a poem that I'm especially proud of.. look for my new book coming out soon! Aloha, Cindy

This is a poem by Wendell Berry.  Sorry  I don’t know the title.

 

You will be walking some night 

in the comfortable dark of your yard

Revised Icarus Songs (somewhat) still in progress, on a new site.

From http://forthelonghaul.org: I wrote this poem at 2AM; it’s dark, but no doubt a part of me as I stumble along in this journey of recovery. I have good days and bad, but no matter what I am happy to be alive.

Wonder

Sometimes i wonder,
why i even bother,
to engage in a world that doesn’t care whether i live or die,
because life is not an instrument,
measured and anointed.
Free will is a mere nuisance,
where control is the jurisprudence.
But then why do we even try,
if our mark goes unnoticed,
our trace goes un-tracked.
Our voice muted by the violence,
of an ever growing tyrant,
whose name shall go unmentioned,
but whose deed shall give all nightmares.

forthelonghaul.org - struggles with mental illness

“A little over four months ago I was in a mental hospital for about a month. In the U.S., mental illness is something not talked about and we are taught to feel a lot of shame around and feel that we are alone. For this reason I feel it is important to be open about mental illness. And so, I dedicate this poem to all of you who struggle with mental illness.”

Mental Gift

Poppin' pills daily - got me crazy,

insurance co-pays track me weighly.

Addictions got me locked in ways I never knew to be;

meekly evade the subliminal toxicity;

lifetime supply prescribed,

neatly packaged individually;

separate and alone,

I watch my mind disengage to the beat of a metronome;

see through to the strings of the master

who controls the puppets dome.

Judgment cut by the

shrieks-of-sirens-,

-sarrenating-souls-in-the-search-for-solace.-

-Solstice-emanating-from-the-tides-of-oceans-,

-throwing-me-on-my-side-,

-hands-stretched-out,-raw-and-vulgar.

Moving through the motions

that the doctor diagnosed me.

If you can’t charge a person with a crime,

What right does the community have

To make them do time?

I’ve done time for suicide,

Time for travel fatigue,

Time for being bullied,

Time for grieving too.

When will people get it.

When will they see.

It’s not okay to drug me

And lock me away without a plea.

What’s my crime?

Charge me with an offence.

Don’t say that’s irrelevant

Because that’s not making sense.

I’m trying to find a loop-hole

In these loopy laws

That say that that torture

Can be used

On people who do not abuse.

I’m trying to find a way

That will say that’s not okay.

I’m trying to say what’s sick

Are the people who treat

With an order by our law

That puts the community

As the authority

When the general public

Doesn’t know

About what happens

Behind those white-coated doors,

Where chemicals are injected

And people are not listened to

Rather told that they must agree

That they must comply

And if they don’t

They’ll be dosed up

Even higher than before

Perhaps then some ECT

Or if it comes to it, psychosurgery.