism?
Where he can turn to
Other pathways
Less dark and Forge
Himself into the open
Blue sky and all the rainbows
From here on out.
On the outside we are blind
On the inside some
Are given true sight.
I cry for a rotten system
In mental health care
We own. You might
Want to pull up some buckets
For all mothers tears
Knowing the best we have
Is incarceration. How is that
America? Tired of blaming anyone but yourself?
A son is to be sentenced this Monday morning. Prison transfer on Wednesday.
Heidi Franke Sep 2024
The autumn moon was receeding
At 5 AM this morning
Riding the wave of seasons
Wind stirring in a constant dance with the leaves

My cold mug of milk set upon the wire table outside
Under the Serviceberry
So I can pet the dog.

Kinetic shadows on the table
Wisped and whipped over the mug
Laying upon the white liquid
Thicker than the reflected light and dark. Boundaries that can't be bought.

Did the shadows, could the shadows, penetrate the surface of the milk?
Going deeper in where I can not see
To a place furrowed low
Perceived, yet not seen.

Is it a place with a soul
Creamy and still
Unmatched like time, marching or halting, that
which we can not ever hold?
Shadows on milk do not sink.
Heidi Franke Jun 2024
What is between schocking red, earthly pink, and plummed purple?

Life. Grass. A trembling leaf. Force of green.
My three year old  Serviceberry tree planted in memory has this year bore the berries. The colors shock.
Heidi Franke Oct 2023
Silent stars reside
In the blue milieu
Continuing their stellar constancy by day.
They are there like my love,
silent, unpretentious, patient and kind. Trace your finger along the sky, like a constellation connecting the dots of your name to a safe, congenial and forgiving place to call home.

Maybe your name will meet with mine in the night when the stars return, walking across the expanse of loving kindness that is within your reach. See you tonight dearest one. Just look up.
Heidi Franke Dec 2019
Please me here
Take from her there
Give to him always
Without a dare

I am sinking.
A terrible Christmas day
Heidi Franke Feb 3
I'm a shell
My soul has left
Empty as can be
Space that's left
Is not me

I'm useless
As a highway
Without cars
I might as well
Be on Mars

I'm gone
But still alive
Like stars persist
Until the light is gone
My body insists

I'm a circumference
The boundary surrounds
Dry carcass bone
I care not
Just lost-and-found

I won't return
To my body of ruin
Burial plans made
Threaded into a patchwork quilt
Upstaged and waylaid

I'm now safe outside
Myself
I see you looking in
She is gone from her
Forever now thick and thin

I'm tired of sycophants  
Complicit in democracy's destuction
By their hands, skinned alive
I left my body today
In order to survive
I'm so tired of my brain, my overthinking, the world's judges, the loss of democracy with an evil idiot wanna be dictator. I'm tired of those sync pants who voted for the destruction of democracy. I'm skinned alive. It hurts. Today I left my body to survive.
Heidi Franke Oct 2021
Soft, slow and Brave
She Raged.
Walking forward with fear in one hand, love
In the other.
She let love
Lead the way
Soft, slow and Brave.
Part of the idea: the fear and love in a different hand are taken from meditation from Sarah Blondin. The rest is what I am dealing with. The sludge of depression, fear, and panic. Like tar pits.
Heidi Franke Sep 2023
I woke early
Enough to meet the stars
Like diamonds in a mine
Or apples on a tree that never fall
They weren't there for me or you
They just are.
A man coughed
Walking up the sidewalk
In the dawn
As he passed by my house, startled me
While stargazing.
I am reminded
There is now,
then and there
I am reminded to let things flow
To Let things go
As the wave does
When encountering the ocean, disappearing into it.
What today is your humility looking to?
Heidi Franke May 2020
Feeling like a stylus on a premium LP
Can't lift up too slow or slide it
Fragile bone dust
Be slow, be quick, be ready
Scratching is not an option

Feeling this way again
Second-hand turntable
Treated as a diamond or replaceable
How is it, my friend

