Tag Archives: poem about depression

Not Missin’ Dissin’

Not Missin’ Dissin’

I’m inclined to winnow out
friends who grouse and whine and pout.
I prefer to share my housing
with companions much more rousing.
It’s not that I’m beyond reproach,

for my mood’s been known to encroach
upon the moods of those around me,
yet, within reason, I surround me

with folks of a happier bent
who, if they rail and curse and vent,
do so at a minimum
and once they’ve finished feeling glum,

do not make their own frustration
part of my reeducation.

One time or two I’ll gladly listen
to your pointless constant dissin’.
But if you’re gloomy day and night,
kindly grant me a respite.
Put my phone number on hold
if you just wish to bitch and scold.
You can always reinstall
my number when you’ve cured y’all
of your pointless railing at
the traffic, neighbors or the cat.
Fair weather friend? Indeed, I’m not.
I’ll soothe your brow and stir your pot,
but I will not be joining thee
in the quagmire of your misery.

Prompt words today are reinstall, reproach, frustration, winnow and housing. Image by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash.

The Doldrums

The Doldrums

Please pardon my annoyance and don’t mind my chagrin—
my great dissatisfaction with the mindset that I’m in.
All the former methods that could cause me to exult:
first prayer and then Buscaglia, pot and the occult,
no longer serve this purpose. I am left here cold and rigid.
My fires of enthusiasm have, I fear, gone frigid.
Yet I think I deserve credit, at least, for still resisting
temptation just to end it all. At least, I’m still existing.

Note: It’s fiction, folks. I’m feeling fine!!! So is Forgottenman. He’s just too much of a clown and affords too many photo opportunities that later come in handy for illustrative purposes. Blame the prompts.

The prompt words today are exult, frigid, credit and chagrin. Here are the links:

The Wall: NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 29

The prompt today is to write a poem inspired by a Sylvia Plath poem.  Below the photo is the poem I wrote. The Plath poem I chose that inspired it is given below my poem.

The Wall

I put my hand against the raw stone of the wall
and I can feel it siphoning molecules.
There is a tingling sensation
as they flow out of me.

I try to send some extrasensory
particles along with them
to communicate to me
where they go
and what they encounter there,
but I know that it is futile.

I cannot follow
where these lost parts of me go––
these thoughts, wishes,
that I surrender to the wall.

It is not by choice, you know,
that I sit here facing what 
has  been leached out of my life.

I go on living what life I can,
knowing that in time
all of me will finally
flow into the wall.

 I’ve lost so much ambition to it—
and hope and curiosity.

So much of what has kept me engaged in life
has already  gone into that gray world
where I cannot yet follow.

Now I sit here, facing it,
acknowledging my failure
as well as the wall’s exclusivity.
Only my shadow
cast against it
reminds me that
somewhere behind me
there is a sun.


For NaPoWriMo 2018, Day 29.




                                              — by Sylvia Plath

There is this white wall, above which the sky creates itself —
Infinite, green, utterly untouchable.
Angels swim in it, and the stars, in indifference also.
They are my medium.
The sun dissolves on this wall, bleeding its lights.

A grey wall now, clawed and bloody.
Is there no way out of the mind?
Steps at my back spiral into a well.
There are no trees or birds in this world,
There is only sourness.

This red wall winces continually:
A red fist, opening and closing,
Two grey, papery bags —
This is what i am made of, this, and a terror
Of being wheeled off under crosses and rain of pieties.

On a black wall, unidentifiable birds
Swivel their heads and cry.
There is no talk of immorality among these!
Cold blanks approach us:
They move in a hurry.