The Secret of the Mound

Poststructural Pub
1

Depression, a silent wind.
Do you recall the spring shoots
upright and proud
cocky?
Now how beautiful
the leaves that have fallen
revealing naked trees
their golden gowns downed
Autumn, the fall, the undresssing
Intimacy before the cold
Will warm us
So I am told …

Depression, the dark wood
moist and uncut, tannic
astringent
In the lonely wind will dry
to raise the winter hearth
high
Sullen faces in winter have shown
the brightest unrehearsed cheer.
Electric fires cannot match it …

Depression, the rank goddess
Searches her coven in deepest places
beyond ambition’s reach
Untouched by norms
Places where eros springs
from tears of joy
and laughter peels
Dolores …

Depression, the saviour,
a pathological name for
the secret of the mound.

2

comments and other poems, good or bad,
INVITED …

3

Here are two songs on the topic of Depression, and one on bipolar disorder.

One Good Reason

[verse]
Is there light at the end of this tunnel?
Is there hope at the end of this day?
Is that another train coming?
Or is some kind of help on the way?

[chorus]
Give me one good reason, to live another day,
Give me one good reason, to keep going this way.

[verse 2]
I’ve heard all of your stories.
I’m tired of all of your prayers.
I need something else,
To lift me out of despair.

[ch]
Give me one good reason, to live another day,
Give me one good reason, to keep going this way.

[bridge]
Joy is gone, Hope is gone, and Love was never here,
Please dear God show me, show me that you care.

[ch]
Give me one good reason, to live another day,
Give me one good reason, to keep going this way.



Come to Shore

There’s a place beneath the valley,
Where the turtles swim to shore.
When storms clouds start to gather,
The fairies sing a song:

Come to Shore…
Come to Shore…

There’s a place along the shoreline,
Where the pelicans build nests.
When storms clouds start to gather,
The fairies sing a song:

Come to Shore…
Come to Shore…

When I am cast upon the ocean,
My boat has two long oars.
When storms clouds start to gather,
The fairies sing a song:

Come to Shore…
Come to Shore…

Light on the Ocean

Some days, its too heavy,
Some nights, its too dark
Some days, I want to fade away,
Some nights, I fall apart

My friend, dear friend, look out on the ocean,
My friend, dear friend, gaze upon the sea.
and you’ll see a light on the ocean,
and feel the calm of the waves,
when you see a light on the ocean,
you’ll know everything’s okay.

Some day, I’ll reach for heaven
Some night, I’ll touch the sky
Some days, you’ll remember
Some nights, you’ll wonder why

When you see a light on the ocean,
and feel the calm of the waves,
when you see a light on the ocean,
you’ll know everything’s okay.

Some days…
Some nights…
/ whistle solo /

When you see a light on the ocean,
When you feel the calm of the waves,
when you see a light on the ocean,
you’ll know everything’s okay.

4

Perhaps we could lobby the moderators to create a Poetry forum. That would certainly save the rest of us from this sort of … :really:

djm

5

Unitarians are notorious for taking a break from church in the summer (it seems because the Unitarian Boston Brahmins went to their summer houses, the churches essentially closed down). Because is this tradition, UU churches, including mine, the Unitarian Universalist Church of the Palouse, are not heavily attended during the summer, so there is no point in putting on elaborate services. We like to encourage lay participation and with out heavy attendance, there is no point in going to the usual amount of work to put on a normal service. One of the most straightforward summer services is the Poetry Sunday Service, where people simply bring poetry to read to the rest of the congregation. Being the soundman, I would record the service and fill out the information card in the cassette tape case. I noticed that the words printed on the card and the words I had written down on the card had a pattern reminiscent of some contemporary poetry, so I went up to the pulpit and read the card. It was well received!

2004 Poetry Sunday-
old style Dolby tape YES

by Roderick “Rod” Sprague IV

maxell UR
POSITION
IEC TYPE I – NORMAL

PoetrySunday20June2004
Celebrant:Trish Gardner

A
DATE20 June
N.R.Dolby (old) YES

B
DATE2004
N.R.Dolby (old) YES

Poetry Sunday

Celebrant: Trish Gardner

6

Oh, well nevermind. I’m enjoying the thread, anyway. :laughing:

7

Its not just about poetry. Its about discussion. This topic is not a prompt to regurgitate stock piled poesy that you have not had an opportunity to vent elsewhere in a mostly prosaic culture. Its about Depression and the like, poetic reflections on it, discussion about it, or the failure or merits of ORIGINAL poems about it.

Your post defeats itself becuase we could equally lobby the mods to create a complaint about any topic forum where any complaint (like yours) about any topic could be lodged. That would save the rest of the topic participants from your sort of … :really:

But I would rather not promote such literary apartheid. I like the mix - poems, poetic prose, dry comments, jokes, tangential comments. However I do appreciate some sense of nexus (however tenuous) between posts and with the thread subject.

