Escaping The Vacuum #suicideprevention #lookclose #poetry

Do you know what it looks like

or how it sounds

despair is silent

suffocates, drowns

*

smug, thoughtless people

too much on their minds

close up their hearts

to the hard, undefined

*

Suicide isn’t a word, a feeling

it’s an unwelcome place

 a vacuum that sucks you

 life is displaced

*

 

 vacant and shallow

A terrible hole

only one exit sign

death rings its toll

*

emotions are fragile

frail like a bud

other times happy

this fix beyond any hug

*

outside’s a deception

“Oh, yes I’m okay”

tomorrow she’s hanging

thin string, there she sways

******

 

Do you know the signs of suicide?

“Sure, I took a class once in College”

You will only know if you ask hard questions

if you stand night time vigils

if you love without judgement

if you sacrifice your time

even then the signs are easy to covert…

 

My best friend hung herself at 20. I still ache.

Another close friend had the poison researched and set aside. One glass was all it would have taken.

My daughter almost took her life. I would beg from 3000 miles away for family, someone to help – so I got on a plane. Courage in the end saved her!!!

If you are going under for the third time, ask for help!!!

 

 

 

No Arms to Hold Her #suicide #poetry

Captive in the frame
Captive in the frame

She died again today

for the thirty-fifth time

my heart relives the day

it’s frozen in my mind

No one listened to her cries

not the ones a difference makes

we were still just silly kids

this fiend her spirit did break

who excuses such an act

laugh and look the other way

family guilty all

it was no three act play

others I believe

were broken by this man

girls all were they

when did decency forget to stand?

too late for my dear friend

ropes easy knots to tie

no expression til the last

hide the truth, yes tell your lies

She died again today

for the thirty-fifth time

my heart relives the day

it’s frozen in my mind

 

Sharing this with Poetry Pantry at Poets United. This poem is a part two to my poem written earlier this week about rape and abused women.

Counter Weight #Suicide #poetry #photography

stairs up

I wait here

dangling on the edge

of this forever night

afraid to take a breath

less

you breathe your last

back and forth

 I will the hands back

to when you were a child

with a song

always on your lips

look around

at anything but the present

circumstances

hold a butterfly

rather than

 what can’t be changed

and your life

is it worth dangling

from a chain

no longer winding the clock

the beat of your heart

frozen on your lips

air that I’m afraid

to breathe

Oksana – a story of survival #dailypost #children #world #Atozchallenge

The true story of survival of a young Ukrainian girl

painted rose

Oksana -It seems but days ago that you sat on my lap rattling off words in English proud of your ability to master  languages.

I present you with a new challenge to start at, a skill – teaching. “Oksana, take these pictures of words and hold them as you point to them. First say the word in your language, then say the word slowly in English.  Very slowly form the letters  “R_AB_BIT. ” Atleechna you are a natural.”

My eyes sparkle as I look at the proud face of a woman who never knew she would be a mama and certainly not at 65.  “Nina be happy. Oksana will make you proud. At six she is fluent in Russian and English and is attacking Polish.”

Oksana holds the cards with hands that barely shake. Just tiny reminders of the drug addiction she had as a baby. “Yes, you will grow beautiful like the rose and your knowledge of the world like its thorns will keep you strong.”

I silently remove the picture of a bottle from the stack of cards. It too closely resembles the scores of bottles that Oksana’s mama found herself wrapped around. They found Oksana’s mama at the bottom of her bottle one day; a screaming 5-year-old clutching to her ankles. “What was it you poured for yourself? Sleeping pills and Vodka? The Vodka never hid the scars that you got from your husband’s beatings did it? Oksana’s little body only survived because your body shielded her. Your older son Sasha was not so fortunate. What pile of broken glass does he lie under?  Prison is too good a place for a man who uses broken Vodka bottles to tattoo his son using blood as ink.”

‘”Da,” Oksana very good. You pronounced WA_TER well,  just a tiny hint of a V, but not much. Nina your love has cleansed this girl like water. Yes, she will always be old for her years and bear a certain sorrow, but look at her radiant smile.”

“Dance Oksana dance with the children as they play in the waves of the Azov Sea. Fly high with the gull;  he too has much knowledge of the world he sees below him. Crimea is etched with scars well hidden  in the sunlight, but you understand them.”

“Persevere Nina, this is a job for a young woman. The energy and vitality of this young mind will test you. Be strong for her. For one day Oksana will be a strong woman. She will hold the hands of other young girls who suffer at the point of the needle, are cast offs, or are used by men for momentary pleasure. Shield her from her mother and father’s world. She will always wear the scars like Crimea, but she will hopefully wear bravery like a crown.”