The stylus feels old
Not sure if the sound is reaching you
Enough to bring you
Out alive, on my knees
Scratching is not an option
He is admitted again. Suicidal last night. Waiting to hear back. This time, no visitation because of C19. Feeling so much on edge like the moment I would try to pick up the stylus arm from the turntable of my favorite vinyl LP
Heidi Franke Aug 2019
The human appetite
To **** the pain
to not experience any
dis-
comfort

The human appetite
to run a-way
far,                      away
are
seeds planted from our
footsteps

The more we run
the bigger the
plant,     thump!  says despair
the hungrier
we get
the greater the ruin
in our run

Don't avoid
the burdens of
engaging lost plans, find again
your A,B,C's, a friendly classmate, your sister
or others.
Other Wise,
the human
starves its self
in a marathon
by sealing off mouths.

Alimentary,
Leaving one, you, her, they,
them,
in the
hunger cycle
to feed
then.  crushed
left over a lean-to void,
And endless hunger

Elementary words
     Don't avoid
pain.
          I L.o.v.e and Y.o.u
It requires a handshake
a' la carte,
Indulge in
nutrient rich
Appetites
The elementary
   remedy is not in
the crash diet.
Come home now.
Ring a bell
Your table is set
I am here
It's time for dinner.
I lost my brother to suicide. Our thoughts control our actions. Contain, refresh, reset your thoughts to avoid getting hungry to end your pain. Pain can lead to dessert if you stay the course and call out for help. Please never give up.
Heidi Franke Jan 29
Tell me of your delight
The wisp of wind
That catches your hair
Breezy enough to sense
The winds direction
To which you set your sails
Moving through glass water
Unwilling to break

Tell me of your delight
In the shell of a snail
Digging up its squishy life
For just you alone
Thumbing through
In a smile and a jar of joy
Enough to break a mother's heart
With every win and loss
On your way to manhood

Tell me of your delight
As you swing in the air
Legs kicking as branches do
When the air picks you up
No longer weighing you down
All cares wash through
The space of regrets
And deposit themselves
As pebbles on the shore
Where your feet will land

Tell me of your delight
Where the garden snake
Attempts to outwit
Your stride in the grass
As you quietly watch
With patience of a lifetime
That marches ahead in this stillness
That is between the distance
Where now is forever
In your hand you swoop up
A life trying to escape yours
Gleeful are you as you set
The creature free once more

Tell me of your delight
As you see the rays of a day
Shine on every stone
And drop of rain
Washing rivers deleting cares
Surpassing a mother's gloom
Her soup of ingredients
Marinated longer than your
Innocence wants to keep birthing
It will be her death that it takes
To be released and unburdened
So you can breathe again this day
Heart open to drown all sorrows
Brand new as the dew
Heidi Franke Sep 2024
Dropping the arrow
Flung to the centering heart
Blood remains untouched
So not harm with a second arrow.
Heidi Franke Mar 2018
The day after your
death it snowed again. I thought it was spring.
The cosmos created crystals of water as it received you.
Welcomed as another star
to the vastness we here
on earth can not know
but with our feeble telescopes.

This day after your death
I want to protect anyone else
from leaving. I want to cling to
every thing I know. Yet my tears
are evidence of everything I do not
understand and never will. You are the mystery
now John, my brother.

My mind will not
absorb your death as readily as my heart.
My heart seems to hold and let go
because it needs to, in order to survive.
My mind wants to greet my heart
but it just keeps snowing. Dreams
of despair.

You lived your recovery
like a man none other that I have seen. Lend us your strength, courage and wisdom
while in our sorrow. Fortune allowed us to witness
all your strengths.

You shared your weaknesses
so readily. I am stronger because of you.

If you are there please comfort those who have less strength. You were a pillar for so many. We still want to lean on you.
I feel so weak now
the day after your death.
Heidi Franke May 2022
I will stay for today

Tomorrow has me
Already

I know not where I go, hence

I hope for splendor

And the spark off a

sparrows wing.
Heidi Franke Apr 2024
Out of the darkness
I claw and rise to see
There is a forest inside.
The green surrounds me.
The sun's rays splatter
Me awake to my open body.
I let in the light
I lean into the forest
With the trees holding me up
- as I tilt to fall
Reinforcing my stand I forgot
- I was a part of.

