Judy
Tag Archives: Suicide
Death of a Therapist
Dear Sylvia Plath
Thinking of Sylvia Plath on what would have been her 87th birthday – and all the poets and writers she has inspired – but not in that way.
Austin
Today is Random Acts of Kindness Day – this poem is a good reminder that even the smallest kind act, at the right time, in the right place, can truly change somebody’s world.
Judy
September is Suicide Awareness and Prevention Month – here is hoping friendship and poetry can help.
DISSECTING THE FROG OF WAR
DISSECTING THE FROG OF WAR
And when did the buffalo
driven over the cliff
become the lemming leaping
as if the decision was his own
PAPA AND ME
PAPA AND ME
Lately I have been much with Hemingway
and happy to go where he has gone
and done what he has done
I have been gut-punched
shrapnel-laced and toro-gorged
Been as cowardly and brave as Francis M.
tasted Gulf Stream salt on sun cracked lips
and the moveable feast of Paris
I’m glad he didn’t leave a note
that spoke about that gun
SUPPER WITH THE PhD
SUPPER WITH THE PhD
I sit across from my friend
and watch as he drowns
his well developed brain
Every day after work
he puts another million
brain cell kittens in a sack
and takes them to the lake
It is not for me to judge
This small death each day
may well have kept him from
the larger choice his father made
And a diminished capacity may help
when listening to the daily news
or hanging out with poets
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DEATH OF A THERAPIST
DEATH OF A THERAPIST (FOR JOAN)
“God in his mercy lend her grace”
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The Lady of Shalot
Even the camel
eater of straw
Cannot always reach
the one on his back
If we had been able to see
if she had been able to ask
Who would not have taken
a handful
to add to their lighter task
JUDY
JUDY
Judy was a beauty
tall and blonde and shy
early this month she decided to die
The soft wise eyes, the curling lashes
all now ashes
We have been friends for twenty years
hugs and coffee when in town, cards when far away
And always the latest poetry
She said it was important, and it touched her
in places nothing and no one else could reach
Three years ago
I put my neck in a green eyed noose
I sent no cards, I did not call
I do not know if I could have saved her
though touch and poetry have been known to
I only know I hate what I did and didn’t do
I only know that she drowned out there alone
I only know it was a long time since I had thrown her a line