Depression
by Margaret PearceFrom the far lonely reaches of my fears,
Incubating from the blackness below
Depression stirs, that carrion crow
An obscene shape across unshed tears.
Sensing the failing confidence crying,
Circling to the summons of silent screams,
Tearing at the entrails of broken dreams
Spilling unborn hopes from corpse still dying.
Gorging on the malice of transient friends
Unsated the feral weed of paranoia thrives
Choking fragile reason from despairing lives
Breaks through at last, and into reality blends.
And that dense black shadow across my years,
Feeds monstrous life into those carrion fears.
It is as if
by Rosemary Huismanit is as if
in dreams we return to the sea
down to the shore devolving
at the shore’s edge moving
into the warm white flow and ebb receding
the sun strikes light translucent
the surface the green flow of the surface
rushes to cooler water takes us
out beyond the breakers pulls us
down deeper and darker
and deeper blue indigo
ink to darkness
in which
vague forms phantasms float past us
coming into being and going
inventive shapes unformed forming
bearing their own light fluorescent
suddenly illuming vanishing to ultra-violet
indifferently tried discarded
nurtured or miscarried
rocked in the lap slap of the ocean’s tides
grouping and falling apart
intelligible becoming
unintelligible being
in which
we are/are not the old temptation
how easier it is to stay here
amino acids mindless
letting the spacetime worlds spin as they will
forgoing the doing of hands the seeing of eyes
the delving and spinning the planting and building up
families - tribes - towns - nations and the tearing down
feud and battle and war this evolution
exacting its price again and again
the dream-tide carries us
flotsam and jetsam casts us
into the waking day