Tag: depression

“How Swift the Stream”

On By Mike U.In Poetry34 Comments

“How Swift the Stream”
© 2025 by Michael L. Utley

as gloaming eventide stalks dying light
to ambuscade the remnants of the day
diurnal requiems give way to night
how quick the gloom
eviscerates its prey

regretful skiffs of shame contuse the dusk
as shadows skulking on earth’s wretched rind
asphyxiate its palpitating husk
how cruel the dark
and all it renders blind

the dreams of men have withered into dross
the fruits of hope lie rotting on the vine
of apathy and existential loss
how foul the taste
of sorrow’s bitter wine

the torrents of the years in all their guile
and surreptitious whisperings betray
compassion’s current flows but for a while
how swift the stream
and all it sweeps away

“The Daisy Ring” published at Hotel by Masticadores

On By Mike U.In Poetry36 Comments

I’d like to let you know my poem “The Daisy Ring” has been published at Hotel by Masticadores. Many thanks to Editor Michelle Navajas for sharing this poem. I’m truly grateful for your kindness, Michelle.

“The Daisy Ring”
(c) 2021 by Michael L. Utley

“I found thee in a faerie copse…”

“Hmm?” she murmured
Her gaze caught somewhere
In the rainy neon night-world
Beyond the coffee shop window
Her fingers weightless
Feather-like
In my hand
Ethereal
Furnace-hot

“I found thee in a faerie copse
Alighting on each flower fair
And as I ‘proached thee in the hopes
Of snaring thee in lovers’ ropes
Thou disappeared into thin air…”

She looked at me then
A faint smile teasing
Her lips
“Your poetry is terrible,” she said…”

You can read the rest of my poem here:

“The Daisy Ring” by Michael L. Utley

Also, please consider following and subscribing to Hotel by Masticadores, where you’ll discover a world of wonderfully imaginative and profound writing.

“A Few Haiku & Senryu (62)”

On By Mike U.In Poetry21 Comments

© 2024 by Michael L. Utley

(#367)

river stone cairn
serenity in chaos
as life flows past

…..

(#368)

deathbed
her soul cleansed by
early morning rain

…..

(#369)

in my stillness
I become the mountain
winter squall

…..

(#370)

oneness with nothingness
this world can no longer
touch me

…..

(#371)

my silent world
sound dies
and I die with it

…..

(#372)

my essence diffused
I’m no longer here nor there
a crow’s cry

“A Few Haiku & Senryu (61)”

On By Mike U.In Poetry45 Comments

(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

(#361)

November stubble
she tills the field
of memories

…..

(#362)

sorrow’s journey
drifting on the breeze
a sparrow’s plume

…..

(#363)

her sundered smile
picking up the pieces
of my heart

…..

(#364)

seeds of yesterdays
watered by the tears of years
memory garden

…..

(#365)

stream ice cracks
beneath the red footbridge
the hush of rushes

…..

(#366)

dip my bones in blood
etch my life across the stars
a soul’s journey

“I Can Hear the Water Cry”

On By Mike U.In Poetry34 Comments

“I Can Hear the Water Cry”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

misty river bank
I can hear the water cry
through its mournful veil

from whence your tears
my friend
from whence your sorrow
the stream of life
long and arduous
promises nothing
takes wantonly
yet gives freely
drowns dreams
yet slakes hope’s thirst
erodes time
yet blesses leas
with hue and humor

I have bathed my feet
in your cool waters
drunk from cupped hands
of your living essence
and watched
as villages flood
and crops perish
your fickle nature
both boon and bane
the rage of winter’s run-off
the futility of summer’s drought
the chaos of confusion
the trauma of neglect

regrets eddy
among the reeds
koi doze in shadow-torpor
levitating dragonflies iridesce
oblivious to your siren-song
your current inexorable
immutable
fate’s dynamo

what of your sadness
what fears drive you
what memories haunt
your hidden heart
speak to me, friend
share your burden
help me understand
your tears

there is purity
in kindness
absolution in love
such a pity
a solitary meadow’s stream
a rill of life
darkened by despair

I see you, stream
I hear your halting whisperings
I smell your vital fragrance
I feel your urgent motion
I sense your profound depth
you are not alone
my friend
the mountain cradles you
the forest shades you
the flowers dance
to your melody
let the sun gild your surface
let the moon caress you
let your heart be
unencumbered
flow, my friend
just flow

and all
will be forgiven

“I am the Coin that Falls Between the Cracks”