The green has grown so strong
Like the blood that sweeps away
Inside of me to a rivers tune.
I don't want to leave this place,
Fearing it will be taken beyond
Or that it was never mine.
Reinventing this woodland
That has always been inside.
The pine, the wind through the branches, the owl winks.
It has always been here with me
Compelled to germinate
Waiting for my return.
I lift up my head and the sky
- Is so blue.
Recovery from PTSD
Heidi Franke Mar 2024
This wasn't the train. It scooped you up to a different destination. Birds of splendor followed along
Out the window
Winding in your path of grief. Be ready for the station waiting
To greet your sorrow.

The platform is not clear. The mist hides the light then becomes a flow of water you can reach and touch. Become aware of the grief but don't move towards it. See it instead in the palm of your hand. Dip into the water cupped in your hands to cleanse your sorrow.

You will have times of freedom. Embrace all feelings. Let them fall into the stream of water. You will lighten. You will see more color as the mist dissappears.

You will see the light between the leaves of the trees. The sounds of song birds lifting you up with messages for you alone.
Heidi Franke Aug 2021
The human appetite
To **** the pain
to not experience any
dis-
comfort

The human appetite
to run a-way
far, away
are
seeds planted from our
footsteps

The more we run
the bigger the
plant
the hungrier
we get
the greater the ruin
in our run

Don't avoid
the burdens of
engaging lost plans,
or others.
Other Wise, the human
starves its self
in a marathon
by sealing off mouths.

Alimentary,
Leaving one, you, her, they,
them,  in the
hunger cycle
to feed
then crushed
left void

Elementary words
     don't avoid
pain.
It requires a handshake
a' la carte,
Indulge.
   remedy is in
the crash diet.
Come home now.
It's time for dinner.
Heidi Franke Jul 2022
The Illness

You spend exponentially
All services of every cell in your body
For years
To keep an ill one alive

Possible prolonged moments of happiness and hope
trickle in
Between the hospitalizations

Your spending is what you find out
He doesn’t trust.

What one finds out
Is ones unprepared-ness
My son wants to claim his life
For himself, to which could be his end or not.

Like the breaking egg, beak first
Or sunlight cracking through trees
Where light comes out and gives birth
With uneven decisions
Will I live?
And what IS living with a chronic diease like?

What he believes is not that he doesn’t trust you,
He just wants to trust himself.
What other choice in the insanity defense is there
That would be as human, then giving freedom of choice to him.
Illness Trust Paranoia
Heidi Franke Apr 2023
The Leftovers  or   (The Ones Who Survive)

Recipe: ****** *** Pie
The dope, the spoon,
In gutter water
Why did he die, not she

When does it end
Those who survive
Left out to cool
With no friend

Fiends and friends of addicts
Mystify us,  who do not understand
What makes them keep shooting
Into veins of foreign land

They join by ignorance or associate
A friendship they say more strong
Then that of a parent or a childs love
This couldn't be more wrong

The twine of codependency
Makes fools of us all
When one of them dies
Pleading for answers while wishing the other would fall

These are the Leftovers, the suffering addict
With their mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends
Who may have saved and tried before
Their pain and shame more severe if you pretend
You are not an ingredient
No less a fiend if sober
If you don't show up
To soothe the pain of being a leftover

Recipe: ****** *** Pie
The dope, the spoon,
In gutter water
Replaced by methadone

When does it end
Those who survive
Left out to cool
With no friend
****** Addiction Fiend Friend Survive Leftovers Dope Family Gutter Methadone Spoon Vein
Heidi Franke Apr 2020
I wanted to divorce you
This minute, today
You bring me no joy
Covid or not
In the same instant
I thought of my grandson
Only 8, the same age I told my son
Of that. It set his mind in flames
Almost jumped from the roof
So, boom, I grounded myself
For innocence
Come on, just infect all expectations
Get it over with
Be the only one.
Loss of job hours, due to Covid, more hours shrinking, brainless husband wit minimal emotional intelligence. Waiting for unemployment, shrieking inside because my 86 y.o. mother keeps going to the ******* store. Just waiting for the sun to circle back again wondering who will be the first to go.
Heidi Franke Jan 15
There was a shoe
Black and white tartan pattern
Woven ***** white laces
That walked
In aimless directions for its master

The rubber sole sturdy
No matter the terrain
Of homeless encampments
Rocky back alleys
Snow climbed inside the bare foot

"Can you bring me some socks"
When you called that winter afternoon, the sun fading
"My toes are so cold"
Our house but a mile away
And you almost die at my feet
Heidi Franke Apr 2023
He called in for a shower after being alone on the streets for a week.

