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Bobby Copeland Oct 2018
I didn't get much done today,
Just cooked a meal & washed some clothes.
You somehow ate some fish and kept
It down and wore the clothes outside
While snow accumulated on
The ground and back inside we laid
A fire and turned out all the lights
And you were beautiful and I
Became a strong young man again.
  Oct 2018 Bobby Copeland
Chloe
Like an old friend inviting you to come inside.
Familiar. Comforting.
It will grasp you in its arms and hold you close;
And when you're ready to leave, it wont let you go.
You will beg and plead to be happy,
and it will put up a fight.
It will make you think that the only way to escape it is to take your own life.
If you are lucky, you can break free;
and it will sit and watch you from afar.
Calling your name.
Welcoming you back into it's arms.
It will intrude your thoughts.
Make you think you are worthless.
That you're better off dead.
Just keep telling yourself that it's all in your head.
Keep moving. You will get far.
Depression is not who you are.
DISCLAIMER: This is only from my personal point of view and how my battle with depression has been. Even though I am trying to recover, the battle gets very difficult for me sometimes and I have to remind myself that I am not my mental illness. My mental illness does not define me.
Bobby Copeland Oct 2018
They were always coming in late,
Being young.  I used to do it too.
That night I'd fallen asleep,  not
Waiting up just watching reruns
Of a stupid show from nineteen
Sixty-eight & he said downtown
Is burning.  One side of the court
Square, it turned out, which is about
All there is of downtown any
More & she went to bed,
Her mother already sleeping,
Then he and I walked up the street
Three blocks and watched the buildings burn.

Firemen sprayed water & cops watched
And we watched the cops and the fire
And the firemen, and of course they
Had been fighting again, not much
To say about it.  I'd covered
That ground before, enough to know
It was like the fire and wouldn't
Get better, so we didn't talk.
Two in the morning, town mostly
Asleep and this amazing show
Inadvertently in my backyard
And their lives changing, separately.
  Oct 2018 Bobby Copeland
Lawrence Hall
Awake at four, he rises, lights the fire
And puts the kettle on for a cup of tea
Pulls on the work-stained overalls he shed
Only a few exhausted hours before

Working a shutdown stretch of twelves and sevens
Maybe he’ll make enough for Christmas this year:
Wonderful gifts for his family still asleep
He slips out silently through the back door

His wife and children are disappointed in him
Because he doesn’t do enough for them
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Bobby Copeland Oct 2018
& would this or that have.made it better?

With eyes mistaking order for the truth,
Another generation
Scrubbed clean behind those eyes,
Teeth set on edge--
Should all the world be gained,
A poor exchange.
We gone these days, kingdom come again,
Dot arrives before the eye. Once more
The seeing could not convince.
You understand how
                            it is for anyone
Inconceivable
                                  to make a world
Of words
And yet
A paper-thin foundation
May be all
We have.
Bobby Copeland Oct 2018
The shadow of a cross lies flat
Against the ceiling seen above,
As i lie flat upon my back
Beneath the fan that hasn't worked
In centuries. It's five A.M.
I'm trading sleep for poetry.
I've traded it for other things,
So why not scribble? why not sing?

This second stanza needs a push.
I must confess i've used up love,
Though loathe to tell you just how much.
I've let it flow and let it go.
We're running out of time it seems.
Grey doves find branches in the trees.
`pace John Shade
I
I stole my brother’s car and drove to Phoenix in the dark. Bluegreen glow of dashboard gauges, the faint scent of roadkill and desert marigolds. Tap. Tap. Tap. Insects slapping the windshield like rain. How many miles does it take to turn yourself around, to rise up from ashes? Keep driving. Drive until the sun blooms.

II
Some days were more dire than others. CCTV footage confirms I pawned a shotgun, a Gibson guitar, and my wife’s engagement ring at the pawnshop next to Fatty’s Tattoo parlor. The typographically accurate Declaration of Independence inscribed on my back also confirms this.

III
I ran the tilt-a-whirl at the Ashtabula county fair, fattening up on fried Oreos and elephant ears, flirting behind tent ***** with the cute contortionist with strawberry-blonde hair.

IV
I derailed in a dive bar.

V
I disappeared in a city lit by lavender streetlights, where buildings blotted out the stars and the traffic signals kept perfect time.
I picked through trash bins. I paid for love with drugstore wine.

VI
I closed my eyes on a mountain road. The sheriff extracted me from a ****** snowbank.

VII
I holed up for weeks in an oceanfront motel, dazed by the roar of the breakers. Each morning I drew back the curtains and lost myself in the crisscrossing patterns of whitecaps, the synchronous flight of sanderlings above the dunes. I dreamed of dead horseshoe ***** rolling in with the tide.

VIII
The moon over my shoulder tightened into focus like a prison spotlight. One night the barking dogs undid me. Goodnight, children. Goodbye, my love. I capitulated to the candor of a naked mattress. I grew my beard, an insomniac in a jail cell clinging to bars the color of a morning dove.

IV
I coveted the house keys of strangers.

X
I opened and closed many doors. I sang into the mouths of storm drains. I stepped out of many rooms only to find myself in the room I had just left. Despite all my leaving, I remained.
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