Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lemon Black Oct 4
When tiresome rowing takes its toll,
Brings dare to care for what's beneath.
Long lost memories emerge from darkness,
Like the drowned, following surface call.
A cry for help, left with no answer,
Now meets our dread, begging release.
Reunion with those we once held dear,
Only to recognize their faces,
Their silhouette, their traits. Identify them,
To call old sorrows by their name.
We know them truly, to their core,
And wish were spared from this truth.
We close their eyes, bring them ashore.
A rescue arriving long overdue.

But the final push has yet to be made—
To find room for love in a grieving heart.
Where we can lay them to their grave,
Bid farewell, before we part.
With each epitaph, every tombstone,
Each pain brought where it desperately yearned,
To end the suffering, rejoice salvation,
Our own anchorage lessens weight.
Encouraged, we’re back to the boat,
To keep on making the heroic choice.
One day, unburdened, we too will float,
Feel pure, cared, loved, and rejoice.
Our lives act as harbors for all that happens. Without a witness, what would it matter if anything happened at all? Yet, comes a time when these stored experiences become too heavy to carry. Some of it we do not want and push away. But this only drains us, unloading no weight. As we grow tired of merely coping, we start to seek true relief. This process of opening up opens a way for the rejected, the pushed-away, to rise to the surface, longing for our attention and care. To be relived - to fade away. The task might feel daunting, the challenge insurmountable. But it is forgiveness that initiates the healing; it is ourselves that we are ultimately caring for.
Left on Red Oct 4
Jesus came one day
to decapitated me
and said, "You need
to run the race and win."

"Okay," I said,
"I'll try if you
put me
back together."

He acted
like he didn't hear me
and left
without saying goodbye.

"Thanks for nothing!"
I yelled at his absence.
Decayed garden green
must look red
where my heart was devoured
my love is dead

Sacred magic rhythm
warms and heals
my torn heart feels
your spirit still haunts
inthewater Oct 3
he said he would bring me flowers;
i didn't know the kind he was talking about

he said they're the most beautiful i'll ever see
and he was right
these flowers don't grow from water though

for some reason they only sprout when my friend is around

he gives me the seeds, they fall from my eyes and caress my cheeks
sometimes, I catch them in my hands
usually I just let them go

but he is a generous friend,
always waiting around the corner

i like bouquets but he hates picking his flowers
so he flirts with my mind to capture my heart
and the garden blossoms

i used to hate him and his gifts

not any more,
i think they're graceful and they speak to my soul
blank Oct 3
we talked for an hour over chicken alfredo
and my fork kept clinking ringing crashing
against the edge of my bowl
like every time i tried to speak my hand
(knowing it could or should not strangle me silent)
would drown me out with metal

my night was sleepless on purpose
my eyes and throat begging
to shut in shame and respite but
i forced myself awake with every sip
(red bulls and cheap whiskey and stale banana bread)
i swallowed into grimaces
i swallowed into laughter

and my soles ached and argued
against the not-quite salted sidewalks
and the decaying skeletons of autumn
against the freezing arterial
and they all knew i could never catch up
as i ran behind shouting to wait
just a second let me reach–

for what?

for who?

the words i wasted don’t exist anymore.
now i talk over myself and my lover
and the words don’t matter;
they flow between us,
herbal tea with cream and sugar
flows between us like
sunlight pouring in through the blushing leaves
the sunset trees
that only we and the woodpeckers can touch
this is the first actual poem i've written in some time. inspired after the tarot card "the star," which symbolizes recuperation and healing. i'd like to edit this to make it cleaner, but i was too impulsive and excited to have written something not to post it right away.
When she falls into sleep
Beside me every night,
I'm often haunted by
All the promises I made decades ago.
So easy to make when
Dark feelings were out of sight.
Since then I’ve broken
The locks on almost every door.

In newlywed bliss she was
Sleeping next to me one night.
Still in that distant land
She suddenly sat-up
On the edge of the bed
With her back facing me,  
Looking into the dark closet
Next to her side of the bed.
She called out my name several times.  

Already awake, I answered,
"What’s wrong?"

With back still turned,  
She answered,
"I’m not talking to you,
I’m talking to the other Danny."

As in a darkened closet
My darker-half was first revealed.
My love and I were newlyweds, but
In one year was the uniting of the pair.

Through all these years,
She has sensed with empathy
My loss of peace and spirit
And at least tries to fill-up
The deep, dark empty spaces
That are in the many chambers
Of my damaged heart and soul.

Only this depth of Love can,
In its ineffable heat, melt
Away all traces of impurity,
If you let it.
I have learned to let it.
©2018 Daniel Irwin Tucker

Another dance through my life memoir.
the word family
sits at the edge of my mouth
and throws rocks in the well of my throat
choking me to death
trauma therapy is hard
Next page