Is that time enough
to get ***** for a shower
   as a man nearly twenty-six
in years.
She could turn him away
like her father’s sister
might have and did.
From time to time.

It all depended on how many times in a week,
month, or year
he would show up without a call.
Without knowing he still existed.

Somehow, his presence and
absence
were a mixed blessing.
His presence was like a merry-go-round
that goes against the earth’s pull.
Like a brazen thorn
stuck into your shoe.
Unpredictable.
Vacuum-like.
******* all the ***** things in.
Taking everything in its sight
and power and making
everything contort
to his reality.
Where he and only he resided.
Would she open the door for him?

What she does know
is that she might risk speaking
in a bright happy voice
of a mother
so gladsome to see her son.
Welcoming him in.
Rather than turning him away
because of his inconvenience.
Grief is inconvenient.
That is one thing she knows.
Notes on helping a mentally ill adult child. Copyright 2023 @ Highwireart
Heidi Franke Feb 2024
He was in his cell
Twenty three hours a day
Never was he an animal
Yet treated as such

The echoes off the walls, bounce
The metal doors that clang, bang
Endless boredom after
All the books are read
He paces his eight feet

Gray dulls the senses
Lack of color, lack of life
He saw a bug inside
The other day, alive
Looking up at him
Another form of life, different,almost brand new
His voice filled with hope through the Pauses

It rained and the summer was hot
They were released for the hour
Choices that are made in that precious time
He went outside where there is only the cement
Laid on his back, spread his arms like an eagle, like an offering
Letting the rain Fall onto him,
just so He could feel Something
Sharing the experiences between a mother and son. The son is incacerated. Too many non violent people are imprisoned for far too long.
Heidi Franke Oct 2023
To heal,
Journal they say
Like a worm in the dirt
Of my front lawn
Sliding, pushing through
Air pockets
Arduous, unending crawl
No words come
To mind
Where can I breathe

To heal,
Journal they say
Words don't come easy
They fly up like
Torn pages of a book
Riffed, stolen letters of some name
In the nameless wind
Grasping what isn't there,
A cynical continuing void

To heal,
Journal they say
My hands become deaf and blind
The pages curl and mold
Pen and paper inventing before I have begun
All I have is the deep
The deepest inside
That comes here
Traversing incredulity, while I
cry

To heal, they say
Heidi Franke Jun 2024
Time bequeaths a tune
Folding like fading petals
Butterfly breezed by
Noting yellow roses faded petals leaving life and a butterfly breezed by for a bite
Heidi Franke Jun 2024
Whatever I didn't give you

that you needed
that
. .   I
am sorrowful for.

I thought I was limitless
    in my charity and resources.

It is obvious
not
to be so.

It was all I had.
Feeling helpless and lost
Heidi Franke Dec 2023
There are no limitations. You
Receive help that
You never accepted.
It now encircles you.
By an outstretched hand.
No one bites it off.
Acceptance received.

The sun directly investigates
Any unwillingness
To not accept change. Bringing a pinch of new light.

Who would you have to be
Stepping into the
Other side?
Finding you are truly good enough.
That any other connection
From limiting beliefs
Unravels, like opening a pomegranate. One seed thinks it's all alone,
not seeing all the others encased in their own restrictions.
What if it were the perfect time? The full ripe fruit.

You are the right age! This is the perfect time!

What if the opposite were true?
What would you do? Even if a part of you did not believe it?

Bathe hence your confining insistences.
What is in your skyline? Your oceans horizon?
Supplied with new resources, a deliberate inventory, of unrestricted beliefs, if the opposite were true?
Then who would you have to be
To make it unmistakable?
Who would I want to be
If the opposite were true? Now, only now, as a matter of time.
Reflections on a learned patterned of thinking, leading to a false self identity.
Heidi Franke Oct 2021
Silent stars reside
In the blue milieu
Continuing their stellar constancy by day.
They are there like my love,
silent, unpretentious, patient and kind.