On By Mike U.In Poetry63 Comments

“I am the Coin that Falls Between the Cracks”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

parts of me have died
that no one will ever know
nor will ever mourn
and why should they
I am just a remnant of myself
writ small among the vagaries of life

I am the coin that falls between the cracks
the sub-aural hum of power lines
the mote-specked silence of barn lofts
the dull glint of galaxies
as seen through rheumic eyes
I am the shadow
in the corner
of my cold
listless
mind

amid the howl of eternity
there are worlds upon worlds
fractal multiverses strewn
with thoughtless hubris
across heaven’s filthy floor
the dice of fate, kismet’s craps
as reckless gods play
with the lives of men
and alabaster-eyed
sentinels gaze blankly
distant and aloof
into the cackling abyss

once, beneath a leaden sky
a sweltering path led me
through shag-barked copses
and desiccated thickets
to an obscure clearing
and there
in midday gloaming
a spring appeared
and I knelt at water’s edge
seeking desperately
for my reflection
proof of my existence
which eluded me
upon the stagnant rancid
larval-glutted surface
I sought to see my soul
but instead espied
the foul machinations
of a craven universe
amid pond scum
and the stench of reality
and as I fled in horror
the pealing laughter
of amused gods
rent the sky

there are sink-holes in my soul
where I’ve lost myself
along the way
suffocating in tenebrosity
the detritus of shame
trailing behind me
marking my path
from tepid light
to torpid darkness
from inutile hope
to abject despair
the inconsequential
bric-a-brac of
22,000 days
fallen from the cabinets
of my heart
shattered shards
of worthless memories
my mind
a stuttering dynamo
choking on its own fumes

I
have lost
myself in
this desert of
alkali flats and
creosote bushes that
leech all moisture from my eyes
rendering tears unfeasible
seeking shelter from this thoughtless sun
and the mindlessness of my existence

take my hand
if you dare
and I shall show you
a broken soul
a half-hearted man
a mind in free-fall
a dumb dying animal
too cowardly to drop
to the dust and merge
with oblivion
a leprous life
in exile among
incurious stars
shunned by
callous sun
and careless moon
and exhausted
beyond measure
a half-life
every atom radiating
a numbness of spirit

my lost soul slides
languidly
toward
day’s end

and when my somber sun sets
none shall be the wiser

“When Ivory Kiku Bloom”

On By Mike U.In Poetry39 Comments

“When Ivory Kiku Bloom”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

it’s my hope in time to come
when ivory kiku bloom
you’ll remember me
as I remember you

those days so long ago
in absence of joy
fraught with fear and agony
you gazed into the abyss

what did you see in the din
and darkness of depression
what peered back at you
shattered your very soul

in this winter tempest
golden suisen
hides its glowing countenance
waiting for the storm to pass

yet its radiance lives on
deep beneath the blowing snow
its beauty obscured
dimmed for but a moment

I saw your light shining
through your blackest night
with the brilliance of the sun
rising moon’s intensity

in your sorrow you were blind
you saw neither light nor love
nor could you believe
your heart was still alive

thus you mourned a life lost
buried your own soul
oblivion’s rueful loam
brings forth its bitter harvest

in my heart there lies a tomb
wreathed in ivory kiku
every day I pause
to offer my respects

every day I mourn for
what could never be
place my heart upon the shroud
of these fading memories

it’s my hope in time to come
when ivory kiku bloom
you’ll have found your peace
for I’ll remember you

“Snap-beans in a Wooden Bowl”

On By Mike U.In Poetry29 Comments

(originally published at Masticadores Philippines, 3/23/2024)