8

Perhaps we could lobby the moderators to create a Complaint forum. That would certainly save the rest of us from this sort of … :really:

Me: I want to complain.
Tal: You want to complain! Look at these shoes. I’ve only had them three weeks and the heels are worn right through.
Me: No, I want to complain about…
Tal: If you complain nothing happens, you might as well not bother.
Me: Oh!
Tal: Oh my back hurts, it’s not a very fine day and I’m sick and tired of this office.

:smiley:

djm

9

Complaining is one of the most corrosive activities to mental health. I have cut my complaining habit back a good 70%. I catch myself at times. To talk about something that bothers me, gives it power. To tell the story once or twice is okay, as long it is to a sympathetic ear. However, those with the complaining habit will tell their story ten times ten, ad nauseum.

If it seems like I have a lot of songs about depression, I do. Most poets and many songwriters tend to be introverts. I have suffered from depression pretty much all my life. That has changed during the past few years. I am active in a mental health group both on a local and a national level. The group is Recovery Inc based in Chicago, and unfortunately is little known despite its effectiveness.

So many people suffer in silence. So many never seek help. The song “Light on the Ocean” is about a friend that committed suicide and never got the help she needed. At the end almost all her friends and acquaintances were tired of her complaints, tired of her stories, tired of dealing with her.

Here is another song about depression, one I wrote about a month ago:

Save my life this Saturday night

Intro sound effect telephone: Ring, ring, ring “Hello Suicide Hotline” …

Will you save my life this Saturday night?
or will you set me free?
Will you tell me that someone cares?
That someone might miss me?

Life is tired, stale and old,
every thrill long gone,
today I write my words
all underlined and bold.

Nothing left, nothing right, nothing left to do
Nothing but the emptiness, in a circle blue

Will you save my life this Saturday night?
or will you set me free?
Will you tell me that someone cares?
that someone might miss me.

Every one has their price,
its a quarter and dime tonight,
Two coins to make a call,
before I set things right

I know the way to the bridge
I know the way back home
one more chance to make a call
before the bells will toll

Will you save my life this Saturday night?
or will you set me free?

10

Here’s one I wrote years ago, before I met Shannon.

It describes a real situation, and I think it’s really about a kind of depression, as it predicts its own outcome.


The Edge

I stand alone in a small room with a stranger.
In her small hands she holds a flower, or a razor:
I can’t tell which. To learn the answer
I bare my throat and close my eyes
And try to feel the hope and not the danger.


And here’s another, more recent:

Hope
Is that thing that’s left
When exhaustion stills your limbs
When you can no longer hold your head up
When everything is dark–
That’s when you are still
And in the darkness,
You hear breathing.
And with each breath you start to gather strength
And you begin to understand you won’t be staying here
In the dark
And that’s when you start to understand
That finding hope is simple:
It’s born with your next breath.


–James

11

Sounds like you are waffling between complaining and being depressing. :wink: :laughing:

djm

12

Music is a great way to channel that corrosive energy. “Light on the Ocean” is perhaps my best song, out the 200+ songs that I have written. If nothing else, the immediate friends and family of the deceased found some comfort in it.

I am blessed with places to perform and audiences that actually listen. So many voices find no audience, so many messages get lost in the darkness.

13

Stupid flower
Why do you attract me?
I am not a bee

14

Thank God for Hallmark, eh?

djm

15

Ok then T-a-l-a-s-i-g-a, here’s some bad poetry:

TREE TUNNELS

Reaching, grasping, interlocking across the road
Spiraled cocoon-like in a comforting cone
Aged, venerable beckoning limbs
Inexorable pathway to beyond

Hopeful and serene with nothing between
But the promise fulfilled
Anticipation brought nigh
Along the natural way

Things of wonder now things of joy
Fear and ecstasy disappear in the mirror of time
Relentless yet calm reminder of beginning to end
Mysterious Eire the heavens portend

Nature to perfection, physics at its end
Neither hot nor cold, wet nor dry, low nor high
Vast as wee, silent as the untrod lea
Where like attracts as we

Into the vacuum without a care
Neither discord nor dare
Movement undetectable, firmly rooted
Hearts boldly stare

A moment in time, a moment sublime
A way to remember that all is inheritable
Cherishable, nary a thought but divine
Nourishing beyond the senses

Yet, I’ll miss the trees not as much
as I’ll miss thee
They bend towards each other
with curls not so fine as yours

Away yet still within
Voiceless living echoes
Of all that looms and has been
Reaching as one what is already done

Philo

16

This one reminds me of that feeling I haven’t had in years, when you cry as hard as you can. After the sobbing comes a quiet space, hard intakes of breath followed by longer exhalations. I hadn’t remembered that in a while.

Thanks.
Jennie