Tormented by blue sky




Lostness   (56)



Craving touch, in a rather un-English way…


At times, feeling like some warm person, misplaced,
amid cold cultures…

I still have romantic dreams about unapproachable women,
who might sneer, behind tinted glass, as they pass me:
sitting by the bus stop
with library books and photocopied poetry,
in a carrier bag.

Then, while lifting my telephone
(which, being very long silent, I check remains working)
there comes an autobiographical idea for a story, called
“Not having friends”.

But was that situation entirely my fault?
People could have made attempts to befriend me.

I remember little interest, toward myself, emerging from anyone.







Impressions move
among solitude
and disappear.


waking too far under
for faith I shall rise

taking so much away

Alone on a bed
sensing things fade

Forced letting-go
yet wanting return.



Around open windows
curtains wave softly

bouncing off leaves.

Tormented by blue sky
this body
hungry to respond

Against existence, slipping
these unheld fingers

Where each day sees an absence
of grace
or beauty
from my world.


with evening closing in
I noticed a faint shadow
resembling smeared pencil-marks
across the white wall.

It evaporated, gently,
as the sun
went down.



I wondered
how many others
now wane
in their rooms?






(beauty/blogging/depression/ideas/loneliness/mental health/poem/thoughts/writing)



Fragile immunity



Lostness   (55)



For living each day as if it were my last,
I need to be fitter than this.


Not spending the time exhausted, housebound, and alone.
With a sensation of wearing an invisible, full-body,
pain suit.


Fewer things connect me to life, now.


I recall certain people reacting to my distress like a threat,
directed at the fragile immunity of their optimism.


Yet perhaps it could seem less oppressive to see suffering as meaningless,
rather than stemming from a higher power intending destruction?





I turn, clutching my pillow.
Falling, briefly, into a dream about absurd music theory:
describing relations between dominant and submissive,
then its perversion, via the demented fourth.




I wake, aching thoroughly…

As though beaten by unknown assailants
during sleep.

After forcing myself to wash and dress,
comes a need for more rest.

Energy winding down
across wasted hours
spanned by emptiness
where nothing is resolved.

While I lie, pressed with visions
of oblivion:

one that leaves no legacy
or love
only flawed attempts at beauty
amid some art and thoughts
which remain


Soon it grows dark, again
as, silently, I whine
against such fading
into night.

Any efforts to move forward
still find me squirming
around the hook
of fate.


How useless knowledge can feel
when we are unable
to act
upon it.






(blogging/writing/philosophy/poetry/mental health/illness/depression/loneliness)








First blogiversary!


Purple phase


As a teenager I attempted to visually evoke sensations of energy and beauty,
stirred in me by music.

(I include some pen images, done at age 16.)

Later, taking up guitar, Hendrix was a major influence.

Even now, after 30 years of being too unwell to play,
I remember wonderful feelings during improvisation,
ascending on a solo,
ideas flowing from my fingers.

Not realising how short this phase would be, I made no recordings.
Nothing remains of those musician days.

Art, poetry, music, philosophy, chess…
multiple interests eroded by illness.

Reading or writing are left to me.
And the struggle to put words here;
while I still can.






One year ago, today, I posted my first poem.

No-one noticed.

118 posts later I almost reached 100 followers,
but have got stuck for several weeks,
like a runner unable to step across the line…
at 99.

Growing an audience is difficult for me.
Due to poor health I lack stamina for social media, networking,
or spending much longer on other blogs.

Hence I gain new visitors by chance: via the WordPress reader.
A rather slow process.


On the positive side:
I managed to maintain a regular weekend blogging schedule despite many problems;
and “likes” are up in recent months.


So, to all my readers…


Thank you!



(I hope you will return next week for…

Lostness  (55))





(Mental health/drawing/art/music/beauty/blog/blogging/poetry/writing)








Illumination’s alchemy



Lostness   (54)


I fret upon the rubble of stories my ancestors fought over.


Should I turn from masochistic truth
toward lies to live by?


Once reality seems unbearable, faith may appear essential.


Yet, what if current religions fail to inspire?
Despite unwanted needs for community and authority
festering beneath victorious individualism.

Where a sacred vocabulary reveals hierarchy…
does holiness subvert equality?





