For 2 years I woke up most mornings wondering whether my street-living mentally ill son had died in the night…
Dying on the Street
My sick son is dying
Out on the street
But every night he’s here
By my bed
Watching me sleep
Behind my closed eyes
He waits in my head
Consultants condemn him
To death by default
Too clever to section
Pontious Pilate’s the way
You must watch him die
Is what they say
They know full well
As they turn away
That my boy’s in hell
His dad can do nothing
His son self-medicates
To quell
The thoughts
To quell
The fear
The pain
The paranoia
When your brain is burning
Alcohol anaesthetises
Cannabis cools
And bin found sertraline soothes
Winter wind whirls
Round dead garage door
Cold water seeps
Cold body on concrete floor
Ulcerated finger curls
My dying son sleeps
Splinter mind swirls
Round dead dog smell
Kaleidoscopic dreams
Lucid’s death knell
My nights awash
With my son’s screams
My sick son is dying
Out on the street
But every night he’s here
By my bed
Watching me sleep
Behind my closed eyes
He waits in my head
And I
I
I await his wake
A Father Dreams his Distant Son
Flailing feelings, flailing, blind
He goes away in thought and deed
Lashed by whips that flay his mind
Grasping nets that turn to mist
Grasps and grasps but falls apart
A part of him a part of me
His beat beat beating in my heart
Exhaustion feeds a form of sleep
As father dreams his distant son
Strains to hold a fading ghost
Of the one, the son who’s gone
Drown breaths open floating eyes
Oppressed by deepest, darkest night
I cannot have these feelings yet
With darkness brailling his mind’s sight
I must act with careful calm
As dying thoughts breed deadly schemes
I dredge the words to ward his death
But deep inside, a father screams
Writhing on his spit of love
Impaled again, and torn and torn
Blame barbed spear is pressed so deep
A primal pain that can’t be borne
Then past a headland, a mirrored loch
Over deathly deeps where lives are lost
Float songs to tempt the tears of hope
I’ll will him well at any cost…
Sadness Seeps as November Mist
“Please help me dad, I love you”. Two weeks later I feel the same, but you now see cloven hooves…
Sadness seeps from me
as November mist
drifting into heart hollows
clouding my eyes
What am I become?
My dad. Olympic class athlete, handsome army officer. Killed himself by refusing to eat following a moment of lucidity during ever debilitating dementia. “I can’t recognise my own sons, so…”
What am I become?
Thoughts float belly-up
In the pool that was my mind
I’m slipping through my fingers
Eyes seeing but mind blind
What am I become?
The spark that gives you hope
Is the spark that burns my soul
The glimmer that you see
Means I can recognise you
But I can also recognise me
Condemned to live in a vegetable plot
Reduced to someone that I’m not
I run through my dreams – but awake to this
A padded hell and the smell of piss
What am I become?
Your intensive care
Is the worst that you could do
If I had my wits about me
I’d end up hating you
What am I become?
I’m the ember of a man
Who’s burning in your care
Where once a soldier stood
There’s this ember of a man
A log of human wood
Can’t remember who I am
But I’d die if I fucking could
Dad
Ended himself aged 86. Buried his ashes at sea – he always wanted a Viking burial…
Dad
You were only 43
when you died
on average
Dad
I wish we’d talked more
before you died
the before is surplus
Dad
Some of my depths are yours
but my shallows
are all my own
Dad
You wanted a send-off blaze at sea
But I lacked the courage
To double cook you
Dad
I’m proud you wrested control
of your death
from purgatory’s
dead hand
Dad
I’ve got that hollow feeling
as though my father
or my mother
just died
Dad
I can no longer ask you
how I was as a boy
now your ash urn drifts
as a buoy
Dad
I mourn the loss of you
I remember all I learned from you
I’m proud to be the son of you
I’ll always be the son of you
And dad
One last thing
before you go
I love you
Relieverance
A verse for each of my sons when they tried to kill themselves. Most parents have been here…
medicine cabinet open wide
childproof cap rests by the bed
empty bottle on its side
sleeping boy who will not wake
reckless drive to A and E
burst the queue and force the pace
pounding pulse beats in my ear
emetic bowl and sickly sound
waiting for – don’t want to hear
just wait and wait and wait and test
time dilates and stretches thin
wait and wait with strangled chest
balance slowly tips our way
hospital dawn on hospital bed
weary eyes and steady breath
my son has risen from the dead
relief like fainting, soughing sighs
flowing feelings, flowing tears
seep from deep, a father cries
a salt solution of his fears
piercing primal scream of pain
drives a spike through ears and chest
galvanic leaps and dread filled brain
fallen angel broken neck
rolling, swelling eyes he tries
to pant to gasp, a sheen of sweat
coronary clamps upon my chest
I cannot have these feelings yet
I must act with studied calm
icing on bruised spinal cord
hold his head look in his eyes
you’ll be better, your daddy’s word
willing healing I’d give my life
time dilates and stretches thin
his hug dispels the daemon dreams
a promise not to fall again
masks the echoes of his screams
relief like fainting, soughing sighs
flowing feelings, flowing tears
seep from deep, a father cries
a salt solution of his fears