RSS Feed

Category Archives: Poetry

Foot Book

Posted on


They are the tools used to keep us standing,

Transportation from point A to point B

To me, however, much more than this,

Ugly as I think they be:

My child of ten, in younger years,

Was a fan of Seuss (as was her mother),

To her I’d read for hours on end,

Lots of books but among all the others,

“The Foot Book” brought my child delight –

How many, many feet,

On my lap, she would repeat the words and laugh,

Those moments were a treat!

Now she is nearly as tall as I,

Boy-band posters on her bedroom walls,

But my baby she’ll always be,

And I’ll treasure these memories of when she was small.


Decision: depression? I don’t think so. Sort of a poem. Only sort of.

Posted on


Selfish because energy is lacking? Because tears too readily fall? Back off with your loose lips flapping, If you’ve heard one you’ve heard ’em all. It’s easy to judge from outside the disease, Point fingers and offer advice, Maybe, just maybe, stop your ignorance please, Your judgment comes at a price. The price you pay you’ll come to see Is stigma perpetuated, friendship wilted, Don’t tell me what is wrong with me, I won’t be bullied, I won’t be guilted. Depression is not selfish. Take heed. Depression is disease NOT choice, It’s not uneducated opinions I need. If you’re my friend, then hear my voice! No one would wish to feel this way! So kindly keep your wisdom to yourself, Be mindful of the words you say. Do your research; I’m too tired to explain to someone else.

Truth Hurts

Posted on


Like bright white light shone into naked eyes Held open against their will, Truth hurts, doesn’t it? Some don’t hide behind lies in order to keep peace; Used to being unpopular. Truth is Lots of things in this life hurt. You just get used to it.

Be kind to yourself!

Posted on


A Time to Love Yourself

Those times when you look at your reflection long enough

That you see only a person, flawed to be certain,

But only human, maybe with a trace of people you love:

Your grandmother’s eyes, your mother’s nose,

A smile that sends a twinkle to your eye that is a family trait,

And you see that you are just a person, flawed to be certain,

But also a miracle, beloved, capable, part of something bigger.

When you look long enough into your own eyes

To see the hurt hiding there at the harsh criticism you’ve inflicted

And you see yourself trying to hide behind sarcasm and uncertainty,

This is the time to forgive yourself,

Accept and embrace the body

That moves you from one place to another,

That enjoys a cool breeze on a hot day,

This is the time to love yourself,

Body, mind and spirit.

A Time to Love Yourself by Karen Ballou©

Fighting Depression

Posted on

No one can force me to feel
Anything I won’t allow;
Mine is the choice and
Mine is the power.
Cruel words and actions, though,
They hurt me still –
Harsh criticism
Deep away I squirrel,
Stored for future use,
When my thoughts tell me I’m useless,
They become high octane fuel
To keep bound my spirit, down and depressed.
It takes courage to pray,
To hope and have faith,
To choose to leave
That numbing space,
One heavy foot in front of the other,
One day at a time;
To learn peace, realize your dreams
And know love, it’s worth the climb.



Sometimes when I’m lying in my bath,
Water as hot as I can make it
Coloring pale skin red,
I fixate on the shower head
To turn off my thoughts –
They chase me everywhere
Often bigger than my control of them,
They’ve never taken to leashes or cages
Though there are a few medications that quieten them.
Some days I wish I were simpler,
Possessed of smaller, shallower musings…
I repeat to myself it is what it is
And fix my gaze on the shiny shower head,
Avoiding the inward looking
As well as window dreaming.

Avoidance by Karen Ballou, 2012©

Reality of a Decision


My response to a writing challenge

Reality of a Decision

Sometimes reality intertwines with fantasy,
Though maybe that happens only to me;
My mind’s not as agile as it used to be,
And so I inject scepticism into every encounter,
Every word I hear goes through my filthy filter –
I am naive but contradictorily a doubter.

Is the goal the same as the task at hand?
Or is this mopping a chore you, Society, demand,
Be done just so by methods that you understand?
Making things clean by your standards alone,
You remain unsanitary no matter how your spotlessness shone;
The cleaning you’ve hired done cannot atone –

And if the thoughts of my reality blast through,
Overcoming the obstacle of the narrow mind of you,
Will you try to crush that reality beneath your heavy shoe?

That could happen, one supposes,
I see you looking down your noses,
Judge, jury and hangman, your perception closes
Around you, around me, like a cage,
Ninety-nine feet deep and filled with rage,
But freedom is mine and death your wage;

Not mine is the fear you feel,
Tell me now what you think is real –
I know this is a temporary ordeal!

I know I’ll be lifted from your prison
By the power of divine intervention,
Because I chose to make the right decision.

Reality of a Decision by Karen Ballou, 2012©