Roses For Posies


This book of poetry is dedicated to Thomas Disch, Jim Maclean, Leelah Alcorn, Dave Schulthise, and everyone who lost the fight against depression, isolation, and anxiety. Unfortunately there are very few ways to let someone who is suffering from mental illness know that in time, and with an effort they might not feel capable; their life is indeed worth saving. Every moment is precious, and yes pain can reduce our ability to know joy. Unfortunately loneliness and pain are an irreducible aspect of living. Change is another important law of reality. If we can learn to hold on, if we can learn to ask for help, we are only then able to find the gift that we were born to receive. When we realize we are never truly alone in this world, when we learn that you aren’t abusing a friendship by describing your hurt; we unlock the secret. The secret is that nobody, nobody is as sturdy as you think. We all suffer self-doubt, we all bleed when cut; we are one spirit. Please try to be empathetic toward people. They might express fear of an abusive parent. They could tell you their significant other has left. Maybe their passion in life was cut from them through no fault of their own. Be aware, listen, and learn how to show that you want to help. It’s not that difficult to care for one another. There are multiple suicide hotlines for which you can direct them. They can be found with a simple search, I’m sure you’ve seen the phone numbers. Please try to listen, read the signs, and be there for one another before it gets that far. Remember that you can’t save everyone, but it’s up to you to try. With all my heart I plead that you do. Please attempt to care, go out of your way to be kind; and lastly, eschew owning firearms. There is no denying at this point that gun ownership is a leading factor in the raising suicide rate. Forget being a vigilante. stop worrying about a future scenario you might heroically defuse. We could end so much suffering. We could make the world less dangerous just by learning to listen and being kind. I promise you this. It could save a life, including your own.

I read this at the Lawrence Creates Makerspace. Several poems originally appeared as recorded song, several are new and never given melody. Thank you for reading.


Suicide Week

Sister, rape jokes and size.
Brother, a fag in everyone’s eyes.
Sicko, pervert, freak, suicide week.
Time out, rip the nerves from your body,
never alone, guns for free in the lobby.
Sicko, pervert freak, suicide weak.

Christian, better hope that you’re wrong.
Righteous murder is your psalm.
Teach the kids with fists,
words with which you hit.
A joke you like to tell,
makes this world our hell.


Wishful Thinking

Wishful thinking when we’re far too tired,
too prone in our beds, to reap what we sow.
Half asleep wondering where to retire,
wistfully shifting the way the wind blows.

What if it ends right now?
We don’t know.
It could all start again,
no one knows.

They all seem happy with what they have got.
Something to do with all that you are not.
Others abundant buckets full of strength,
ask them in person it’s not what you think.

If you want all your problems to unwind,
maybe wish for an extension of time.

We’re all hard-wired with envy linking,
that’s why we think that our ship is sinking.
When it’s run aground we struggle for blame;
ugly reflections, inherited shame.

You could just stop breathing.
Take it slow.
When it all starts again,
let it go.

Treat yourself the way others should treat you.
The difference is real I expect you will find.
Under boulders of pain is what you must do,
begin rebuilding the paths of your mind.

Feels Like Falling

Go crazy once just to do it,
lead with your heart to get through it.
Home is where you go to be yourself.
It only feels like you’re falling,
and from here it looks like your flying.
Rolling the dice or living your life,
you’re beautiful when you’re trying.
Because we’re all dying,
to tell you we love you.
There’s a light up above you.
Change the world grow old.
Butterflies grow old.
You are a rebel grow old.
Live your life.
I know it seems dark,
and it’s scary to fight,
but your life has worth,
even when the dogs bite.
So much wasted time you say.
You let your doubts get in the way.
A tower that sways will fall one day.
You could have a new place to stay,
safe in this town, LFK.
All the townies are strange,
just make the change.
Change the world grow old.
Butterflies grow old.
You are a rebel grow old.
Live your life.
It only feels like you’re falling,
and from here it looks like you’re flying.
Be kind to those who are kind.
Break the chains in your mind.
Change the world grow old.
Butterflies grow old.
Be a rebel grow old.
Live your life grow old.

A Song For Jim

I never knew you,
only your song,
and you might have saved my life
once, maybe twice.
And I
even talked to you,
but somehow
I think
I could have saved you.
Now I know
there was nothing
I could do,
and it hurts,
it hurts,
always hurts,
that I miss
I didn’t even know you,
maybe I did,
you didn’t know me.

Louder Than Glass

I watched a man place his heart inside a large glass of water.
Arrogant of purpose, the man was sure he’d watch it grow.
He pleaded with an empty chair, his heart had shrunk, after forgetting it.
His calcified organ, now quite dense, fell sharply striking the bottom.
The glass shattered violently reflecting no emotions.

Forty one hours away I saw a woman scream at a bird,
Infuriated upon reading how the world had forgotten her importance.
She searched the entire sky, her pulse rising like mercury trapped in a vial.
The bird landed abruptly, and meandered on foot for the rest of the day.
The woman’s screams floated endless, her throat bloody and raw.

The man and the woman instinctively moved towards each other.
It was insanity, for they were losing everything they ever had, and believed.
The couple threw away fear, discarded pain, and immolated their grief.
When they met somewhere in the middle, he laughed, and she grew silent.
The angular momentum of the earth changed; the bird flew away zufrieden.

In Open View

I opened my heart at last.
I invited the whole world in.
A few showed up,
many more just passed,
and I’m not feeling that way again.
I finally learned to smile,
I smiled at everyone who frowned.
Most people smirked,
many more just laughed,
and I’m not feeling that way again.
I’m not feeling that way.
I gave a part of myself,
thinking I wanted nothing in return.
Man, I was just lying to myself,
I really wanted everything.
Not anything I could hold,
something I had imagined,
and I’m not feeling that pain again.
I saw a kid who looked naked without his gun.
He looked at me like he’d use it on me if he could,
and being who I’ve become,
I’m smiling just to hide.

The Man In The Lobby

The good folks at the NRA
have something they would like to say.
Have you bought a gun today?
If you haven’t come this way.

This is the room you will have to wait,
so have a seat there on that crate.
The gun is cheap, like fear and hate.
Buy two, maybe three, it’s not too late.

We know you’ve been feeling a lot of fear.
Maybe it will help if you drink this beer.
It’s so easy cock, listen and you’ll hear,
the blood draining from the fallen deer.

Maybe it is just the heat,
but honestly I must get off my feet.
This election has really found me beat.
Sales are so good that this one’s my treat.

What did you say, you are aching to die?
Here’s the perfect one, please give it a try.
Think about it we’re all just getting by,
Nothing else to do but pump, click, and fly.

It’s as easy to do as riding a bike.
So get to jumping you angry, dumb, dyke.
Are you “triggered”? Ha! I’m all like, like.
You can shut up, I’m holding the mic.

You wanted to be like your bro.
Pops loved him more yes or no?
Love wasn’t something he’d show.
So you went out and killed your first doe.

It’s a long and lonely road,
something you were probably told.
Your dad brought it up, seemingly cold.
The future is doomed kid, so come join the fold.

We’ll finally win if we capture the youth,
they’ll all grow to be just like John Wilkes Booth.
Here is a secret, I’m getting long in the tooth.
This lead is for you, to tell you the truth.

Okay stop crying I see that you’re new.
Wipe up those tears, here’s what we’ll do.
Take this ticket to a brave Xanadu.
I’m only the devil, the rest’s up to you.

Christiana Joy “Suicide Week”

© 2020 P.F.S.I.M.

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