"barges" poems
dissociation a curse
dissociation my enemy
enemy barges in
enemy takes control
control is crippling
control must go
go seek advise
go to friends
friends may ignore
friends may listen
listen to god
listen to nothing
nothing is something
nothing is numbing
numbing craves alcohol
numbing craves drugs
drugs are prescribed
drugs will fix
fix my brain
fix cracked mirrors
mirrors taunt me
mirrors tell lies
lies i tell
lies cover bruise
bruise my hand
bruise my brother
brother is silent
brother please forgive
forgive me father
forgive me mother
father please help
father is futile
futile defines me
futile invites suicide
suicide with pills
suicide i survived
survived from coma
survived in hospital
hospital is helpful
hospital gives answers
answers for family
answers to problems
problems with doctors
problems with diagnosis
diagnosis is discovered
diagnosis is depersonalization
depersonalization creates poet
depresonalization becomes mad
mad
poet
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Depression is hard to understand. The dictionary naively refers to it as, "feelings of severe despondency and dejection." But what does the dictionary know about depression? I think depression is more complicated than that. But I don't quite know what that consists of. I've been trying to figure it out for months now, and I just can't seem to understand. I don't know what depression is, but I can tell you what it's not.
Depression is not polite. Depression doesn't knock before he barges in. He just lets himself in, unannounced and unexpected, and leaves me gasping for what little air is left in the room.
Depression isn't clean. He doesn't tidy up after he makes a mess. He comes into my life like a hurricane, and leaves me to pick up the crumbled pieces of my rubbled life.
Depression isn't moral. He steals my happiness and kills my spirit. He doesn't abide by any common rules or laws, he makes his own rules and I have to play by them.
Depression isn't popular. The only "friends" he has are his victims. He drags me away from everyone who used to love me, and leaves me isolated in a cold, dark place.
Depression isn't respectful. He claws his way into the lives of so many genuine people and drives them to the brink of insanity. He has no regard for my thoughts or my feelings, stomping all over me until there's nothing decent left to salvage.
Depression isn't creative. He tells you everything as it is and makes you see all of the terrible things poisoning the world. He doesn't sugarcoat the truth, no matter how much it hurts, and he helped me clearly see even my smallest of flaws.
Depression isn't nice. He calls me ugly and tells me I'm worthless. The words he whispers ring in my ears: **** yourself, **** yourself, **** yourself."
It's hard to define depression. It doesn't fit into a small box. I've practically driven myself crazy trying to figure out what it is and why this is happening to me. I don't understand depression, and no matter how hard I try to define it, I always fall short. I don't know if depression can ever be defined. While I try aimlessly to define the undefinable, depression ruthlessly takes advantage of me. I can try as much as I'd like, but I don't define depression, depression defines me.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
Did you see the tarnished surface
that made you look again
Was it reflected in the lyrics
in the Anthem of the Thames
Was the traffic still diverted
Had the Borough lost good men
Were mothers dry from crying
at the Anthem of the Thames
Did you see the children drowning
Was the tide too high from rain
Were the barges towed in silence
past the Anthem of the Thames
Were the songs drowned out by shouting
Did the words turn boys insane
Did the drum beats beat past midnight
to the Anthem of the Thames
Was it echoed through the arches
Did the shadows hide the stains
Did the wounded walk til morning
through the Anthem of the Thames
Will you still be here at day break
Do you claim this grey domain
Will you pray for restoration
of the Anthem of the Thames
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
An omnibus across the bridge
Crawls like a yellow butterfly,
And, here and there, a passer-by
Shows like a little restless midge.
Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moored against the shadowy wharf,
And, like a yellow silken scarf,
The thick fog hangs along the quay.
The yellow leaves begin to fade
And flutter from the Temple elms,
And at my feet the pale green Thames
Lies like a rod of rippled jade.
