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Some call it bi-polar
I prefer manic-depression
It fits us better with adequate expression
We live our life in swooping loops
We strive at our peak then it droops
And the doleful drudge is destitute
Until all progress stops and stoops
To a halt, face down in mud and roots

And then we rise
Called back to life by a guiding light held deep inside
Sorely self-aware, we work until we burst
Droll desperation, at our best when at our worst
"Wow you got your **** together you lost and soulless ruffian."
Then we hit our peak and it all starts back up again
Firstly, I'm not a body-shamer.
To each their own
(a good phrase, though grammatically incorrect),
But sometimes I find it hard to understand
The tatoos, the piercings, the colors and placements.
The usual answer, if I dare ask:
     I'mhxpressthinmythelf.
Good for you.
Does the diaper pin through your cheek
Tell us you're a Dad or something.
     Na.
The quarter inch bolt and nut through your ear?
Are you a machinist or a plumber, or something?
     Na.
The doll-house plates in your lips?
Are you a Duck Dynasty fan?
A member of the Audubon Society or something?
     No. I'mapontingxprschmyselpth!
Sorry, what was that?
     I'mapontingxprschmyselpth.
I'm sorry. I don't quite get what you're saying.
I don't mean to be rude,
But could you express those plates for a minute... I... I get it.
The poems I burn
Give off more heat
Than light.
A lame idea's not a knock
At ones who can't stand and walk.

My eight handicap's not a slur
To any falling short of par.

I repeat, Are you deaf or something,
Doesn't insult the hard of hearing;
It only means you're not listening.

If one's blind as a bat,
It's not a slight, it's not a fact,
It's just a phrase we humans use;
I've heard some used against the Jews,
And others we've unlearned to use.

We of habit and long of tooth
Aren't as bad as you may think
When overhearing oldies speak:
I'm just jittery when I'm spooked.

Our excessive sensitivity's daunting.
Nothing said's meant to be hurting.

How does all this sit with Whitey?
Yes, Whitey's what I said.
Should I mind that name?
Isn't it the same?
It's used to ridicule,
Exposing Whiteys as the fools,
By some who think they're far too cool:

     Whitey said so...
     Whitey did so...
     Whitey don't know...


This Whitey do know;
He don't like this ****,
Not one little bit, Brother;
And it makes me cottin-pickin ******
With the hypocrisy, Sister.
The road goes both ways... Brother.
 Feb 2017 Amy Foreman
ryn
Submission
 Feb 2017 Amy Foreman
ryn
He toils all day and all year.
He takes each misgiving
and gives them momentary life,
through one lamentable tear...
Before he carries on digging.

He gets his hands *****,
as he digs through soil, earth and sweat.
No end in sight,
or he'd rather not see.
No solace he'd find,
no peace he'd let.

He only sees this expanse of land...
Of which he diligently keeps.
Tales told by dishevelled sand,
covering secrets
which he has been burying deep.

He has made this
his past, present and future.
He'd make sure that each would fit.
Tied to this grounds,
he is the worn-out keeper.
He never tells but he buries hatchets.
Some para-normal practitioners
Claim to have Out-of-Body Experiences.
They say they're left
Feeling beside themselves.
I concur,
They could be next to an idiot.
Lord, thank You for the wilderness.
That I might learn to seek
Your face.
Thank you for my scars.
That I might know You
as my Healer.
Thank you for showing me
my weaknesses.
That I might learn to rely
on Your strength.
Thank you for the pain of loss.
That I might gain the joy
of Your Presence.
Thank you for the loneliness.
That I might learn to listen
to Your still small voice.
Thank you for the wilderness.
That I might feel Your hand
upon me.
As I mourn face down
in the dust.
And learn to trust.
Inspired by the worship song by Elevation Worship called "Great Things."
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