Which path to follow?


Some decisions expose reason’s insufficiency.


Doubts are so fertile.

Not merely when facts can be cited on opposing sides,
or that assertions occur within time,
and memory is fallible…
but, since being taught to speak by others,
can one even be sure about the meaning of words
used to describe inner experience?

Moving away from philosophy
a personal question arises:
do I lack metaphysical capacities?
Am I simply deficient in certain feelings,
required for belief…

Like those associated with beauty:
as yearning lights up the beloved
in an aura of attraction
while strangers fall outside
illumination’s alchemy.





I consider my empty life…


If everything desired becomes unattainable, why continue to strive?





amid enduring isolation
and illness
any rare examples
of female conversation
involving myself
tend to resemble an interview
concerning a job
for which
I am unqualified.


I meet women
who are indecisive
about their passion

they always know

it isn’t







(aphorisms/blogging/depression/ideas/mental health/opinions/poetry/thoughts/writing )




Jangled inertia





Lostness   (53)


In an indifferent universe, not loving oneself invites adversity.


I am also wary of conditional self-esteem:
which only accepts a “special” existence,
being intolerant toward the ordinary.


Could self-hatred make us incapable of a happy relationship…
even with ourselves?


Inner severity undermines attempts at kindness.


Abuse lives on through psychic forces.
Internal voices.
Always ready to attack.


I remember the child, looking to its mother for protection,
not realising she was a source of his father’s power.


Against injustice, hatred may feel like strength.


Prejudice as a default condition.
Ethics to rationalise aesthetics.


I was trapped behind this face.
Rejected for lacking beauty.


Could these perceptions be fought?


Many things might jangle the inertia of beliefs
but resistance needs overcoming for them to change.


I recall meeting people whose desire for control led to a doctrine
of personal invulnerability.
Claiming nothing happened without their assent.

As if illness and death were for wimps.

Unfortunately, they all had at least one
unpleasant surprise due
in old age.



Sensing my mind wander
after philosophy
a question loomed…


Am I still romantic enough
to imagine that some verbal answer
for the problems of life
will banish






(psychology/mental health/depression/thoughts/ideas/opinions/aphorisms/poetry/writing/blogging)










Lostness   (52)


I had an idea for a story
about being always in the wrong place.

Just missing events that could lead to love,
By rounding a corner,
crossing a street,
moments too early
or too late.

I was going to call it “peripherality”.

But inspiration faded
through my lostness.

I never wrote it.


Unable to step twice into the same stream of consciousness.


Currently I lack energy for basic activities, let alone literary ones.
Once exhaustion strikes, mitochondria become as important as the muse.

I suppose it might be useful to train for leisure, like a job.
Yet illness ruins free time, along with working ability.

People retreat from me.
Perhaps they find even the thought of suffering unpleasant,
or threatening.


I especially regret not having friends,
now I’m too unwell to make any.


Does “Know thyself,” imply access to a library?
How about gaining knowledge in relation to others?





Lying here, isolated,
mind wandering,
imagining what is elsewhere…
am I truly present?



Dozing a little
I envisage
one day emerging
from this labyrinth
of unhappiness
via some dream-gate
in a radiant
new life.

pain has colonised
my body
which wakes
with emptiness
where bones ache
from the pounding
of nightmares.





(philosophy/psychology/mental health/depression/thoughts/ideas/poetry/writing/blogging)



Merciless neutrality






Lostness  (51)



Biological prisons can obscure their bars with love.


Marriage may reduce some potential chaos unleashed via active sexuality.

One hopes future generations will learn from our mistakes.

However, if children copy parents, adults need to embody
any change they wish to see.




Demanding coherence might encourage comforting illusions.


In a scientific age it appears more respectable to blame unspecified genes
for misfortunes, once perceived as arising from curses.

Even guilt has been preferred over the acceptance of helplessness;
or an uncaring universe, with its merciless neutrality.





Beliefs perpetuate themselves by becoming psychologically indispensable.


Despite many advantages, modernity leaves unsatisfied desires toward transcendence, which tempt reversion.

Spiritual frustration extends into art.