4k
Lazily I sit naked on my favorite carved antique chair,
by the writing table, fully immersed in Kamsutra zen,
the randy one barges in, with a smile,euphemistically reprimands:
"Man, have a heart, your ****** is being unfairly wasted again"
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 6:58 AM UTC
I try to stop and wonder why
Am I numb now?
Tears start to fall
Never wanting to stop
Just a minute ago
I was laughing
Now I’m depressed
Suicidal thoughts arise
How can I've been happy?
Then so upset in a blink of an eye
I remember their faces
And I feel nothing for them
Everything’s a distant memory
My own nightmares taking over
I try to find something joyful
All I found was even more terror
How can I tell the people who love
That when night comes
I’m no longer myself
Just like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
I’m a monster that does not feel
Alone and cold, immune to everything
What happened to me?
I want it to stop
But whenever I try to stop
Someone else barges in
I don’t know who it is
But they’re taking over
I try to control myself
Hoping to win the battle in my head
Whether I win or lose
I’m no longer the same
I've changed but not for the better
All the things I've pushed away
Have resurfaced and formed
Now it has personified into my nightmares
Gladly, it only happens at night
But it talks to me during the day
I push back the negativity
Or else it’ll swallow me whole
Who knew it would be like this
I didn't, but that’s what I get
I can never be truly happy
I’ve accepted this much
I’ll face the world with my burdens
Give everyone a smile
I’ll lie my way to my death
Knowing that no one knows the monster inside.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 8:12 AM UTC
What does depression look like?
Oh, please tell me. I must know!
Is it just a hoax or a mind game played with me?
Why does it feel like my heart will bleed?
That pitter-patter I hear in my chest
Is it just a heartbeat or is a metronome ticking away the minutes until my mind goes astray?
What does depression look like?
A foggy glass pane?
That noise it makes when it rains?
It feels like an eternity, when it's only been an hour.
It feels like when you can't get out of the shower.
What does depression look like?
Oh can't you see!!!
Depression, oh depression, is inside of me!
He is not polite and he does not use manners!
He just barges in and demands I answer
What does depression look like?
My bed hasn't been made in years and my friends all bore me to tears
But where do I draw the line
Between where my brain is ****** up and everything is fine?
Please, God, tell me!
Does everyone feel this way or is it just me?
Am I being irrational?
Do I let my brain wander?
Between what's real or if it was just a blunder
What does depression look like?
I haven't left the house in months
And when I do I just feel in a rut
I wonder if people see me and think I'm okay?
I wonder if I prayed this would all go away?
I'm a being of lonliness, sorrow and despair.
I'm a creature cursed with depression
My bones are crumbling and bare
What does depression look like?
You tell me
I'm quiet on the outside and screaming internally
I feel myself decaying and I feel my heart breaking
I just want to wake up from this horrifying dream
Where every piece of me is splitting at the seams
I don't try to be depressed
I want to smile but it's hard when there's weights pulling down on your eyeballs
And I want to tell you all that I'm not okay
But I'm afraid I can't come out with that
No not today.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
Uh oh, I feel it
It's coming again
One more unwanted visit
From my longtime friend
There's no notice given
As he barges right in
And no length to his stay
Don't know when it will end
He takes over my space
As if it's always been
Just his place and not mine
Who's the one paying rent?
