Mother In The Nursing Home

Mother In The Nursing Home

 

Mother was a rock of support

Always advocating for my welfare

A fierce defender

Defeating the number one contender

Apathy

She saved all of my writings in the attic

Considering them precious and priceless

Who knows one day?

Still it is the nature of humanity

To soften in the latter years

To fall into the hands of frightful fears

And so Mother was in the nursing home

After the breast cancer, the pace maker and the stroke

We sadly learned the cancer had returned

A terminal diagnosis

Six days a week I visited her

Only absent Wednesday as Sylvia and I went to Bible study

An hour after work it was my steadfast duty

I'd sit at her side making my presence known

Lord have mercy on those abandoned alone

We'd watch the nightly news and I'd depart

Saturday Sylvia and I were all day by mother

My wife, the marvelous cook she is, would make

Piping hot chicken soup from fresh whole chickens

Enough to last the week through

Delicious and nutritious

And Sundays it was between services

To stay a couple of hours

I did all in my power that I could do

I remember the last days

They sent mother home to die

Marianne was by her side

I got the call at four a.m. in the morning

My heart descended below the depths of Sheol

The rock had been grinded to dust

Mother had died 

I cried

There is a solace

I was there when she needed me

A true champion she lived six months more

Then the doctors predicted

She was in the fight of her life, for her life

I did not repay what she gave me

Love keeps no score

 POLISHED FRAGMENTS

Poet To The Poor

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A Poet's Pain

 A Poet's Pain

 

When I received my high school directory I listed myself as a poet

At the time I considered my selection better than unemployed or mentally ill

I always hurt it just took a long time to realize my inner agony was abnormal

That the abuse, teasing, mockery, bullying wasn't universal

Now I seek to liberate the world from every single force of oppression

I have learned reality and have digested the brutal lesson

So I write poetry hoping to inspire

That somehow in a spiritual way to ignite a wholesome fire

That among the world there should be an ambiguous equality

That the culture of 'third world' nations is perhaps more valid than our own

From selfish rebels to world exploiters so this nation has grown

I take no pride in Native American genocide

Go to the source any force of evil must be denied

And in the process rip to shreds the smug arrogant pride

That self aggrandizing declaration that this nation can military intervene

Wherever, whenever and against any enemy its foggy eyes have seen

It is not okay to spend trillions to kill in aggressive war

While billions suffer from hunger and people are poverty stricken poor

I have meandered of off the straight and narrow far from my rhymes

I focus on meaning, obvious as a June moon bellowing with sacred chimes

There is a righteousness and war is one of man's foulest crimes

Yet in easy contentment society is placated into a deceitful lull

It's not my kids going to die; besides such things are out of my control

I believe in the masses, I believe in the power of Love, I believe in the example

I have fought the system claw and fang though I am presently obscure

When motivated millions make many moves the impact is sure

I throw my withered scarecrow frame across the gears of the machine

For the demagogues are blaspheming in heated rhetoric of hatred most obscene

With blood and oil they grease the slashing juggernaut

Killing you dirty or killing you clean do you know what I mean?

And in the midst of the red, red rain

A cry asking why so many innocents must perish and die

I observe the cruelty in society how lives are flawed, empty and vain

From deep within wickeder than the worst sin is a poet's pain

For I have no power to make a change but rather to simply explain

So I write and fight in words that shimmer and glimmer in delight

For with hope I think about the slim chance that I just might

Inspire an entire generation to be conscious of the world's ways

That the government is not our masters and only our ideals should we praise

All in all leading the call so that we may arrive collectively at better days

While that dark choice seeks to silence my voice quoting 'you are insane'

A poet's pain 

POLISHED FRAGMENTS

Poet To The Poor

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Cannon Fodder A.K.A Beloved Daughter

 Cannon Fodder A.K.A Beloved Daughter

 

NeNe, I've never spelled her name before, had no need

Easy, that was her deceased son's nickname

Blown away on the Newark streets, another casualty

Like autumn leaves falling from the trees casually

But in the dirge of death the community's spirit overflows

Mourner's packed the church house for the funeral

Some in suits and some in tatters, it's the heart that matters

 

Jessica, nice young lady, singing the soulful street serenade of sorrow

No education, no experience, no relative to lay down nepotism

Economic think tanks serve the lustful desire of the Federal Reserve

Calculating to four decimal points how to maximize potential profit

And if the numbers rising on the sheets equates death upon the streets

Well it's somebody else's child irregardless, not their mess

 

