Lilith & the Incubus

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Photographer: Ange Harper
Photo used with permission

Here we go again
for those of you sick
of this shit – Karma

Happiness, eludes me
over-analyzing everything
searching for that choice to make

Looking to purpose choose life
simplicity a complex solution
blind, numb, lost & forgotten

My brain hard-wired my eyes shut
Persistent Depressive Disorder
convincingly sees only what was

Nothing gets any better
I’ve never known anything different
happiness is Far Far Away, folklore

Farther apart I age, no wiser
life flashes before my eyes, wasted
it’s a miracle I have survived thus far

I may as well be dead
it’s like I’m dead
I feel dead

Burdons not just my own; contagion
leaching into every soul I touch,
Incubus fornicate in my sleeplessness

Pervasive nightmares & thoughts
leave little light – my aura
hedonism postulating pleasure

Shit shows on at 4am

Doom & disaster, spiritituality
leper colonies shun; shamed
beyond toxicity

I am cursed
so is everyone in it
locked up for my own safety

Unlike Lilith

© Copyright 2015, Jodine Derena Butler.  All Rights Reserved

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
I wrote this recently because I feel like crap. Another bout of reactive depression has made its presence felt. I am doing everything I can to work it through. It’s hard but achievable, as I have proven to myself over and over. The last time, ten years ago. So, I am writing to heal again. This too shall pass. Jx

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Clown

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Scratching the terrors that don’t exist
Sobbing eyes on unscarred wrist
Wanting to scream, the voice unspoken
My inner self feels constantly broken

My smile hides the tears
My laughter shields my fears
I am surrounded in a locked steel box, and the other side of me won’t let you have the keys

I don’t disappear to get away from you
I disappear to get away from myself
Then find myself needing you more
But hate the thought of not being alone

I am the perfect “clown”
I paint on my face
What I expect you to want

Copyright © 2015, careyjane. All rights Reserved

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Carey is a depressed & anxious normal 40 something.  Slowly seeing the rainbow after many years of seeing only clouds.

For Mum

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It’s been 26 years since I saw you last
The time has slipped away so fast
Since I held your hand, kissed your head
Nursed you while you lay in bed.

Those are the days I try to forget
Instead focus on the time we had left
The memories we’d created in time
In the 16 short years that you were mine.

The beautiful lady who was my Mum
Who taught me what was right from wrong
Giving me all the tools I’d need
To live my life the best it could be.

Part of you continues to grow
In my gorgeous boys that you will never know
Who you will never get to touch or hold
Instead they hear my stories told –

“Your beautiful Grandma she loved to shine
She made me laugh so hard at times
That cheeky grin, those twinkling eyes
She was the light in darkest times”.

I never thought I would make this day
The age you were when you were taken away
But I don’t fear death, as when my time comes 
We’ll be together again, me and my Mum.

Copyright © 2015 Tracey Huaut

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
I am originally from NZ, born in 1973 and grew up there until I left in 2004 to do my “Big O.E.” in the UK.  I lived there for 10 years before settling in Australia on the Gold Coast.  As you will read from my poem, I lost my mum (to cancer) when I was only 16.  I have battled with depression throughout life for obvious reasons, and also after I had both my babies.  I find I only write poetry at times when I am sad or feeling down, as it lets me express myself better and get those thoughts out of my head and onto paper.  Every year I write a poem for mum on the anniversary of her death and above is this year’s poem.  This will be the first time I have applied to have my poetry published. I have written hundreds of poems over the years…

MY GIFT FROM MOTHER EARTH

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Photographer: Wendy Sama
Image used with permission

I am a child of mother earth

A gift I was given unto

My body and spirit a temple

I am free an only I command it true

Of only happy and gentle souls

Of those which disrespect it

Must be a devil on burning coals

I have been gifted a loving spirit

And my temple I shall protect

Only a privilege to those if I allow it

Or be in their spirit I shall reject

Forgive all that believe in their right

To cross through my temple gate

They are but naive and selfish spirits

The word “No” only the devil does hate

Where but hell gives a spirit the right

On another to force it’s wants and greed

To touch uninvited beyond ones boundary

Abusing a personal gift, only rejection you shall feed

The key to my temple and sanctuary

Lay in the gift gives, not in a kiss

If I withhold the key and NO is spoken

Don’t force your touch, your spirit I will dismiss

Copyright © 2008, Shannan Walsh

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Hi my name is Shannan, I have been writing poetry since I was a teenager, I have suffered from Anxiety and Depression for many years and writing has been a great therapy. I have had to deal with alcohol and drug addiction in the past. I had a child hood which involved battling with suicide and low self esteem which developed into anger and addiction. My words are my life and the roads I have travelled and I have kept them very private for many years, I am finally ready to share these poems and I am sure many out there will relate and I hope know they are not alone.

