“A man is about as likely to ask for help for depression as to ask for directions, and for much the same reason,” said Real, who struggled with his own depression issues. “It's part of the male code, part of masculine culture.”

~~~

when they ask,

I say, parrying fast,
how you doing?

to the persisters, I mutter fine

which is 100% correct...



been fined for the accumulated

made-mistakes, wrong forks taken,

the weight invisible but the

body sags, nonetheless...



you know they know,

you know their thoughts,

why doesn't he snap out of it,

after all he is a man,

he has always been

what we needed,

why can't he

just go back to the person prior...



this code, is not law,

ten times worse,

genetic and culture passed,

double ******,

code so real, like the headaches,

the nightmares, that forbid equanimity...



not true,

we don't expect that of you,

thankful for all you have done,

but eyes betray,

a simpatico misunderstanding,

the instillers, can't take back

what they celebrated previous...



the signals everywhere, few ascertain,

cause the rule is never complain,

don't go near windows,

lest the sunlight diffused, offers no cheer,

but escape temptation ever on offer...



forgive yourself, someone intones,

but what infects my bones,

is non-responsive to the forget antibiotic,

which does not come in pill format



ask me for directions,

I will talk/walk you to your destination,

but when I'm lost,

I'm just a lost man,

who needs to do better,

forgetting is not in my DNA,

but lost is...choking on expectations

of being everyone's savior,

with no one to save you from yourself...

we fought, we sweated,
anger spent,
tissues dispensers emptied,
broken vase,
from a cheap Far East jaunt

have had enough,
now let's just
make love
and
salvage Sunday
rebalance the weekend,
our younion

in low tones
caressingly whispers,
use me,
write yourself

pick me to pick you
up,
only with me,
thru my ink flowing
down

pen thy pen.

pen thy image,
craft is the pen,
pen is thy craft,
craft thy image,
you were, you are,
created by,
created for,
picked by,
picked for,
pen

watching the pain dry

you did not mistake -
no word play, not the product
of typo or errant
clenched eyes

labored writ,
the liver is failing,
the interval organs
a joint co-production
contribution,
the words demonized,
but truth cannot be
plausibly denied

all cast members
are rehearsing
preparing the last act,
interrupting with
exceptional,
expectorating refusals,
objections,

too*

this n'that

all their "too's"
are double O'd,
double ****** negatives
an overflow
bloodletting,
excessive overwriting
the playwright words,
maudlin can't be spoke in the present
of his
presence

revolutionary overridden by the
actors,
the words too hard,
to speak sob as long as I am
almost stilled but still
in the room

-wrenching a bemused grin
guiding them & pain to a higher purpose,
admonish them with pleasured pleases

needs saying
as it writ and
carrying  the denouement
to a rightful conclusion
as

~

the title comes easy,
the rest,
not so much

love rejected,
chest pains as real
as a heart attack

weeks, months,
time intensifies,
doesn't heal,
I stink of desperation

when my mind

-smells her skin,

- tingles as her hairs on the back of neck tickle me madly,

- steals but one of her images from me

I don't care how I smell,
only dream of,
of the smell of skin,
her skin...

(to she who took liberties not hers to take)

~

may i caution you on critiques
of those whom you don't know,
those with whom you haven't
developed e'en the slightest rapport?
i'd charge you to think more simply,
to listen close and get to know
those who come here to be heard,
who offer smiles and lend an ear...
and in return receive a bit
of comfort, perhaps some hope.
if i thought that you would hear me
i'd suggest you may not much like
to swallow your own harsh words,
but now i see you've not bothered
to offer us even one
of your own poetic lines.
so instead i will suggest
that you find another site,
a place that gathers folks
full of themselves (and spite).
and should you chose to stay instead
please don't forget that here at HP
we value our community, as one,
from most prolific to the least;
those who write in English though
its not their language first;
teens who've had
no formal training,
and those with PhD;
all are valued here, and
we don't mind a thought or two,
but have first the decency,
get to know us 'fore you criticize,
and gift us a knowing you.

~

post script.

when i read a brand new HP member's harsh and unnecessary critique of the winner of this past Monday's daily, yet had offered not even one poem of their own here on HP, i felt a sense of betrayal for our teenaged community member who had with vulnerability written about herself as a "battered butterfly". i have no problem with fair critique, but i say you'd better know us first and we you. i appreciate this HP community... immensely!

and by the way, if i may say, kudos to our member she defended herself most graciously!

in final words to she for whom this is written, should she wish to humbly retract her words, i will readily forgive; i would gladly look forward to one day embracing her as part of this wonderful community!  we all make mistakes... myself included.

I would rather write one good poem
and have it lost
to you and you,
among the waterfall crushing
of trite and rushing verbal droppings
and the infrequent masterpieces

years from now
mediocre and facing  myself,
mirror-wincing,
at a dyed and dying
vanity,
years from now

admission: confession:
my goal was
glory and fame,
to be celebrated,
recalled and retained,
if only
by myself,
with smidgened satisfaction

my Cain mark,
is not a celebration
of a brother's birthright
usurped,
Frailty
thy name
literary adulation

like so, too many
other failures recorded
lost to lol but me,
but one,
perhaps
this one(?)
to enfold
in my
withering, neatly-voiceless
hands
saying and believing,
perhaps!
with this one,

I have justified
my existence