So NeNe wept when Jessica enlisted, it's her way out she insisted

The crazed maze is carefully crafted by master psychologists

Slavery is packaged in a pretty green uniform under an American flag

You'll be serving your country, become part of a grand family

Just hope you don't get raped, physically, mentally, spiritually

Robots make efficient killers, we haven't mastered MK Ultra just yet

So Irving Berlin's 'God Bless America' defeats Woody Guthrie's 'This Land is Your Land'

Let it be known that nothing is of yet written in stone

For Jessica at the moment is both alive and well

 

As we journey collectively on our space ship Mother Earth

Wars wage, in every age, the planet's spinning and we keep sinning

A war on terror is the bold declaration of a total farce, unless you look in a mirror

Where more of our soldiers commit suicide by far then die in combat

And we pray for Jessica with all of our might

She is amidst enemy territory unaware of the peril infesting her soul

Please Lord, don't let our beloved child die in some useless war

The prayer echoes in Chinese, and Russian, and Arabic and Hebrew and...

For these words are not a sonnet of surrender

Rather a battle cry for forevermore, a war on war

When statisticians coldly calculate the predicted rate of slaughter

Do not see cannon fodder rather know it is Jessica our beloved daughter

I don't want to see NeNe cry at a funeral no more 

 POLISHED FRAGMENTS

Poet To The Poor

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Red Blue Green And Of Course Invisible

 

Red Blue Green And Of Course Invisible

 

Venom of a King Cobra hissing in heat at his hated fellow

Red is for the brute Blue is for the institute

Green the least obscene isn’t even shown on the screen

While this Earth is temporal I put my faith in the invisible

I am wearing the colors of our flag with glaring words declaring

“I Voted Today”

Of course high tech hackers may like hijackers take control

One more reason to vote for the invisible

After all the interference America played in coup after coup

It would be karma if somebody urinated into our cup of soup

If this is too close, red will win in sin, the color filling our street

Be optimistic either way a great evil will suffer a stunning defeat

It looks like Florida is the key which will lock the door of doom

A belligerent finger on the button, boom, boom, boom

What’s wrong with nuking a country besides twenty million slain?

Ah for the overwhelming green I can feel your pain

Bernie would have defeated both of them together, ain’t that insane?

I’m already for impeachment unless of course the winner is Stein

But remember the invisible it is simply divine

Now when a child says he wants to grow up to be president

It is a sadistic lament of which we resent

We have always been a cruel nation

Genocide the foundation

Friendly utopians wearing massive grins became the Pilgrims salvation

Then as the red man learned the tables turned towards devastation

Lazy lot of cretins they brought in stolen Africans

Praise the Lord here is your rewards, chains, rape and no escape

Unless of course you count the reward of heaven on high

But no relief, not a drop of comfort, until the day you die

And from Earth to Heaven came an anguished cry

Save your soul trust the invisible He is in total control

So in the land of cotton it was forgotten the serene green

On the television the map is lit up red and blue

I am certain that neither candidate truly cares about you

Its money honey and this funny game is a hysterical shame

A dust cloud full of participants proud where everything stays the same

The powerful clutch more of their desire favoring a false fame

 The drama drives the drum of dreaded disaster

Down the Highway to Hell zooming ever the faster

Bigoted racism channeling a schism against the will of a Wall Street shill

And silence, none of the defiance of our green Champion Jill

But ultimately and honestly it is the will of the invisible

CHECK OUT "POLISHING THE FRAGMENTS"

"Whitey's On The Moon" by John Kaniecki

Here are some words inspired by Gil Scott Heron. It is from my fantastic poetry book called “Polishing The Fragments.” Take a look.

Whitey’s On The Moon

They are rapping in the ghetto which is now called the hood

Them white folks all say that it’s immoral and no good

But their sons go gangsta at least not while at school

And they’ll wander downtown just to be treated cruel

By some Crip hanging out on the corner trying to cope

Whitey will come on down and buy himself some overpriced dope

Jamming on the C.D. to something that is outer space

Cause they still believe in the ‘great white race’

Never mind in the mirror it is clearer who is the disgrace

But there is an element, a moment that they strive to grasp

They are petting the little puppy but it’s a rat with teeth like an asp

Well they blame every fault in their society on the poor

But they are glad to have them go and fight Wall Street’s war

They wave the flag, boast and brag, but not so secretly deplore

When the warrior returns, he quickly learns, the fire burns

As coked up traders score with whores to celebrate rising numbers

Meanwhile in grandest style God in His heaven silently slumbers?
Maybe He’s seeing how sadistic our overlords can really get

They crucified the Son of God that I will never forget

So when they tell me that He’s coming real, real soon

I sit back and relax and remember, Whitey’s On The Moon

I am stealing a line from Gil Scott of course

Cause according to Al he is the rapper’s number one source

I see Whitey talking indignantly about how the system is rigged

Slavery was a long time ago, don’t you dig?

