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John-Peter
Creighton, a.k.a. cafegroundzero
104
West Cedar Street
Glennville, GA 30427
(912)
654-9218
My
first caveat is that all you're reading
Is buffered by Prozac; first admission.
No, that's a lie, because I ran out.
So this is fueled by malt liquor.
I will only start to share my memories
Of melancholy, blue sadness and depression.
A swig, and here I go: as a young boy,
I had no inkling of what I felt, only loneliness.
The other kids left me alone or beat me, kicked me.
The only relief was to hang out on the edges.
By the age of twelve I began to think of death.
I had no idea how, only that death seemed an easier path.
My mother taught me that if Jesus could deal with his fate,
Then I could deal with mine; I bought this for the time being.
Fantasies of torture basements where I'd get back at mine enemies
Gave me some secret relief, but I grew tired of hating.
A man is not supposed to cry; a Catholic's not supposed to want
to die, so I was between a rock and a hard, sharped edged place.
I still wonder to this day why I haven't yet killed a man.
And must thank my mum she taught me Jesus' loving plan.
In high school a jock revealed his knowing Buddha,
And ahimsa -not harming life- he woulda tried and true:
So I kept to the hard and rocky path to salvation,
And made of all the world my nation.
I'm not a rich or famous man today by any stretch of your imagination.
But I know I took the right path and it gives me satisfaction.
I still mourn and sorrow but now not just for myself.
I offer up my sadness to the love of others, for their help.
Depression doesn't have to end in self-destruction.
You can make your way and manage to function.
_________________________________________________
Tinnitis too
My
little voice sings
constantly in my right ear
a fairy ringing.
__________________________________________________
I got a
letter from my own brother,
my friend and the son of my mother.
His name's George Louis, he's younger than me,
There were two boys and girls but you see
that one sister was autistic and retarded too,
that's just the way G-d made her,
yeh i feel blue,
but at least she's well cared for by our ma, still;
the other sister married into money
and lives the chill with her honey,
in the few moments they're not slaving away,
you see? and hope that you know,
cash don't buy the kind of gladness that lingers,
just the baubles that bind on your fingers.
But i digress, dear friend, not trying to impress
to a questionable end, but rather get you to know me
so that you'll show me, i hope that you know i'm for real.
Get up, let's go, let's get a hot meal
and a coffee too or two why not?
I like my coffee both black and hot.
We know, I think, that life's little pleasures
can be mixed and held with the spiritual treasures
of love, faith, hope, charity;
if I know about you, now you'll know about me.
I got a letter, I said, from my brother up North,
he's still in the fight, still sallies forth
Each early dawn to drive his truck.
He's a teamster, he's a drover
Makes a hard-earned buck.
I wish he could get a better job,
Than working for a man who cheats him always.
But my brother he's a man who doesn't care
As long as he can breathe fresh air.
My age, i'll tell is a gun forty four,
Of that almost fourth was lived on the floor.
I was homeless, jobless, and mentally ill,
The strangers laughed and assumed i was chill.
But i laughed right back and held my chin up,
I laughed again, and rattled my cup.
I knew that G-d my Father was there,
And here, not just made up of the air.
My Christ inside, my loving power
Grew in me like a hothouse flower.
I lived life hard, i lived life strong,
No doubt in my mind that i did belong
To the rest of humanity to the planet earth,
'Cause i always honor'd the mom of my birth.
T'other day I went back to an old tradition
That our father and our uncle had in fruition.
And like my brother i too hauled junk
in the back of the pickup in the car's big trunk.
I carried cans, i carried steel,
I made enough to sweet the deal.
Some days are fat, some days are lean,
But i never give up, i know where i been.
I might get tired, i might get old,
But i'll never fear that dark and cold,
'Cause i made them my friends,
I made 'em my allies,
I know my own ends, i grown more street-wise.
cafegroundzero
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