THE GIFT OF POWER

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Photographer: Wendy Sama
Image used with permission

Dusty grey clouds float overhead, Reminds us of dark days past

A history of pain, hurt and anguish, Oh the memories and the years gone by fast

The clouds drift apart to a sun so warm, To replenish, cleanse us and heal

Lessons learnt and wisdoms earned, We spread our wings and the freedom we feel

All burdens let go and hatred forgiven, The gift of inner power released

Strange emotions felt, love, caring and trust, Past mourned, put to rest, burnt, deceased

Self esteem rebuilt, dignity and pride intact, Our minds our own, the freedom of speech

Positive thoughts, controlled calm and gentle, The attributes in our children we must teach

Through gifts of courage and strength given, Happiness and joy, like the sun, shines through

We give ourselves freely and open our hearts, Love will be given and be honest and true

So we hand you back the remote control, And the ropes which we were once tied

No longer your play puppets to dance on command, We forgive you, the last word spoken –

But wish no longer to stand at your side

Any negative souls don’t tread on our ground, Your control, hate and hurt is unwelcome

Take heed of this warning, as we now stand strong

Only the glorious sun and bright stars shine in our kingdom

We are beautiful women, born of Mother Earth, Once broken, scarred, beaten and weak

Now our fires burn strong, no hate in our hearts

We don’t need you, we are survivors

We will stand on our own damn feet.

Copyright © 2008, Shannan Walsh

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:Hi my name is Shannan, I have been writing poetry since I was a teenager, I have suffered from Anxiety and Depression for many years and writing has been a great therapy. I have had to deal with alcohol and drug addiction in the past. I had a child hood which involved battling with suicide and low self esteem which developed into anger and addiction. My words are my life and the roads I have travelled and I have kept them very private for many years, I am finally ready to share these poems and I am sure many out there will relate and I hope know they are not alone.
 

Surfing

surfing

surfing

 

I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care

yes I do, sure I do, no I don’t

fuck-face fuzz

screaming ripped hamstrings

she says

“careless Ezra scratched me out”

I don’t know what to fucking say

should I be this old?

did I crawl all this way?

I’ll stop asking questions if they stop surfing Rosa

 

Copyright © 2014 Keith Nunes

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Keith Nunes is a former newspaper journalist who now writes to stay sane. He’s been published widely Down Under and lives in rural Bay of Plenty with a retinue of nutters.

 

 

 

Garish

LeprechaunDancesRoundClear

garish

 

couldn’t praise enough

lurid little leprechaun

smeared with false hairlines and painted end-games

she’s only real during appointments

itemising her husband’s live-in lovers

failing to point out that she’s all squeezed in

never mind, you can buy yourself a personality

 

Copyright © 2014 Keith Nunes

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Keith Nunes is a former newspaper journalist who now writes to stay sane. He’s been published widely Down Under and lives in rural Bay of Plenty with a retinue of nutters.

A passenger’s clarity

Trapped in Car

a passenger’s clarity

 

spoiled light, a has-been sheen

promises and promise left by the side of the road

as annoying as a rush-hour puncture

 

streaming out of the lustrous, jubilant morning

into late afternoon loss and tiredness

sitting behind the wheel she doesn’t acknowledge

my failure to change our lives

 

an overwhelming sense of staleness

brushes my face

I want to push the windscreen out

shout: “someone’s dying in here”

 

there’s hundreds of us moving steadily

in parcelled cars

suddenly aware

despite fevered efforts

we can’t find our way home

 

Copyright © 2014 Keith Nunes

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Keith Nunes is a former newspaper journalist who now writes to stay sane. He’s been published widely Down Under and lives in rural Bay of Plenty with a retinue of nutters.

 

My Depression is a Room

Vladstudio emotion 1024x768
Image via Wikipedia

with walls patterned
in a random design

confusing     distracting

drawing me deeper

where the floor’s an illusion
a step onto quicksand

unstable     unpredictable

sucking me down

where the ceiling swings with moods
caught on the scraps of words

frustration      strikes!

before I can duck

with a faint glow reaching
from a crack under the bolted door

my strength     determination

aren’t I lucky

where a sick experience of pain
washes through the naked space

uncomfortable     irritation

my gut reaction

where the atmosphere’s a firm conviction
that sleep is not a friend

the hours merely nag     mock

as cockroaches scuttle

Copyright © 2010 Kirsten Cliff

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Kirsten Cliff currently spends her days creating a collection of haiga (haiku poems with images) to help her mentally and spiritually process her recent journey through leukaemia. Her haiku have been published in journals and anthologies, and placed in competitions, in both New Zealand and overseas. Kirsten lives with her fiancé (also a writer and poet) in a house dedicated to writing, “Wordsmith House”, in Papamoa, Bay of Plenty.

Marnie of the E Street Shelter

Her hair is the disheveled label of manic misadventure,
her grey coat splattered with the drool of depression
her shoes, each different and each well-worn, schizophrenic.

She shuffles from doorway to doorway smiling,
her eyes deep dark orbs that have seen discrimination in all forms,
her lips tight shut and stern, afraid to speak her mind.

She welcomes intrusion as a safety net from a crazy world,
the taste of liquor the only medication that made her happy,
her wrists and forearms scarred with the doctors promise.

Now she passes like a will o the wisp, shameless and without guilt,
her mind swimming in her dressing state, tomorrow a string bikini
in a Wellington wind bent on sending everyone to hell and back.

Tonight she will dine in the bins outside Maccas and BK,
tonight she will drink from half fill bottles,
tonight she won’t dare dream about the kids she left behind.

Copyright © 2010 Thane W. Zander

CONTRIBUTORS NOTE:
Thane Zander has lived all over New Zealand, either as an itinerant child (Father moving to jobs from deepest south to farthest north) or as a 27 year veteran in the Royal New Zealand Navy. He was struck down with Bipolar Disorder in 2000 and has since moved “back” to Palmerston North and environs. The onset of Bipolar Disorder also heralded his entry into the poetry world, and from 2000 to 2005 he had written around 250 poems. This accelerated from 2006 to well over 1000 poems, and counting.