Trace your finger along the sky, connecting the dots of your name to a safe, congenial and forgiving place to call home. Maybe your name will meet with mine in the night when the stars return, walking across the expanse of loving kindness that is within your reach.

See you tonight dearest one. Just look up.
Heidi Franke Jun 2019
Believe what you know.
And may all
the better angels
follow you
        wherever you go
For all those who suffer from cerebral palsy
Heidi Franke Jan 11
Where you stand now,
can be moved.
It's either you or
the ground.
Is it light you seek
or darkness?
If you remain immovable
Like that thing in the street,
Tripping, your face will meet
The ground, hard.

Lay ****** and bruised,
Defiant as the cement
That slapped your face.
It gets dark real fast
When all you hear is the mold
That lays you to rest.

Be alert and aware like
A library door.
Possibly your unnoticed
Life is awakened by
Words that wrap you with
History and comfort as if
Every minute is the opening
From a wrapper of your
Favourite candy. Live
In the trace of  light
Where you stand.
Listened to The New Yorker on YouTube. Public Defender” follows the work of Heather Shaner, a lawyer representing January 6th rioters, who works to confront America’s political divisions with empathy."
Heidi Franke Dec 2023
After he died
Without warning,
I planted a tree
Announcing
Just as suddenly
The Serviceberry
To the others
In the garden
Each bud of a branch
  welcomed by the fresh earth
And dormant bulbs yet to burst
The Aspen as role model
Hastily, deeply
she was added
As quickly as he left
In pursuit of
Recouping buoyancy after starving for oxygen.
Consoling under her generous shade
Begging for silence of sufferings and
deep sorrows

Three years have passed
Has it been that long
There they are,
our memories,
in the control room
That cling, stab like a blade
Taking over the clock
A contagion of disorder
That eats away
like acid
Explicitly unwanted  
Clarity of that night
Frozen in time,
like the winter
  it happened.
Time ended without warning
Deaths metronome gave birth.

Uneven disbursement
Over one thousand days
Since
Asking why,
Why?
Why!
Prone and exhausted.
Drowned in tears that forged
A lake of salt
Why then
Do we not float?
What's holding us up?
And another thing,
Where does the wind
Go when its gone?
It dispatches
   without warning
Whirling in circles,
Catching conditions
Why am I
not so
shaken then?


The Serviceberry has yet
To bare fruit in its
Short life to fifty
Holding steady,
Enduring the rooting road
In the pragmatic ground
Surrounded by leaves from seasons
As messengers of compassion, companionship
At the foot of her trunk
An offering
Once again in winter, here we are
Sleeping until the sun
Bleeds more time
Why does three years
Feel so heavy and capricious
As if it were just yesterday


Will the depth of sorrow remain
After she blooms and feeds
The hungry birds,
Over 35 species,
Who love her nectar
Caring for the offspring
Obscure, neglected and hungry
Giving back, keeping the healed
From further storms of
Sudden causes
As he did for his flock
Harbored in what the doctor
Ordered.
Tender
Loving
Care

Will heartache be replaced
By forgiveness?
Like the passing bus
That descends the hill
Into a valley of green hearts
Picking up new passengers
Loving another
Forgetting the importance
Of yesterdays bus ticket that
Flew out the window
Arriving without intention
To its destination
Neutralizing the anger
That came without warning
Glancing out the window
Towards tomorrow
As the birds songs
Are sung
The unintentional death and road of recovery.
Heidi Franke Oct 2023
Not drowning today

In remorse from yesterday

Draining self-hatred
Heidi Franke Dec 2024
Many moons ago
A full one
Milky stone in the sky
My ex called me a "zealot!"
As if the word ****** my life.
He was expectedly x'd out of my world.

On that night a stellar moon
Shown like warm honey as I  escaped towards Courage
A nighttime ember
My zealot moon forever
Full of worth, I'm yours.
Some moments in time never leave your side for better or worse. This was a good night.

— The End —