Father and Son
A father met his son after 15 years
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 Category:  Commentary and Philosophy Poetry
  Posted: November 30, 2020      Views: 48

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An awareness for images - both verbal and visual - is what informs my poetry and stories. I love wordplay and vocabulary. Hiking, photography, and motorcycling sharpen the art of noticing. I am also an artist and a tourist guide in an historic home.

She is a top ranked author at the #4 position.

She is an accomplished poet and is currently at the #13 spot on this years rankings.

She is also an active reviewer and is holding the #27 spot on the top ranked reviewer list.

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This work has reached the exceptional level
Mental distress in these challenging times.
"Redundant and Desperate" by LisaMay

These sick, crazy days have done my head in,
and now they tell me my vote didn’t win –
I’ll never believe what Dems think is true!
I’m a working man but there’s no work to do,
They shut down our jobs on the fact’ry floor –
said “Go on home lads, you work here no more.”

Go home to what? Tell me, what’ve I got?
The ‘haves’ might still have it, but I have not.
The divide is widening ’ tween me and you –
our country’s suff’ring, my kids suffer too.

Been tossed on the scrap-heap as if I’m trash;
I’m sinking so deep without any cash
and squeezed in a trap as the bills accrue.
Depression’s growing – nothing I can do
but stand in food lines with my pride so torn;
feeling real bad, wish I’d never been born.

Can’t stand this pain in my mind and my soul,
like I’m in prison, no chance of parole.
So tired to my bones, I’ll just stay in bed.
Have I still got a roof over my head?

Black thoughts beat around me, just what’ll I do?
I can’t think straight about how to get through.
No healthcare, no future – mind’s in a spin,
grinding my teeth with the walls closing in.
Stress’s gonna beat me, I’m losing my grip,
I can’t stay afloat on this sinking ship.

Family’s fractured, they can’t prop me up;
I drink lots of bourbon from my chipped cup.
This is a nightmare – such a living hell,
feeling so hopeless, a cold, empty shell.

I’m outta faith, my back’s against the wall;
the only solution’s to end it all,
because this proud man don’t know how to crawl.
I lived by my gun and still with it I’ll fall.


Mental Health Poem writing prompt entry

Writing Prompt
Write a poem of any length that captures what it is like to struggle with one's mental health. Be raw, vulnerable, and real.

Author Notes
Reach out if problems seem overwhelming...
Crisis line number in USA: (800) 273-8255 National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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