#SW4MH Poem for Donor: Lizzy Kalmanek

Heeler

Inside the recovery room, my head pounds

like an angry mob. 3 a.m. and I am still awake,

leaned over my patient with a witch of a fever,

he’s burning at the stake. Until at last, he stirs,

 

and his heart falls into a steady purr.

Thump-tha-thump-tha-thump-tha-thump.

His eyes flutter open, and I smile as his tail

waves gently like a flag, holding strong.

 

The moon grows tired, but the sun rises up

like a puppy bounding to his owner.

 

*Thank you so much for your generous support!

I am now only $395 away from my goal! When I leave work this afternoon, I will be wearing my funky #sw4mh hat around Chicago and onto the train! And, now we’re even closer to seeing me dye my hair NoStigmas green!

To join in on the #SW4MH campaign, please visit http://bit.ly/1i59lx9! Remember, every donor will receive a poem (you can leave a topic idea for the poem in your donation comments).

Thank you again for helping ensure no one faces mental illness or suicide alone! For more information about how your donation impacts NoStigmas, please visit https://nostigmas.org.

 

#SW4MH Poem for Donor: Jimmy & Dar

Digital Age

I.

Technology is the mind’s gas station,

a lulling mug of warm cocoa

topped with instant gratification.

The cocoa’s side effect: addiction.

Translation: frustration. We crave

the web, this neurotic sedation.

II.

The computer flashes tiny pixels

like a neon sign, but the screen

is a window, information trickles

both ways faster than the wind

But just open the windows,

to brighter pixels in a star’s twinkle.

III.

Sun shines through window shutters,

while outside a grass blade quivers

as a dragonfly pauses to rest,

a computer knows no difference

from the aroma of dew and rain

on wheat-filled, corn-filled, bean-filled plains.

*Thank you all for your generous support! I am now only $415 away from my goal! After another $15, I will wear a funky #sw4mh hat around Chicago, and once I reach $500, I will dye my hair NoStigmas green!

To join in on the #SW4MH campaign, please visit http://bit.ly/1i59lx9! Remember, every donor will receive a poem (you can leave a topic idea for the poem in your donation comments).

Thank you again for helping ensure no one faces mental illness or suicide alone! For more information about how your donation impacts NoStigmas, please visit https://nostigmas.org.

 

New Forthcoming Material

It is with much pleasure, that I would like to announce my newest forthcoming material. Please keep an eye out for my poems I Do Not Want To Go Again and Spider in the 2014 Issue of Century Magazine. Century is the on-campus magazine at Carroll University and publishes poetry, prose, and art. The magazine will be released April 23.

Moonlit Waters

Spiraling, luminescence

bubbles

from darkness like a mystic

melody, echoing

through the waters,

ebbing and flowing,

spinning around,

silent as light.

Smooth waves wash

the wading moonlight

which pools it’s own face upon

the sandy

shoreline,

while silhouetted silver

rays dance

gently across

misty waters.

Your Love

The way you love is like air,

so sweet, simple, never showing doubt;

though love can fail or break like chinaware,

you and I will never break our vow.

You need me like a preacher needs to pray,

I need you like a milkman needs a cow.

I remember how you held my purse when I

fractured my leg and you pulled my chair out

for me with a bow and I cannot deny

my heart melts like snow in spring

when your eyes light up at the sight

of my finger adorned by your ring.

I thank God we will never break away,

for without you I surely would decay.

Tibia and Fibula

Sitting at the top of a bouncy slide,

the bottom looming before me;

 

bouncing over the top, I flew fast like

a hummingbird, only stopping

with a crack, a whirlwind of pain;

 

the lost relay race, a memory turned gray;

my mind fixed on my foot hanging

crooked like an old picture frame;

 

life had changed in a snap

of bones and tendons,

and though they would heal,

 

a mark engraved is permanent as

the stars in the sky. I sit alone

tracing the pale lines sewn

 

anew years ago; an injury

healed but still searing.

 

Microburst

20130610_210129

Night falls with laughter

and dancing, as we gather

around the bonfire glowing

like a neon sign.

But clouds colored

like scorched

marshmallows begin

filling the sky.

The campers are ordered

to their tents for shelter;

a few leaders run to the

latrines, checking for others.

Under the pavilion

now, yells the director.

The storm is here,

get out of the tents.

 

In an instant, the

horror unfolds.

White flames lick

the air, calling upward.

Counselors take off towards the

wind-swept bonfire, grabbing

jugs of water, extinguishing the

beast in a furl of ashes.

Hovering streaks light

the sky; and unaware of

my own legs, I am now

under the pavilion,

standing on a table

belting out songs…

Make new friends

but keep the old,

 

one is silver and

the other is gold…

trying to calm

hysterical children.

Terror cracks,

as trees plunge to the ground

like divers, flailing

downward.

The wind is stronger

than an army tank;

I brace myself,

for the end

that never comes.

The storm rages,

though we return

safely home, but

I cannot stay calm

anymore; as tears

stream, I tremble

lying in bed awake.

Spider

A glossy, black spider

hung from the corner

of the eaves like a musician

upon her conductor’s baton.

Her legs fluttered as she moved

across her web. She ambushed

her prey with precision,

her web becoming a prison.

Methodically she injected

her poison and wrapped the insect

as if it were a baby needing

to be swaddled for safekeeping.

 

She was far more radiant in her element

than smashed upon the cold cement.