****

I have fictionalized the story of a young girl I met while working in the Crimea enough so she can’t be identified. “Oksana’s” story is one of victory because she was rescued by a compassionate woman who lived in the neighborhood. “Oksana” would have otherwise joined her mama soon as most of the discarded children of that country do.

ctapaen-bottle-graphic-design

A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9 (1)

I’m also using this story for the Daily Post at WordPress. The challenge is to write three paragraphs (Person Place and Thing), though you can choose to write more or less if you wish — the goal is to get you watching closely, observing, and collecting people, places, and things to use in your creative writing projects. It’ s story that I believe is poignant and needs to be told.

 

Misunderstood #poetry #pain #photography

Do you ever feel as though the world can pass you by ignoring all signs of distress???

Window – Holocaust Museum

I look from a point of no reprieve

behind the pained glass window

light flickers in the trees

people pass smiling as they go

it feels like?

looks like?

is…

I breathe in – precarious I’m standing

little oxygen

less understanding

this lack makes my head spin

it feels like?

looks like?

is…

I plaster my face to the glass

can’t they see inside

what of them should I ask

as they travel quickly by

it feels like?

looks like?

is…

I wonder does it matter

flailing against the glass

they watch as the pain does  shatter

looking upon bloodied ruin as they pass

it feels like?

looks like?

is…

Photograph “Holocaust Window” L. Moon copyright 2012

Damaged Goods #poetry #flashfiction

Where does life go when it has not hope and no dreams? Too often suicide

It hung limply

collar-bone unnaturally protruded

sockets where lights had beamed

dangled with no spark

fingers that had grasped another’s in trust

Clear notes like fine crystal

hopes of Opera

smoky bars and sleazy dumps

croaking semblance of sound

talent

beauty

dreams

DOA the tag on her toe hung from under a cold  lifeless sheet

Flash Fiction certainly isnt DOA as it is in the capable hands of the host G-Man. Who tho on the road manages 55 words none-the-less

One Day Away #poetry #suicide

There is a walk down the beach of anywhere that is the last. It is the walk into the sea of suicide.

One day soon

I will walk away

where you ask

neither matters

nor the day

*

i have found

too hard to bear

this shallow orb

few listen

fewer care

*

beseeching

hand stretches for me

look at the colors

feel the wind

light flicker in the trees

*

yes  i’ve seen beauty

and more

heard all  nature

crescendoed  sound

beckoning at the shore

*

it’s not the world

I care to leave

it’s the broken heart

fragile tears

love bereaved

*

do not miss me

when i’m gone

walk the beaches

touch her beauty

in her be strong

I shared this poem over at the Poetry Pantry hosted by Poets United

Photography ‘Solemn Walk”  L. Moon copyright 2011

If I die young … #MicroFiction

Life is too long when you have lost your one true love…

A single tear dropped on the ivory lettered page in tribute to her beloved Pete.

He had wanted to live life fully, romantically, and on the edge.

“Oh Pete you didn’t need to get that close to the edge – you might still be with me now had you stayed on the path.

So if I die young it will not be because I was married to a gorgeous man with laser like blue eyes that pour desire and love into my being.

My last touch will not be touching the bronze skin of a beautiful, muscled athlete.

Lips will not kiss sweetness that exude words of love and praise

If I die young, it will be because I carelessly swerve  in front of a semi having no desire to live this life alone without the man who placed a

band of gold on my finger less than three years ago~~~~~

Oh PETE!!!!!!”

 

Thanks to Jenny at  SaturdayCentus for the prompt  “If I die young”

 

 

 

On The Outside … #teensuicide

 

On the outside…

looking in

peering at a world too far

warmth, security, love

the essence of life’s door barred

****

On the outside…

hoping for more

dreaming of things never known

kindness, gentleness, adoration

ideals read in books alone

***

on the outside…

in the cold

freezing from the inside out

pain, suffering, abuse

what’s life about?

***

on the outside…

looking in

feeling rejection and shame

cut, bruised, lifeless

bloodied doorway stained

How Far is Too Far (Cyber Harassment)

I am sickened to learn of a College student’s suicide because of the cruel actions of a fellow collegian. The collegian conveyed information via twitter and probably You Tube to show scandalous footage of this  fellow student. What is the motivator? Jealousy?  Was the fact that this young man had the potential to make it big as a musician the instigating factor? Whatever the motivation not only was the student scandalized but Twitter and other Social Media tools were used to make the scandal widespread.

Recently I was part of a situation in the writing/blogging community where several writers were harassed sexually and otherwise by a fellow writer. Several of the writers decided to leave the blogosphere because of the on-going insults and embarrassment. Though the perpetrator was advised by several people to stop blogging, she has not. Many of us have been so kind as to not reveal who the individual is to our large sphere of writers. After reading about a young man’s brilliant career being extinguished, I’m not sure we have acted wisely.

I appreciate feedback from others who may have dealt with a similar situation @moondustwriter