We were in silent prayer in the garden Feeling second-hand and lazy With nice heirloom tomatoes growing Around us Let us lead them from the stomping – And all those tobacco viruses Our family needs the well.
For years we’ve slept in the same room The children and us smack away the mites On nights the thunder broke our bodies And we became shy to the windy shadows
We consume the juices of the fruits Kill the poverty from our heads Separate us from the worms We shouldn’t run away
When the man wants his money All the hospitals want to own us And hear them knocking down our doors They garnish my wages Force me to bankrupt depressions
Watch the money fall from dark clouds In the many miles barely in our view
It makes me feel psychotic I want to dissolve in this fertile dirt Continually, Crash me to the vines When bruised and stabbed I will just stink in the swarming heat In the well, Lay all my scriptures
In mornings when most kings dine In a sweat of night, the heat clutched To the skin In mighty robes Yet, like a wet mop A tide of anger A misguided dreamer Of thievery, wanted all the treasures All the lucid wanderings Gold coin eyeballs Designed in statuesque build Shallow, there will not be any crumbling in my march through civil breakdowns One king, death on rapid waters The rocks like the clouds, depends on powers of the wind To move us from the heat Like a Psalm 46 haze He breaks the bows and shatters the spears And cartoon kings start to smear Paint begins to clump, like a clogged artery Stains through to the canvas, Blasphemy blankets purity And in oceans and rivers There isn’t any fresh fish Smudges of floating ink, like blood Ships keep moving in the night The lighthouse light reflects only former royal shadows
You forget false righteousness And you brand in the tattooed crimson to sea bottoms.
Volume 1 includes contributions from myself (David L O’Nan), HilLesha O’Nan, Rob Z photography, Ankh Spice, Catrice Greer, the Poetry Question & Chris Margolin, Jenna Faccenda, Ethan Jacob O’Nan, Icefloe Press, Robert Frede Kenter, Moira J Saucer Darren Demarree, Abdulmueed Balogun, Bradley Galimore, Anisha Kaul, Foy Timms, David Ralph Lewis, Paul Brookes, Sidney Mansueto, Lawrence Moore, Karen Mooney, Jenny Mitchell, Makund Gnanadesikan, James Lilley, Richard Waring, Vern Fein, Ediney Santana, Rachael Ikins, Samantha Terrell, Al Matheson, Ceinwed C E Haydon, Will Schmit, Dai Fry, Barney Ashton-Bullock, M.S. Evans, Megha Sood, Jane Rosenberg LaForge, Matthew M C Smith, Lucy Whitehead & Merril Smith as well as an interview with Americana/Indie/Punk musician Austin Lucas
Volume 2 includes contributions from myself (David L O’Nan) HilLesha O’Nan, Rob Z Photography, Troy Jackson, Book Reviews for Hokis, David Hanlon, Susan Richardson & Norb Aikin, Karlo Sevilla, Steve Denehan, A.R. Salandy, Steve Wheeler, Sher Ting, December Lace, Ken Tomaro, Kushal Poddar, Tan Tzy Jiun, Amy Barnes, Jason DeKoff, Raine Geoghegan, Jim Young, Tim Heerdink, Damien Donnelly, Kristin Garth, Mela Blust, Jackie Chou, Rickey Rivers Jr, David Hay, Kari Flickinger, John Ogunlade, Z.D. Dicks, Julie Stevens, Gayle Sheridan, Wil Davis, Samantha Merz, Iona Murphy, Gerald Jatzek, KC Bailey, Samuel Strathman, Mike Whiting, Peter Hague, E Samples, Ann Hultberg, Jane Dougherty, Michael Igoe, Maxine Rose Munro, John Everex, Lacresha Hall, Kelly Marie McDonough, Gabe Louis, Linda M Crate
Deluxe Edition is over 300 pages and includes all of the Poets, writers, interviews, musicians, photography & more.
So, yeah I’ve got Generalized Anxiety Disorder. It is something that is an everyday battle between all possible anxiety one can have at any given point.
With this post I would like to begin to share some of my poetry writings. I have written about Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD for short).
Every day is a new adventure. Will today be depression, calmness, fun, claustrophobic ending in several panic attacks, OCD, Overwhelming leading to embarrassing anger spurts, crying from the smallest memories entering my head? The feeling of loss at all times, disappointments, always trying to make good on something you might have done when younger, and always looking for apologies or apologizing yourself. Looking for acceptance, then being a loner, wanting someone around to comfort you, then feeling like an alien.
I am in constant fear. Fear those I love are going to get hurt at any given moment. The scenarios constantly play in your head.
So, i’m guessing no one would be surprised that I’ve had numerous “small to rather serious nervous breakdowns” throughout the years.
I’ve had these moments since I was a child, I would try to mask away all of the fears and emotions with overindulging, overcompensated, overanalyzing, just overdoing it!
There has been breaking moments as a child (when I realized that everyone eventually dies), at 18 when I lost my last 2 grandparents, and then subsequently leaving College after only a couple of months.
There have been moments at 24/25, 29 after a dramatic episode that left me with PTSD in which I was taken advantage of, harassed, and forced by threats of violence by an unbalanced woman.
Again, in my early 30’s adjusting to not living alone after 12 years of doing so when I got married.
Then the fears of becoming a father, and learning to be a good husband.
At 36 I lost my father to ALS, My body was numb for months for long periods of time. I fell into some old habits, and had to re-evaluate how to be a human again.
Then just recently in the last few weeks at 39. The seasonal depression, the overbearing Social Anxiety that has gotten worse as of late, the memories of my father, financial worries, possible pending medical dilemmas have broken my mind once again. The holiday season is a hard one to digest, my father’s birthday is in December, I lost him on Christmas night 3 years ago.
So in the moments I can escape to watch my children smile, look at my beautiful wife, watch a wrestling match or basketball game, listen to some Comedy Podcasts, and of course writing. These are what I life for when everything else feels like an everyday prison hovering over your bones.
Riding blind like a trapped voice
Stuck to the corners –
of the echoed walls
The Blue waves of light-
travels through my visual acuity
Swallowing all the memories,
what was easy?
I cannot forget however –
the ripping of my flesh,
Like night over day
To reveal anxiety dances –
on the nerve pores
I can remember
everything that you wish –
And books and letters and the corners of my mind where music stood at corners
As if there is such a thing as too poetic or too musical or too big of a fedora stuffed with first
notes and last notes and echo notes and silent notes and end-notes
Left behind by no crowd and all crowds and crowded crowds and invisible crowds
Maybe there is and
maybe there is not but the double f alliteration that rhymes with clef and marches next together
in fell and fedora
Almost made me laugh
But I didn’t
One more time my notes that smelled of music and sadness and grief and crescendos and
whole notes and half notes and
scribbled idea notes on napkins and marble slabs and cocktail umbrellas and gray matter
Not of a million fingerprints on faded dollars left in hats and boxes and musty violin cases
I hummed a dirge
of faded songs
That made no one laugh
left my fedora empty
Amy Barnes has words at a variety of publications including McSweeney’s, Parabola, Detritus Online, Guideposts, The New Southern Fugitives, Gnashing Teeth Anthology, FlashBack Fiction, Flash Fiction Magazine and Maria at Sampaguitas. She is a reader for CRAFT and Narratively and Associate CNF Editor for Barren Magazine.