Feel my presence erased
Put on hold and suspend
Don't confront; Do not face
Feel I can not defend
Everyday forced to face
Sadly, what could have been
Feeling lost and disgraced
I'm imprisoned again
In this bottomless pit
Where reality bends
Won't give up; Will not quit
Digging out with a pen
Beg for mercy and pleas
In these notes that I send
Penned emotionally
On my life it depends
Don't just look; Need to see
The real trouble I'm in
My words quietly scream
Fight alone I can't win
Someone please just help me
A spare hand you can lend
Don't need much to be free
Very little you'll spend
But without it I'll bleed
Boxer who can't contend
I'm struck down in defeat
Ref has counted to ten
Not how it has to be
Room is starting to spin
Get me up on my feet
Reset this bowling pin
Knock me flat in the street
Won't sit still like a hen
Punching bag that you beat
Think I'm yours; That is when
Rising up suddenly
Spirit back on the mend
You're the one looking weak
Everything is pretend
Cleaning house; Need to sweep
From this filth I've been cleansed
Helped in my time of need
Thankfully by my friends
Days ahead bright for me
My life here want to spend
But can't get too comfy
He will strike; Don't know when
Out my eye hole I peep
Could return once again
Promising not to leave
Me and my longtime friend
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
Throw away the calendar
Lose those different dates
Lose that wrist watch, lose that clock
It’s almost half past late
When the angel of corpses arrives
He wants them dead not alive
He does not discriminate
He wants them virgins, he wants men’s wives
He wants boys young, he takes men old
He comes in sneaky, he barges in bold
And first pries your fingers off that little hope that you hold…
On to
He's heartless, he wasn't born to…
Show mercy
That’s because he wasn't born at all and has no heart
Lord have mercy
With the angel of death, the pungency of death comes
The caked blood that was initially wet, red ponds
And time ceases to matter, days lose importance
They say ‘time is a healer’ but this agony will keep doing a slow dance
Refusing to pass
A lingering curse
Victims suffer in silence
So with that said
Let’s use the little time we have… to avert from any shape or form of violence.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
Death wears sneakers
Fastened tight
Leaving wounds
Wronging rights
It sneaks around
And doesn’t care
About what’s left
And what’s to share
It doesn’t knock
It barges in
To take it’s claim
To sate it’s yen
Not bound by locks
Or siren’s blare
It leaves a mess
It doesn’t care
Don’t forget
To right your soul
Keep in mind
Who’ll pay the toll
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
A tall, thin man
stands outside my house,
it's cold out there and he waits for me to come out
The same young man wears a black hat
and a black blouse
he paces to and fro until he passes out
The tall thin man
waits for me to arrive
stands there singing songs
until he feels like he might die
He knocks on the door,
he sounds so polite,
begs for a minute,
and a glass of water if I might.
The man barges in,
he breaks my door,
he raids my cubbards
he stains my floor,
he spills my wine,
he eats my fruit,
the man feels nothing,
he continues.
While he wanders
through my house,
he spits out lines
as ironed as his blouse.
"Thank you for your patience"
"I really have to say,
you're very kind and giving
in the most pathetic way."
The man then goes up to my room
he makes my bed look brand new.
Then makes me now lay down and pray,
tells me that I belong this way.
I beg him to stop as my hands start to ache,
my heart froze up and he swore I'd been faking.
The man in the hat
the man in the blouse
the man that I let into my house
the man that stole
the man who broke
the man who I let take all control
that man took what he needed
that man then left
and left me bleeding.
On his way out he said goodbye,
he said farewell, and thanked my time,
before he took off to the sky,
he told me something I can't deny
"You're too trusting, my dear,
and look at you now,
you let people in out of fear,
and you are left the clown"
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
The smoke stacks that line the waterfront be like giant joints puffing thoughts of her into air embalmed by hundreds of rainy days
That slow burn, against the icy bay and the barges that carry their loads through them
This corner of the world gets six hours of daylight, tops
Greys seared by neon, smoke and clouds and fog produced as one
continuous substance
There's a pleasant blurryness here
floating amid the buoys and the docked ferryboats,
In the way the monorails glide above toward a 1960s dream of the space age through an Amazonian jungle of glass and cranes
in harmony with the clouds sailing overhead
Here is where you go to let off steam deferred, where you ride trains through a kind of dark that arrives early, stays up late
as shadows wander across the gum covered walls of Post Alley
like ghosts made of espresso mist
freed from lit joints protruding from the skyline
to a high beneath starless heaven
Resting into the glow of that harbor
against thoughts of her that cloud the view of the sea.
