Jerry Hicks
Outlines
Paper odors: sulfur tinge,
moist rolled gruel scent. Each scrap
finger-print distinct. Only months ago I was
a butterfly on her thigh...
now constantly mono-directional.
Zoom past Blythe, jibe at Albuquerque
"Wrong Direction!"
Then maybe lickety-split to Corpus. Toe-the-Gulf
pause,
sweaty clothes irritating like hollow complements.
Next
roll-ripping Portland bound, gas
card greasy-fingers blackened.
Only windshield & mirrors clean.
Del Rio static songs & pleas: Serve J-e-s-u-s!
Seat, floorboards strewn w/ crumpled maps,
plastic bottles crushed,
chewed foam coffee cups,
dirtynapkins, candywrapper scraps.
Portland to Laramie--checkerboard blare.
Can't savor the view, strapped in. No
diversions; course locked.
Miles clicking odo sanes me.
Days sandwiched w/ sleeps. Months vanish
like whole trains piercing mountains.
Something pursues, often roars ahead.
Swapping energy for distance--
swapped for time--swamping memories.
More & more: I am nose art
Copyright © 2002 by Jerry Hicks
And Accept What I Can't
new. never tortured
.before. wasn't sure. i wanted
but . my job was.
that. or .Northern. Front. trench duty.
where
.none. i knew . returned
.with everything they left with.
go ahead, .peers said.... nothing. to it!
we're all .squeamish . initially..
they don't .really. feel
after a .few jabs.
toothless sergeant.
lost . foot, hand, . eye at the.. S . F .
.said, .Know. how your. guts
.growl, 'ts okay to .feel. for a fellow human.
Just 'magin. them
cattle--
Makes it .easier.
They feel .like cattle, so's .better
for all.
true, tho. i never.
warmed. to it. like. . .the .men.
the .women, the .sick, the .elderly....
.but. .no. t.ho.u.gh.
.. .ne.ver. .got. .use. t.o ..scre.am.ing.
.chi.ldre.n.
.th.eir. .piti.ful. .suf.ferings..bo.u.ght
. .ol.. .age....
.woun't. .change..
.a. .thing.
Copyright © 2002 by Jerry Hicks
bio:
I thought for most of my life, "suicide is the only cure," but here I am at
65 with more lust for life each day, meds and all. No one can understand mental
illness who doesn't have it. Compassion comes with incapacity. What is wrong?
Why don't things work? The cure: Just slowly living through it--doing whatever
it takes to survive. One day, colors come back for an hour. The first ray of
hope.
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Colin Van der Woude
Facilitate
The night sky opened
releasing it's dirty bowels onto the land
secrecy among the shame
tomorrow we'll gather our belongings
to move along as instructed
destruction on a mass scale
we'll bleed tears from the new found bewilderment
time stopped for a mere second
the clock broken on seven eleven
wind it back or forward, as you please
enjoy the plague of fear for it's eternal
introverts unite in solidarity
seeking to unite with some kind of clarity
married to demons
many wives wasted lives
many husbands left to guess
they all try to impress with deception
you've joined an elite group...
welcome aboard, comrade
the surprise of a dead element
sacrificed for the ceremonial party
we hare our blood
we lust and recreate
facilitate and relate with poison as bait.
Copyright © 2002 by Colin Van der Woude
bio:
I'm a 25 year old from Australia who is living with schizophrenia and I
use poetry as a creative outlet. I love using words to convey memories and feelings,
emotions… I hope to one day have some work published and I'm on a mission to dispel
any myths of mental illness.
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