On Suicidal Trees

Suicidal Hog Plum Tree.Like most suicides, it gave no warning. The machinations of digging the pond included the tree being over the pond.

The pond was dug right at the very end of dry season. The tree seemed to be fine, this large hog plum tree. No roots were broken, no damage to the tree.

Leaning against it, I learned of the biting ants and learned… not to lean against it. It became a landmark of one of the many things to avoid casually touching on the land, like the weaponized chlorophyll of the Trinidad Roseau.

Maybe it was that lack of touch that was the signal. Maybe, somewhere in the latent consciousness of trees it decided it was not just alone but lonely. Maybe I had chopped down some of it’s children and it couldn’t stand to live without them. Maybe it had seen it’s reflection in the beginnings of the collected water of the pond and it didn’t like what it saw.

Whatever the reason, I found it in the pond one day, broken at the roots. At the roots, I saw the stone.


I do not know why it committed suicide. It seemed happy enough. And here I was left, having to remove it’s burdensome body from the pond, something that between the pickup, tractor and excavator was done… dismembering it accidentally here and there. Corpses are so fragile.

I write all of this to show how easy we are to anthropomorphize non-human things, and how we treat humans like non-human things. About how people commit suicide every day – U.S. military veterans alone at a rate of 22 per day, once every 65 minutes – dismissed as numbers that march into the sunset.

Civilians, too, who pass quietly into the night, not the celebrity.

And here I wrote about a suicidal tree.
And you read it.

Share this to support Suicide Awareness. The life you save may never know. 

Relaxing: Not That Easy

Mayaro SunriseIt’s not that any of this is good or bad. It’s not that it matters too much to people. It’s just that some people are like this. Some people may always be like this. Of all the characters you interact with on a daily business, there’s someone that has this problem. Maybe it’s that lady who smiles near the bread, maybe it’s that quiet bearded guy who is staring down as he walks into the store – or the greeter, smiling while looking you in the eye as she welcomes you.

Your idea of relaxing might have a built in level of safety, where you don’t have to keep an eye on things. Or it might mean that feeling of safety when someone else is around. Or it might be that constant watching of the entrances and exits.

And then there are people who don’t have that level of relaxation. Their calm is wired tighter than Cher’s chin. When you’re comfortable, they are but at a different level.

It wears on them. It would wear on anyone. And when it does, they react in different ways.

Don’t tell them to relax.


dark hour

Even the best wishes can be discarded
At the target’s whim fickle
And even this can be pardoned
As autumn leaves resemble sickle.

Tiring efforts clutch at straws
To save every last one
Lost romance in a just cause
Just because it’s done.

And in the dark hour
The tallies and scores are counted
And though defeat tastes sour
Victory on either side is routed.

“To arms, to arms! Redeem fate!”,
Will cry those blind in dark hour
As light reveals and finds late
Barbarians guard the tower.


cloudsayshiIn dim light you greet me
Strip me of my sensibility
And beat me with it.
You’re back again.

So many faces have you held
So many nights have we shared
So who are you
And what do you wish tonight?

Cold windy night in the Sunshine State
You may have felt the chill
If you do, if you don’t
I wish you never will…

Lost Moments

MDMA for PTSDSitting down he looks to the West
Smiles his silent smile that nobody knows
Watching the stars alight and then rest
He recalls his life as sitcom shows
He sips his coffee and lights a smoke
Thinking of things he dare not say,
A car passing offers a poke
And reminds him to think anyway…

Back he goes in lost moments
Wondering at choices,
Things now make so much sense
Despite haunting voices…
Revisiting crossroads cold and dark
Reliving lost moments clear and stark
The path to hell paved with good intentions
The path still has no dissension…

And in all, he returns to the passing car
His gaze pierces through it in a stare
Years ago he would look at a star
By now he knows that they’re all there
And he wonders what will happen
And still doesn’t care,
He wonders what happened then
The smile leaves and visits air…

Lots of things in the past, been lucky and not
Lots of time passed in just a few years
Had it all and gave up all he got
And gained a view of what’s really dear.
People have come, people have went
Time has passed and still it stays
Letters written, none sent
Thoughts he weighs
To words he lent.

The Difference Within

Sounds of movement in a silent room
Rustles of wind in a still mill,
That feeling of impending doom
When you can’t keep your breath still…
As we relive the lives we lived
We die in each moment,
We live in each second…
We live through the second.
We survive each second as it happens again
In a fraction of a second
That lasts forever.