As if Jim Crow was some kind of pleasurable poetic piece

As if the traps of racism fell and the hell offered some release

But the Piper was piping as Emit Till’s mother was weeping to his tune

But forget the regret cause Whitey’s on the Moon

Hell no, scream the poor white trash cause they can’t collect decent cash

The elite with venom sweet point to the man with the darker skin

He is the fault; blame them for everything evil that is your sin

So not too bright, they fail to see the light that the rich divides

Behind various ambiguous walls, the master he hides

Politicians are but a face to the disgrace but lack the real power

You’ll find out who is Satan’s mind when we come to the revealing hour

Remember in the anti December the solstice comes in the month of June

But have no fear, there is no atmosphere, just ask, Whitey’s On The Moon

Can’t pay the rent, and I’m too stubborn to truly repent

So here let me end calling out to my friends, you know who you are

I ain’t on the Moon, rather I am hanging in a bar on Jupitar 

Polishing The Fragments 

"What Is Faith If It Is Never Tested"

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. For by it the elders obtained a good report.

I heard of a person who was a Christian. He got very sick to the point of death. On his deathbed he wondered where God was? 

Maybe you have never been faced with this extreme. Perhaps the closest you have come to death is to witness a loved one passing on. However, since this is a mental health blog you probably have some experience with mental illness. Whether as a caregiver or suffering from an ailment. Where then is God in the midst of your hardship?

First of all faith is a gift and it is made better when it is tested. That is to say the we are all works in progress. Think of yourself as an athlete. No matter what the sport, the contestants must undergo training to improve their skills. When a good coach gets to work with a very exceptional and talented individual who shows a lot of promise, the intensity of the training gets harder. So to suffer on  Earth really isn't a sign of God's anger, but perhaps God's favor.

Easy for you to say? There was a time where I thought that God had abandoned me. My life consisted of sitting in the backyard and smoking cigarettes once an hour. I didn't have any grand vision in my pain and suffering, but I desperately clung on to the little hope that I had.

The story of Joseph is an excellent example, as many people know it outside of Christianity. Joseph was betrayed by his brothers and sold into slavery. Yet Joseph didn't give up. Rather in Potiphar's house he made the best of his enslavement. In other words, Joseph became a good slave, something I imagine that was very difficult for him. Being so faithful, Joseph ran the entire household. When Potiphar's wife wanted to have sex with Joseph, he did the right thing and refused. Then on her lie Joseph was thrown into jail.

Talk about going from the pot into the fire. Still in jail Joseph made the best of life. He did not give up on life and he never let go of hope. Joseph became a good prisoner, eventually earning the jailer's trust and favor. Then one day Joseph interpreted two men's dreams. One was to be put to death and the other to be restored as cup bearer of Pharaoh himself. All Joseph asked the cup bearer was to remember him. Sure enough, the interpretations of the dreams came true. Unfortunately for Joseph, he was forgotten.

The story didn't end there. One day Pharaoh himself had a dream. The cup bearer, recalling Joseph, fetched the man from prison to interpret Pharaoh's dream.  Seven years of plenty were coming to the world followed by seven years of severe famine. After Joseph interpreted the dream of Pharaoh, Joseph was put in charge of Egypt to prepare for the upcoming famine.

Now here are the most important aspects of the story. One is that God had a clear and distinct purpose for Joseph. In the end, Joseph saved thousands if not millions of lives. More on subject, it was in the suffering that Joseph learned the skills necessary to meet his ultimate destiny. So I say to you that if you are going through living hell, hold on, because the lessons of today will bless others tomorrow.

I have suffered from bipolar for thirty years. In that time I have found no kinder or giving group of people than the mentally ill. Don't allow the world to define you and look down at you. Look at the present state of the world and see how good all these people who turn up their noses at you are doing. Man is destroying the world. If we took the people in the asylums and put them in power and took the people in power and put them in the asylums, well the world would be better off.

In the worst times the character of a person is being forged for the best times. Embrace your cross because the weight you carry now will one day make you strong.

Read about the testing of my faith in my poetic journey of Polishing The Fragments. What do you do when God shatters your life? You polish the fragments. 

Original post on Psych Central 

The Awakenings Project

Empowering Healing Through Art-

As a poet and writer I am grateful for every magazine or outlet that has ever published my work. It is a truly an honor when somebody says to you, 'your work is good enough for us' and proves that statement by publishing it. As such I am always looking to pay back kindness with kindness. So please allow me to introduce to you "The Awakenings Project".

