"dysthymic" poems
A greased pig at the county fair,
A roller skating tween chips her tooth,
The junky's pupils: pinned.
Heavy-lidded gaze notched up: a higher degree of horror.
Ecstasy and agony: life's charged poles, opposing,
I, dysthymic before the blister of try,
have touched too close to life's hot center,
A cliché, a disposable metaphor,
The insulin syringe (use once and destroy) of metaphors,
Oh restless boy (you're a man) you don't see it?
Beyond the sour vinegar of feet and let's pretend,
the mildew funk of gym-stale ****
the recess bells gave way to sirens.
Oh, valor—Toro—pinned Pamplona,
Gored by c**k, though, not by bull
Cause see it seems—yes, Spain then.
Nothing written really happens, see,
mind to bear this burden.
Tense of verb fit the charge in air,
a crunchy taste like seizure mouth, the sockets blown
some smoke slips out the corner of my mouth, my eye
regards you trying to seem real.
2011
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
Depression is reading bad poetry
Written by merely dysthymic people
Depression is people which does result in
Hell
Depression is the pain caused by people
Trying, poorly I might add, to articulate what
'Depression means to me'
Depression is tantamount to hunger
Something we all must suffer
Some will starve to death
You, my poetaster chum
Are only late to dinner
The pang will pass
Copyright © 1996-Present
May 14, 2011
May 14, 2011 at 8:21 PM UTC
Depression is reading bad poetry
Written by merely dysthymic people
Depression is people which does result in
Hell
Depression is the pain caused by people
Trying, poorly I might add, to articulate what
'Depression means to me'
Depression is tantamount to hunger
Something we all must suffer
Some will starve to death
You, my poetaster chum
Are only late to dinner
The pang will pass
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 6:22 PM UTC
Walking in the bookstores, searching, questing, testing,
which book is the one, not for fun, or congesting,
IT will fill the hole in my dissatisfaction, it will give
meaning to an otherwise empty space filled by my warm
body.
I have been at this for years, sometimes I walk out with
less than I went in, other times I walk out with what I
bought and it is all for
naught and leaves me cold to the touch,
doesn't matter much,
in my dysthymic passive aggressive crunch.
I have Jesus, and I hope it does not take me
until eternity to have my ah-ha moment,
good or bad, don't point me at an omen.
Life is as fluid is the water cycle, and as
hard to find as the water table,
in the desert.
So how do I leave you;
I don't know the answer
to the impossible question,
a cramp in my digestion,
a cactus thorn in my side, doubt
not only clouds my mind and
evaporates my sound judge-
ment; but would I recognize,
or would it be discovered a surprise,
if I found what I was really
looking for.
©DWE072013
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
the sun,
it beats down on the grass,
discontented and desolate,
godless,
I pass with a nod
the cells,
they spill out on the floor
with fury and desire,
fullness,
it spills out on the floor
color,
it reacts to the soul
radiant and lobotomizing,
mind,
it beats down on the floor
and the sunset lasts forever.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC