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Intervention
September is ‘National Suicide Awareness
Month’
Nine years ago my son took his life and two
Years later I attempted to take mine. They
Call this a cluster effect, when the act is
Followed by a family or friend, or even a celebrity.
It has a lasting effect on many. Some do not
Understand the depression or other mental
Disorders that can lead to this devastating
Illness. I have dealt with depression all of my
Life, some times more difficult than others.
And some family members or friends
Do not understand, and withdraw from
The sufferer, not
Realizing it is like any other illness
One may have. If you have a broken leg it is
Not your fault, and have to seek professional
Help for healing, surgery, medications and
recovery.
Isn’t that true of mental illness? It is not our
Fault that we have a broken mind, unable to
Control our thoughts. Shouldn’t we as well
Seek healing through doctors, therapy and
Medication?
The following is a poem I wrote after my
Experience with this emotional trauma.
I have posted this before but in recognition
Of this month I would like to share it again.
~~~~
It was a sudden decision
A force grabbed my mind
To all things on earth I
Was blind
I was done!
A warm summer evening
With beauty all
Around
That I would never again
Look upon
A bottle of pills and a bottle
Of wine would do this job
Just fine
Driving up the road past
Homes of friends
I did not realize the pain
My decision would bring
But this would only be for a
Time
Friends would soon forget, I
Would be forgotten as time
Went on
The sun began to set
As I parked the car on a
Far off road
My last night on earth
Taking one more look
Shadows lingering upon the
Hills
I twisted the cork tipping
The bottle to my lips
Taking the bottle of pills
Falling asleep, death would
Be a sweet release
~~~~
Suddenly I awoke to the
Sound of words
As I was placed on a stretcher
They were trying to keep me
Alive
I was angry
“Why God, was I not taken,
Did You have something else
In mind?”
“Did I try to stop my clock just
For You to rewind?”
This was my intention but
He had plans of intervention
The answer to this question
Would come in time!
Dream Of Death
We lived in a small mining house
In a little town, where we finally
Settled from our travels through
The remote areas of Nevada.
Our house was nestled in a little
Valley all by itself, with only one
Road in and none out.
If cars came in, they had to turn
Around.
Many nights I spent laying awake
Waiting for my mother to come
Home after her jobs as a
Waitress, and her frequent visits
To the gambling halls.
It was very scary at night when
Cars would come, their lights
Reflecting on our windows,
Not knowing who they were.
When I was finally able to go to
Sleep, I had many dreams and
Nightmares.
~~~~
The clock on the mantle
Struck half past ten
The hour to retire for
Most women and men
I listened to the clock
Heard a knock on the door
I looked, no one was
There
Half past two still awake
With nothing to do
Half past four I fell asleep
Forgetting the mother I
Had expected to come
Through the door
A gust of wind blew
Through the window
Death came in with a
Shroud on his face
He came to take me
Not yet was my plea
I have much to do
Much to undo
Death agreed to let me
Stay
He gathered his cloak
About him and went
On his way!
I suddenly awoke
Knowing this was just a
Dream!
The Box
It is interesting what goes on in a child’s mind, how they perceive
Death and it’s mysterious ways, growing up with thoughts sometimes
Replaced with an adult’s point of view. However death is received,
There is the hope that it is not the end of this life but the beginning of
Something much better!
It arrived, it was a solem
Occasion, people were
Hesitant, I did not know why.
I tried to look in, but I was
Too small and it was too tall.
A narrow box, I was curious,
What was in it?
I tried to lift the lid, but my
Fingers could not reach.
With each attempt I became
More intent to see what this
Box meant.
As time went by I became
Older, going back to see if
Perhaps I could open it now…
I visited the box when life was
Violent and I was seeking
Silence.
Visiting a garden of rest, as
They lowered a box in the earth,
There were similarities as the
One I had seen as a child.
Then I knew it was for those who
Had ceased.
That could be me!
And then one day I fell asleep,
And was planted in the box
Reserved for me.
~
Waiting to be broken and come
To new life.. To be reunited
With those I have lost,
The hope of all who trust in
Christ.
No earthly box can contain
Our souls for when it is time
To rise ‘He cries’…
Pulling us through this earth’s
Crust, thrust out of the box
To receive the heavenly
Prize, one the coffers of this
Earth cannot provide!
The Attic
A person can only handle so much, then
things begin to explode. Repressed memories,
reminders of the past, all play a part in this
thing called life.
****
The foundation is weak,
it seeks its own level.
Rusty pipes leak, joints
creak.
Red climbing roses speckled
with peeling paint, from
decades of neglect. Age has
had its effects.
The attic bears the burden of
this house of ruptures and
fissures, storing baggage in
rafters…it is full and ready to
blow, it has capacity to hold
no more. I am hesitant to go
in, but that is not strange,
I left long ago, it was too much
for me, I split in two, leaving
my child, a part of me, behind.
But she followed me in my mind.
In my dreams I could hear her
cry, in my nightmares she would
scream.
I can bare it no longer, I have
to return, to claim what is
rightfully mine. Reaching in, I
pull her out, now with me she
shall remain.
With such weight, beams crumble,
into the house they are falling. A
soft glow of orange erupts into red
tongues of fire, consuming the rooms.
A gust of wind fans the blaze,
until little remains, but ashes and
dust, and a few childhood
remembrances, that survived this
holocaust.
The sole of a shoe that once held
my foot, covered in soot. My
pink dress smolders in cinders.
A doll looking injured with charred
eyes and lips. Her hair on edge with
scars on her head.
A book with singed ruffled edges,
opened to a nursery rhyme,
“And all fell down.” I am astounded!
Walking through the rubble, I see what
trouble the neglect of this house has
caused.
Sitting amidst ashes, tears begin to
fall. This house had been my body,
to it I had not been kind.
I really didn’t want to leave, I did not
know what else to do, if I had stayed
I would have lost my mind. This
house had been deserted, the pain
it bore, tore a hole in my soul. It
must be restored!… Hinges
must be replaced, as well as windows
and doors.
Who will do this, I must have help?
I now look to the Rebuilder of broken
walls, the Restorer of houses in
ruin. He takes the destruction and waste,
preparing a dwelling place, one that is
built with His love and grace!
Read more at: www.donnaspoetry.com
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Weeping Prophet
PEOPLE, WILL YOU WEEP FOR US AS WELL?”
In the year Two Thousand Twenty
In the third month of March
A national day of prayer
Had been declared
There was a pandemic scare
Spreading across the world
Now six months later and not
Much better
Cities pillaged by mobs
Streets once safe no
Longer rush with throngs
Of people
In the thoroughfares
In amazement we questioned
“How could this be?” an
Illness we did not understand
Nor how to treat
It came upon us slowly
Then rapidly circling the globe
Doctors and nurses short of
Supplies
Willingly gave their lives that
Others may live and not die
Have we slept in peace and safety
Lulled by a lie?
Thinking we have all we need
Proud and free in a land of plenty?
What will it take to bend our knee
And offer our cry?
Our hearts are troubled
Have we strayed too far
From the God of heaven?
Have we spurned His love
He has so lavishly given?
Have we now been forsaken?
****
Funeral Of A City
A story of antiquity is told, of a
City once dressed in rich garments
Of gold
A royal city with grandeur and
Abundance, of perfection among
All nations
Lifting its splendor
Where God and His temple abide
In the proud City of Jerusalem a
People reside whom He
Long bore with His grace and love
Their safety lay in rules and
Traditions, refusing to accept
The King and His salvation
~~~
With a fountain of tears
A woeful man cried, pleading
Forty years he warned this
City
Only to be scorned and beaten
His message ignored, he
Wrote a book called
‘Lamentations’
But no one listened
How lonely sits the city now
Like a widow in sackcloth and
Ashes
Ravished by a heathen nation
Her walls of protection and gates
Are broken
Her children taken bondage to
A Babylonian nation, worshiping
Other gods forbidden
These men had turned
Their backs and hidden their
Hearts
~~~
Could this holocaust that has
Stricken our lives be a warning
We who may be living in the last
Tribulation?
Can our cities be restored, their
Gates and walls of truth and right
Be reinstated?
Oh Jeremiah, you who wept for
Your broken people, will you weep
For us as well?
Bottles Of Tears
Last spring I noticed a very small plant that
Had been a volunteer from last year. It had
Come up through a tiny crack on the patio
Cement. I didn’t think much about it and
Just watered it along with the other plants.
And then it began to grow and today it has
Blossomed into a very beautiful plant.
It made me think of the hope we have, though
Our lives have sprung through the cracks and
Crevices of our life experiences
Our seed laying dormant in the confined soil
Dependent upon our restricted environment
Unaware of our significance
Dependent upon a Source to nurture
And sustain us.
****
There is a tradition in biblical times
When those who suffered a loss
Of a loved one, weepers were hired to
Grieve with tears collected in bottles
****
When we suffer a loss, whether a loved
One or perhaps the trials we bear
Our sufferings are never wasted
Our tears are
Stored in God’s bottles and
He knows just when we need the
Sprinkling to moisten our loss
That we may grow stronger, our
Roots deeper, experiencing deliverance
And freedom from our confinement
To this earth’s worldly existence!
****
A short poem of different
Traditions in the loss of
Others –
Mourners are called to weep
Lifting up their cries
Preparing for a burial
As the custom was when
Someone dies
She was just a child
Suddenly becoming ill
All that they had done
Had not made her well
Washing her body with
Sweet scents,
Painting her cheeks
Darkening her eyes
Placing rings upon her
Fingers and toes
A necklace of gold and
Bracelets of silver
Then wrapping her in
Linen
A procession begins
The mourners following
Close behind weeping
Tears in their bottles
To place in the tomb of
The child…
“He keeps track of our sorrows,
He has collected our tears in
His bottles” Psalm 56:8
Resting Places
There is an ancient Hebrew saying
“Faith is the confidence of things
Hoped for, the evidence of things
Not seen”
In my early conversion years I focused
On all the rules to keep, to be perfect in
All my ways, unless I might not reach the
Expectations of God and others.
To be lost was a terror I felt. It took
A long time for me to accept the idea
That perhaps this wasn’t true. Slowly
I began to let go of these expectations
(Though I still struggle with them)
The rules were like extra garments I wore
Encumbering my body. It has been a slow
Process. I don’t know if you can relate
And experience like me, slightly shedding
One piece of clothing at a time, like
Reaching for the door handle to be
With others and feeling just
A little lighter, a little naked, and checking
To make sure you are fully covered.
The serpent sheds its skin to allow for
Further growth, to remove any parasites
That may have attached to their old
Skin, often by creating a rip in their skin.
It doesn’t happen all at once!
Sometimes I wonder if we feel ripped and
Torn apart, by the lessons we have to
Learn to have new growth? Removing any
Erroneous ideas clinging to our minds.
Holding on to our old earthly garments?
The following is a poem with words
I have not fully reached, but by hope
One day, though not here.
~~~~
Pressing on with hope, that
What I cannot see will one
Day come to be
In my youth I I had striven to
Excel in all things given
In after years I was slowly
Driven
All things in the past forgiven
Resting places have
Arisen
The magic number seven opens
The door to heaven
A busy week of six, one day
Given for rest
That all may be blest
This is new to be here, I knew
Not I would rest here
Laurel and the rose with poppies
I behold
Before I had not the presence
Of mind to see the beauty
They hold
The briar and the thorn no longer
Exist
Giving way the pricks to one
Eternal thought, preexisting
Doubts
Prone to share this heavenly
Splendor
I seek one like I to ever press
On together.
~~~
I know how lonely our journey can
Feel, if there are others like me I
Would love to hear from you.
~~~~
There is a saying
“Therefore encourage one another and build up one another”
Child Interrupted
A memoir of a child who once was happy and free in the garden of life.
A mother and a father, proud of their child dressed in pretty clothes,
A special dress her mother had sewn, adorned with a bonnet and
Barrette and a smile on her face, her eyes lit with wonderment
And delight. Like a fairy tale story, surrounded with love, secure in the
little part of her world.
~~~~
A Game Of Hide And Seek
~~~~
What is this game, child, you
Are playing in the garden of your
Life?
A garden full of wonder and beauty
Adorned with flowers and trees
Sweet sounds of birds with
Babbling brooks, serene and calm
And filled with trust
Playing hide and seek
Running from tree to tree
Waiting in excitement to be
Found by those you trust most
When suddenly this garden becomes
Very still
Not a sound is heard
Not even the sound of a bird
In wonderment you realize that
Everyone is gone as you
Sit down and cry
Wondering where your father
And mother are
~~~~
Falling fast asleep
No longer your secrets keep
It is true your earthly family has
Left you, but do you not know, there
Is a Father up above seeking those
Like you, hiding from their pain
He is with you when
Your father and mother have
Forsaken you
He understands your fear and
Anxious thoughts
He is here to take the painful
Memories away
Do you not hear Him walking in
The garden of your heart?
~~~~
“Though your father and your mother have
Forsaken you the Lord will take you into
His care” Book of Psalm Verse 27:10
This poem is adapted from the author’s book ‘Child Interrupted’
The Librarian
When I started writing, I had no computer, iPad
Or any other devise. I actually started writing notes on
My iPhone, in cafes, even bars, (very unusual since
I did not frequent them) but anyplace that had WiFi.
And then I found the library to be my refuge.
I knew nothing about the computer and struggled,
Going home in tears, but always returning,
Determined to learn what I needed to
Tell my story. But for a very kind and caring
Nephew stepping in and running the technical part
Of this, my writings would not exist to others.
It was a long process, and challenging, since
I was writing things that were emotionally
Disturbing. Long ago a very strong disciplinarian
Set up residence in my head, and a battle raged
Every day. The child in me feared this person
And hid behind words and numbers I developed
As a tool (a component of OCD). I counted
Everything I saw and words ran through my
Brain, a serious mental disorder.
As I look back, I know God was in control, since I
Was out of control. Little did I know that the letters
And numbers I hid behind would one day be words
Of poetry seeking my mind!
~~~
This is a strange vault for a library,
Consciousness holding and
Unfolding histories and mysteries…
~~~
The librarian is dressed in black
Her hair sleeked back, spectacles
Enlarge her eyes
A ruler is used to prove her
Authority, she is very stern and
And makes sure these books of
Memories are learned, on
Shelves in a sea of words
Where thoughts are stirred
~~~
The child is little, she is small
Latched to a tall ladder day and
Night with no relief in sight
Too young to know what matters
Just following the instruction, with
pages worn
From many fingers leafing through
stories told
~~~
She can barely reach the lowest
Shelf recording the story of herself
The twelfth shelf she must reach
In time
Growing a little older with an
Inquisitive eye, another rung is
Added, another shelf is saddened
There is succession of speed as
Wheels turn across the
Floor, the ladder reaching to the top
Before it stops
~~~
The child flees in terror to the
Basement of this keeper of life
Events and is lulled to sleep
Consciousness turned to
Unconsciousness, it is
Apparent the child is no longer
Transparent!
This poem is included in the book
‘Unshaken’