Awakenings Project Mission Statement

"The Awakenings Project is a grass-roots initiative whose mission is to assist artists with psychiatric illnesses in developing their craft and finding an outlet for their creative abilities through art in all forms. The Awakenings Project also works to raise public awareness and acceptance of the creative talents of people living with psychiatric disorders who work in the fields of fine art, music, literature, and drama."

Check out their website. http://awakeningsproject.org/index.shtml

I see the Awakenings Project as a safe place where people with mental illness can express themselves and not feel inhibited or judged. People who suffer from psychological problems are a family, much in the same way 'veterans', or any other group who have shared a common experience are. The mentally ill, share a unique perspective in life, that only we can understand. In the Awakenings Project you will find work exclusively written by the mentally ill. For one that is mentally ill you will find the common chord. For those outside of our community you will find valuable insights to what makes us what we are.

I can recommend The Awakenings Project in two ways. One is to submit your artwork to them. I don't believe that there is an active call for work presently but it wouldn't hurt for you to contact them and inquire. Even if you have never been published before, here is an excellent place to begin. So much of getting published, is not so much as the quality of the poem, but finding the right match for what you wrote. Here is something written exclusively by the mentally ill, so that narrows the field of competition greatly.

Secondly the Awakenings Project is excellent reading for anybody. I enjoyed reading through my complimentary copy. Some of the works made me laugh and some made me think. A few even got under my skin and wretched my heart.  I gave one of the issues I was published in to my psychiatrist as a gift.

Please allow me to present one of the poems the Awakenings Project published of mine.

Still Don’t Know

Sweet whispers under night’s sky

Why is heaven so high?

Clouds blowing to and fro

And I still don’t know

I have demons

Like heaven has its hell

I’ll keep on dreamin’

You really can never tell

Life’s confusion

Truth fades to illusion

You have all you desired

Cept what is required

You never came

Played me as if a game

Still you did give

It helped me to live

Yet the love didn’t grow

Still don’t know, still don’t know

Truth written in stone

Love’s essence never known

What more can I bring

Cept everything

Still don’t know, still don’t know

Still don’t know, still don’t know

https://blogs.psychcentral.com/fragments/2017/10/the-awakenings-project-art-from-mentally-ill/

Please check out my book “MurmuringsOf A Mad Man” 

Dreaming Big Publications- A Publisher Focusing On Mental Health

If you're going to dream you might as well be dreaming big!

Dreaming Big Publications is a small independent publisher which has a focus on publishing books on mental illness. They certainly don't limit themselves to this type but it is their preference. The owner of Dreaming Big, Kristi Morgan, has a bachelor's degree in psychology and a master's degree in social work. She is also a very nice person and good to work with!

Here is a link to their site.  http://www.dreamingbigpublications.com

Advantages of a small publisher-

• Far easy to get accepted. A traditional editor requires an agent and an agent desires a manuscript edited almost to perfection.
• Personal attention. I can text my publisher any time I want and will get a prompt response and work things out to my satisfaction.
• Relaxed atmosphere. Business is about making money. Small publishers want to make money but it isn't priority number one.
• Greater control over contest. I've heard stories where traditional publishers highly edit content.

Advantages of Dreaming Big-

• Dreaming Big gets a lot of reviews for their books. Some small publishing companies publish a lot of books hoping to make a little of a lot. Dreaming Big publishes less and invests time and effort to make every book successful.
• Dreaming Big has a large staff that can help you in many ways. For example for my book "Poet To The Poor" they created a video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RiVmcJ_tBjg&t=35s
• Dreaming Big has a family feel where the authors support one another.
• Dreaming Big has an active website which attracts traffic, including an active blog.

So if you have a finished manuscript that is polished as best you can please send it to them, especially if it is in the field of mental health. You really have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Make sure that you follow all their instructions.

Reality Check-

If your ambition is to make lots of money Dreaming Big is not the route for you. If you are an unpublished author and you expect to publish a book to make a lot of money, I have to say that's an unrealistic goal. The best way to write a book and get it published to make money is to go through the traditional route. That is to write it and send it to an agent. In fact you cannot even directly approach a major publishing house without the aid of an agent. There is always the miraculous chance that you will be extraordinarily successful and make enough money to retire, and then again they sell lottery tickets as well. If you are not published by a major publisher your book won't get into book stores, which makes selling them all the more harder.

Dreaming Big is a good starting point. I hope one day to be a very successful author. I like to think with every poem published, with each book released, with each story I put out there, that I am building up a resume.

Check out Dreaming Big. Look for the call for stories and feel free to submit a poem or story for their blog. And please tell them John Kaniecki sent you their way.

Here are my three books from Dreaming Big Publications. 

Click here

Click here

Click here

https://blogs.psychcentral.com/fragments/2017/10/dreaming-big-a-focused-publisher/