“Snap-beans in a Wooden Bowl”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

snap-beans
in a wooden bowl
and tears
on her cheeks
my mother’s sorrow
exorcised by
the rite of
working hands
the ritual of
silent contemplation
as evening sun
gilded her world
in holy ephemera
her safe place
ensconced
in her own
sacred light
her garden
her universe

the weeds she hoed
during languid summer days
of sun-burned neck
and aching back
how many belonged to her
how many the memories
of fear and violence
in desperate need of
eradication
her rough ancient hoe
her crucifix
against
my father’s rage
her blisters
turned to calluses
turned to armor
her fingers bent
with age and arthritis
yet strong enough
to hold herself
together
day by day
to contain
the tears the anger the horror

corn silk
her hair was corn silk
as she merged with
row upon row
of papery whispering stalks
her naked feet
rooting into earth
deeply
deeply
where her spirit lived
safe in cool moist soil
a fertile loam
a secret energy
regenerating her
scarred soul daily
only to be
shattered nightly
the cycle of the seasons
her heart always
an autumn heart
forever offering harvest
to all, then burned
to the ground
without a thought
as my father’s
winter approached

I passed her one evening
as she sat snapping beans
in a wooden bowl
her bare feet beagle-draped
farm cats lurking amid
squash blossoms
the westering sun
haloing her tired face
and she gazed at
the distant horizon
staring at the empty world
a faraway smile
nearly touching her eyes
as a tear fell
among broken beans
in her lap
and she looked at me then
and her smile was terrible
an anguish
I’d never seen before
and I knew
that she knew
there was nothing
either of us could do

“Still I Toil On”

On By Mike U.In Poetry51 Comments

“Still I Toil On”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

my old hoe is dull
and the weeds
resist its blade
still I toil on
iron sharpens iron
rust begets rust
the crucible of life
makes or breaks
which shall I choose
do I even have a choice

my garden’s neglect
pains my soul
its hardened soil
thirsts for more
than rain
too many weeds
too few blooms
a loathsome facsimile
of the worst of me

these hands
cracked and dirty
beset by age
and the scars
of a futile life
once strong enough
to break the earth
shatter stone
yet tender still
to caress the lotus
dry the tears
of my beloved
these calloused hands
empty now
save for the
piercing splinters
and burning blisters
of stillborn harvests
and sundered dreams

once, long ago
across the stream
my young man’s eyes
beheld the youthful willow
nubile and lithesome
her slender feet
glissading upon
the cool water
sinuous fronds
breeze-blown
her sultry-shy gaze
beckoning me
offering respite
from noonday sun
and I watched from afar
as egret and kitsune
nestled in her shadows
and I yearned for her
but my garden
needed tilling
my hoe dull even then
my back bent
from years of struggle
my heart distracted
by worries of harvests
yet to be
and in my hesitation
she turned away
and all was lost

cicadas drone
in the bamboo grove
their maddening chorus
a condemnation
their brief lives
leave little time
for memories
but plenty
for judgment
their desiccated husks
reminding me
of life’s brevity
all I’ve lost
all I needlessly
carry with me

it has been too long
since the rains fell
too long since the wind
cooled my brow
too long since
my soul slept
too long have I
gripped this
infernal device
my entire existence
rooted in this
garden of regrets
I have become
the very weed
I wish to slay

still I toil on
for there is naught left
but to toil
until my blade breaks
or the harvester’s scythe
takes me away

“Clarity”

On By Mike U.In Poetry57 Comments

“Clarity”
(c) 2024 by Michael L. Utley

in my twilight world the seasons blur
snow on flowers, freezing summer rain
I seek clarity

dim uncertainty
gloaming settles on this silent vale
neither night nor day exists for me

in the mist beyond the frozen stream
yurei whisper in the burning woods
Yomi’s fey lament

nowhere left to go
hesitance and indecisiveness
stranded on the threshold of the fates

in the heavens moon eclipses sun
as Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto
fervently pursues

Amaterasu
fulfilling his futile destiny
casting earth below in shadow gloom

machinations of the earth obscure
as this spinning orb succumbs to guile
in its rayless fugue

and all eyes fall, dazed
as the haze of chaos binds and blinds
my discernment crumbles into dust

truth has lost its glimmer and its sheen
pyrite baubles magnified as gold
in one hand a rose

in the other hand
a dagger; the heart of man depraved
confusion’s inferno conflagrates

forests turn to ash, and ash to snow
bitter flakes descend upon the tomb
of veracity

cloak in acrid pall
verity’s forlorn sarcophagus
candor’s mere slowly evaporates

I can’t tell the darkness from the light
hope, despair—awareness betrays me
every day the scale

of acumen fails
there is naught left but to close my eyes
and weep for lucidity’s demise