At a recent exhibition came the remark: “But anyone could do this!”
Meaning: “Where are those profound and beautiful works we yearn after: to move us?
Things requiring special abilities, beyond our capacity…”





In my own case, continual restlessness led me away from whatever I became tolerably good at.

Having wandered and dreamed through existence, I wake, unknown by the world, into a void of personal insignificance.





Now illness is closing
the doorway to life
in my face

mortality haunts me

across vague
for improbable faith

and ancestral perception

cyclic being
or  continuum


how different
it would feel
viewing death
as little more than
an inconvenient
change of trains
on eternity’s





(philosophy/psychology/mental health/thoughts/ideas/aphorisms/art/beauty/poetry)





Mortal graffiti




Lostness   (50)



Another flagellation by remorse stings my conscience…


From failure to continue the family line.
Generations of care, toil, and suffering:
ending with me.


Have I conspired at my own futility?


Did I avoid decisions that led toward adulthood?

What to do next?

Where to look for answers except inside myself.

And if I find nothing there?

Who could help someone wanting only
to want something?


Once practical difficulties recede, personality problems can dominate.


Would I try so hard at expressing contentment?
Will lines of happiness remain unwritten?

I think about playing guitar,
how even writing may get lured by the blues.

I scan, without focussing, across myriad ink marks in notebooks:
like graffiti on walls of mortality.


Am I alienated from myself, not just society?


Efforts at self-analysis indicate a desire to help.
Yet illness seems stronger than health.
Or beauty.

Perhaps this lostness is quite gratifying
for hostile psychic elements?





in the empty house
noticing a slight glow
from another room
where an old TV set
has been left on
with sound muted

caged by glass
blizzards of electronic particles
against the screen

such pointless agitation
I click
the off switch
and trapped light

to darkness.






(philosophy/psychology/mental health/thought/ideas/opinions/writing/lostness/poetry)









A demon of weakness





Lostness   (49)



Perhaps pain only tends to ennoble those already possessing nobility?

I experience my own suffering as rather disgusting.

Then notice, automatically judging myself harshly.

It seems so easy, believing bad things said about me.
Yet very difficult to accept any praise.

I  was taught such severity, before I could form a defence.

We cannot atone for the offence of existing
to someone who finds our existence offensive.



How to gain self-esteem without currently having it?
Breaking circles of negation…

Should I begin by directing inward, sorts of kindness I might like to receive from others?




When loss is unperceived, grief may be misunderstood.





In forced rest
sensing slow atrophy

drifting farther
from a once fit person
returning through dreams

where he moves
along streets unseen for years
while I struggle
to accept
never walking them again

lying alone
with fear
that some demon
of weakness
drags me toward
strange realms
better unvisited
which become harder to leave
the longer one stays

as a door closes
upon me
lacking strength
to hold it open
this exit
from my past
wished left

what I had not realised
was even loved

my own
old life.





(philosophy/psychology/mental health/illness/loneliness/thoughts/ideas/opinions/poetry/writing)





Anything realised




Lostness   (48)



Though it may be enjoyable, sneering is hardly a superior use of intelligence.


Cultural snobbery, for example, aimed at cliched reactions to art from those stuck in their visual taxonomies.


(Which I associate with reviews leaving the question:”Did you like it?” unresolved.)





Vagueness forms a refuge, where precision seems threatening.


Situations requiring the supression of hostility.

When, if we cannot make people good, we try to make them behave well.

(As politics or law tend to result in an imposition of will, by some upon others.)



Whatever arises acts to constrain perception.


Anything realised involves options closed.
Perhaps constituting a burden of finitude.
Thus we could imagine that inertia preserves more possibility than action.
Yet, in actuality, a small task done outranks our big fantasy.




Feeling oppressed by a sense of insignificance.


While my certainties take negative form.
(Age, loss, illness, rejection, death.)


Hope no longer shields me from the truth that I am unfit to marry.


I tell myself sex would only leave me unfulfilled.
I mingle pity with desire
allow beauty its sadness
even admit love may reveal
what it was supposed to overcome:
a victorious loneliness…

But women remain icons
for an impenetrability
of existence.

And I end up making jokes
because life
is so serious.




(philosophy/psychology/poetry/mental health/thoughts/ideas/writing)