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 4:33 PM UTC
when day breaks and brazen stands the sun
as if to say, it is day, the storm has passed
once more
you lay in a pool of soft sand, a whisper of what once was
fists clenching and unclenching
silence so deafening you ache
it feels so unpleasant, this ease
comfort was not meant for you, where do you even place yourself in a scene meant for someone else?
you make suffering your home
the cold tiles a cornerstone
but the suffering has ended in spite of you
of all your pleas to stay in a race for survival
trotting on battered rubble-bound roads
and despite it all
you are safe and free
the sun lapses in providing warmth
but never stills
and neither have you
before now
and yet
happiness does not creep in, nor does it knock
nor barges or in wanders
you are left empty in a filled space
almost to the point of combustion
and this is how you shall stay
shivering, the rays hurling themselves at any surface besides you
fruitless, the suffering meant so very little besides all that you knew
empty, just as the space next to you
Nov 15, 2023
Nov 15, 2023 at 1:27 PM UTC
Perilous voyages of small watercraft at sea , amphibious landings on well defended beachheads , Clipper ships whaling on distant oceans , military vessels in armed conflict , night of relentless cannon fire , explosive reflections across shark infested waters , treasure maps and chest laden with gold , rubies and pieces of eight , the cry of Viking warriors on the rugged coast of Newfoundland .. Pirates just off the shores of the Carolinas .. Forts Pulaski , Sumter and Jefferson on the Dry Tortugas ..
Oil platforms racked by ferocious winds on the Gulf of Mexico ..
Union and Confederate battles on Mobile Bay , Riverboats traversing the Mississippi ..Tending barges along the Ohio ..On high alert through Georgia's intracoastal waterways ....
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
Like a tank he barges in
talking loud shaking hands
hard almost mad.
Yeh thats my dad.
Your opinions be ******
while his are grand
his advice taken
not To be forsaken
or he'll be mad.
That's my dad.
His lessons you'll learn
or you'll get burned
by the outside world
or some sneaky girl
don't question or you'll end up sad.
That's my dad.
No laziness or wallowing
his rules are for following
no goofing around
sun up to sun down,
eee gad!
Yeh that's my dad.
But in the end it's true,
he's the only father that I knew
now he's dead
our family head
He's the only father I ever had.
Yeh that's my dad.
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
YUMMY YUMMY IN MY TATTOOED TUMMY
I like eating very much, call it a passion coz obsession sounds too mad.
Give me a sandwich tuna mayo one sliced tomato on bread times two.
Not enough!
Time for chicken donner on nan with everything on: hot sauce, salad cream with salad, peppers too, Jalapeno style. Add an order for onion barges, samosas and chips in pita bread with mild sauce on.
Yummy yummy in my tattooed tummy!
Half an hour later, an Italian beckons. His pizza looks cool! I say three types of meat, sliced, on top. Extra cheese, deep pan and two types of olives. Munchy time and yes, I enjoy this meal.
Later… What next? English fish and chips with salt and vinegar and a drop of gravy. No mushy peas, I hate them! I’ll take two fish cakes on the side. Traditional English grub down the hatch. Then meat and potato pie on a muffin. Careful not to burn my mouth! Did that before.
Yummy yummy in my tattooed tummy!
Time for some American influence, supersize me! Huge portion of fries, mega big burger and a litre of strawberry milkshake.
I’m multicultural in my diet. Foreign people are cool when it comes to their cuisine. I love Norwegian apple juice, as I need a drink after eating their goats’ cheese on rough white bread.
Yummy yummy in my tattooed tummy!
Chinese crispy duck is desirable, just like egg fried rice and prawn crackers. All available food is welcome, I’ll eat your left over’s on my trip of eating.
Yummy yummy in my tattooed tummy!
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
Water crashes.
Rumbles and echoes on the rocks.
Cool mist fills the air.
Above, a river falls off a cliff,
while below, it falls off another.
A bridge beneath my feet.
Green plants.
People taking pictures.
A wooden lodge for dining,
with a gift shop.
The hum of a freeway.
A river with barges.
The sound of a train.
The wild meets man,
at the waterfall.
