Within Depression

[Bunx]

Within Depression 

Dreams highlight moss on a rock.
Droplets of water and life.
It's winter outside of sleep.
Flowers don't die in the ice.

Hibernation within pain.
Eyes closed days float away.
Freezing wind is an excuse
for the grizzly to stay caved.

Moths wings open under bed
reflecting colors on sight.
Stars don't choose they shine at night.
A leaf doesn't sigh when soil.

Waking up to start the day.
Children he knows go to school.
Lucky to be in a bed,
pondering spring renewal.

[rowens]

Within Depression 


a leaf doesn't sigh when soil.

Waking up to start the day.
Children he knows go to school.
Lucky to be in a bed,
pondering spring renewal.


The spirit, to use that word, is somewhere in these lines.

[dukealien]

Beautiful.  The arrival of a viewpoint character in the last stanza is almost unnecessary, but essential for where the poem goes once he's there.

Many good lines, my favorite is "A leaf doesn't sigh when soil."

[rowens]

Within Depression




Oddly, but not really so . . .


a leaf doesn't sigh when soil . . .

Waking up to start the day.
Children he knows go to school.
Lucky to be in a bed,
pondering spring renewal.


The spirit, to use that word, is somewhere in these lines.

[Bunx]

Thanks for the feedback, I'm glad you all found something you liked about this poem. I've been trying my best to "buck up" as they say. I think writing poems like this one helps.

[rowens]

Dreams highlight moss on a rock.
Droplets of water and life.
It's winter outside of sleep.
Flowers don't die in the ice.


Each of these is a title.

I see how they are connected.

But don't connect them. Take them like each an individual seed, and craft something out of each.

I don't like writing poetry in traditional forms because I'm retarded. Being tarded was bad enough. I don't need to relive It.

But, poetry is violent. And if your natural inclination is to explode on some lady's chin, enjoy and layer that--on the chin. Is that a phrase? On the something.

Play around with the formula, the fascism. Use the fascism, the way men wish that they could use the muses they love.

See, you take the rhythm, you don't have to be an expert at it to master it.
Just like you don't have to be Maryin Monroe to be beautiful. She didn't think she was beautiful.



Bunx, have you ever seen, this is Miscll, the movie Wonder Boys?

I like movies, as we all do, about misfits, cuz there is someone who is or was wrong and yet made good.
And you take that weird pattern, and love it, and die and learn from it, and squeeze it, and adore it. And take of it what you need to survive.
And that little bit is all you need.


I got it from The Ren & Stimpy Show.

[Bunx]

I just watched the trailer for Wonder Boys and wished movies these days were this good, and also wished these movies wouldn't be lost to streaming services. As far as knowing what I need I go back and forth between frustrated at my own mental circumstances and grateful that I can recover from them...

The times we live in are trying though I haven't been chiming in on politics lately mainly due to how polarizing my home town is, I'm trying to find substance in preservation.

I got to say rowens thank you for constantly challenging me to think more and more about these writings and thank you for finding something to hone into. This poem was directly inspired by your comments on my poem before this one "Ideas for Later".

I'll keeping working on these patterns and rhythms and try to fall into the same patterns

[rowens]

That's art. The patterns and the way tears feel when you contact with pure art, whatever tears are that are beautiful: sad, happy, justified, ashamed combined.

Pol means city. Polite means being fake for the sake of real. Politics, well, you guessed it.


You don't have to be polite or fake or real. Fuck reality.

You are an artist.

Sanity is not exclusive.

You are ethical, like me, despite your madness.

Hold Ethics in your Right-Hand and allow madness to gyrate in your Left-Hand.


That's what I do.


But, I have a whole bunch of hands.