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 5:30 AM UTC
The wind shuffles the long grass
And the broad green reeds
Shifting and rattling
By the rippling black water
Chuckling water fowl splash
Swans and cygnets hurry past
And the weather is on the turn
It's time to be heading home
The last of the daylight creatures
And the very first of those of the night
Are sharing this half-way hour
The sky restlessly moves and changes
And bruised clouds rush over head
Like the rubbed eye-lids of a child
A weary teary child
Going home and ready for bed
The slack and glossy water
Laps at the stone beneath bridges
Echoing with the ghosts of barges
And spits of rain flick the air
Studs of cold hitting the face
Turning a collar to the cheek
And urging aching feet
Home-fire yearning me home
By Phil Roberts
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 1:20 PM UTC
You can build no dams over oceans.
Gushing volcanoes were never plugged.
Roaring hurricanes have always had their way.
Avalanches bury one and all.
So what does one do,
when love barges in,
without notice ?
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
The one day I don't set an alarm
that I may sleep in to my brain's volition
my mom barges into my bedroom just to make sure I'm okay.
While I appreciate the concern, how inconsiderate!
I've worked every day but today this week
and I work all weekend, as well;
plus, it's a habit to avoid sleep at night
(it's the only time I can get time to myself)
and besides, I'm twenty-fucking-two;
I can handle myself, and if not;
natural selection will sort it out.
At least call my ******* phone first!
I may neglect my phone by your standards,
but that's because there's so much more to my life
than a ******* cell phone; if anything it's a plight
(or an alarm clock, but not today!)
Clearly she doesn't know I like to sleep naked.
Good thing I sleep with my curtain drawn, the music on, and lights off
(except my black light; it's an effective and badass night light)
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
Out of my window looking through the night,
I can see the barges' flickering light
starboards shining green and ports shining red
I can see the barges straight ahead.
Barges, how I'd like to go with you
how I'd like to sail the ocean blue.
Barges, have you treasures in your hold?
Do you fight with pirates brave and bold?
Out of my window, looking through the night
I can see the barges' flickering light.
Silently flows the river to the sea
and the barges too go silently.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC
Our bodies wracked with sobs
We can't seem to hold off the mob that barges through our castle doors
Well clean it up later
Red seems to be our favorite color
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Imagine this centered: And lunch with Kirk and Uncle Bubby
Even the birds are staying home today
Those flocks and flights whose accustomed spirals
Make animate the skies are grounded by frost
And leave the waters of the marsh in peace
Young men uniformed in Nomex 1 and beards
Spiral into Hollier’s Cajun Kitchen
From the barges and the maintenance shops,
Cracking units, pipelines and hotshot rigs
They are smart, tough, and strong; they fuel the world
And pose for pictures with the concrete pig 2
1 Nomex is a flame-resistant material developed by DuPont and is worn by workers in many industries, especially petro-chemicals. The man or woman in Nomex keeps our cars, our lights, and our lives functioning.
2 There are in fact two concrete pigs outside Hollier’s (pronounced “O-Yays,” says Uncle Bubby).
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 8:54 PM UTC
Early morning sunlight barges through the curtain holes
There is no hiding after
All the misgivings of last night and all nights before
Must disappear faster
Light is beckoning you unto itself
Tears must be swept under the rug
Light illuminates as is on rich and poor
Could it be your only wake up hug?
So grab her hand and walk into the light
Make her your own
Leave the banalities of this world behind
Don't miss, don't mourn
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
Old, abandoned wooden hulks,
They lie, keeled over, on coarse grass,
Left to sleep on the estuary flats.
These brute barges, timbers strong
As the men who worked them, masterless,
Rise on no tide, rest heavy and decay.
From one, still upright, a mooring rope
Hangs in an arc, like the downward curve
Of its great, oaken, rusty-hinged rudder;
Tied to the mud where older keel spines die.
Jun 19, 2011
Jun 19, 2011 at 8:07 AM UTC