Loneliness

A passing beauty
once observed

(Who’d walked upon
the cobbled street
below my window)

Revisited
in dream.

And there
(again)
she strode along

With arms around herself:

A kind of cradling pose
which stood out as
so feminine.

This sight endured
in mind.

Since women always
fascinated me.

How self contained they seemed.
How unapproachable.

Those favoured ones
I most adored
moved ever
beyond reach.

Above apparent
possiblity
for connection.
Or of love.

I recalled
(next)
my childhood
school.


Where bullies
brutes and boasters would
display their baseless confidence.
Acting as if unaware
of life’s
fragility.

But some still
grew quite popular.
While I was left
aside or
shunned.

Both then
and now.

Alone
each day.

All down those
cold decades.

Among
this long
ten thousand nights

at times the
pain could get so bad
that
(lying in the dark
awake)
I also tried to hold myself.

(Console myself.)

Two arms across the chest.

(Just as the passing girl had done.)

Yet

found

it


did not

help.

 


 

(As an affectionate person, 30 years alone with illness has felt a bit like
being endlessly stuck in a touch-deprivation experiment.

I tried to convey something of that experience in the poem.)

 


 

And now, rather late (but better than never?) :

Here’s a piece to mark fours years on WordPress…

 


 

 

4th Blogiversary post

 

 

 

Not writing

 

 

How I envy those who love writing!

It doesn’t work that way for me.

 

Nor did my “blogging break” enable “returning refreshed”.

I find “refreshed” an almost forgotten sensation.
Due to chronic illness.

Each morning feels more like dragging my body free from a pit
of exhaustion and pain.
After taking minor beatings, during the night.
(Had dream-demons caught me again?)

Then I attempt to fake being human, for a few hours.

 

The longer my blogging break, the harder restarting appeared.
Inertia, anxiety, self-doubts, set in.

Watching others pour out their blogposts
I floundered amid sickness and despair.
Tormented by my own time-wasting.

Depression coats awareness
with its layer of toxic mould.

Failure expands, to seem a default state.

 

Perhaps poem-hunger makes it worse?
The waiting for inspiration.
Minus structure, plan, or plot.

Because I associate writing with mental ferment.
Nailbiting.
Insomnia.

Where ideas disrupt rest.
Tapping against windowpanes of consciousness.
As if annoying moths sought entry.

Thoughts scribbled down: in order to escape them.
After which they fade, unseen.
Confined by decaying notepads.
An unedited chaos, I lack energy to synthesise.

If only this mess could be redeemed!

But illness ruins everything.

(How to ever to get published
when I struggle to get out of bed?)

So passed a blogiversary:
Enjoying other people’s work.
While neglecting my own.

Days spent scrolling.
soon  joined weeks.
Then months.

On it goes.
The emptiness.

 

The ticking clock.

Now draws me back.

To write.

 

About

not writing.

 

 

 


 

Does anyone else prefer reading to writing?

Have you ever felt motivationally-challenged (like me)?

Comments are always VERY welcome!🙏

 

Best wishes to you all!

 

(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it.🌛)

 

Thanks
for reading!

 

 

 


( anxiety / art / beauty / blog / blogging / depression / drawing / life / loneliness / mental health / poem / poems / poetry / writing )




Better days

 

Konica12526

 

 

I stopped to hear the wind
sound its pursuit
around my ears.

And stood
a while

(mouth tingling vaguely).

Thinking back
on being young

As one who’d
dared imagine
love

might soon
dislodge

life’s lonely treadmill
from

its
confined course.

 

But
then
(even in their emptiness)

perhaps

just these
remained

my
better days?

 

Though
yet such times
were still

suffused

by
trauma’s shadow

through

the memory.

 

By
darkness

 

through

 

the blood.

 

 

 

 


 

 


 

(The poem above sprang from a few unused old lines.
Left on scrap paper when I was 21.

They reasserted themselves before me:
as if discontented with their 42 year oblivion.
Seeking a return to the light, at last.

I felt driven to rework them, into this.

Strange being a poet sometimes.

I hope you think it works?)

 


 

 


 

And Now

it’s time for…

 

Blogstars 2020!

 

1_Page_24

 

I discovered many excellent new blogs in 2020:
and wanted to share a selection with you…

 

Poetstars!

 

Leila at Leila Samarrai

Holly at House of Heart

Ra’ahe at Fallen Alone

Vallia at Vall.Grey poetry

Kim at The Cheesesellers Wife

Kristiana at My Screaming Twenties

Ai at The Vague Thoughts

Nikita at The Purple Hermit

Betty at Seasonings

Aneurin Gwyn at Into the Unknown

Melody at Melody Chen

Upashna at Upashna

Kaylie at A Whole and the Moments

Liv at she wrote

Viktoria at weird and white

Robin at WriterGrrlRobin

Euphrosyne at It’s Getting A little Dark Out There

 

 

Artstars!

 

Ritva at Art by Ritva

Monica at Monica Aissa Martinez

Hinglaz at Art by Hinglaz

Isadore at Isadore Michas

Vivien at Vivien Art & Design & Tutoria

Elaine at Elaine Fox Art

Anna at Anna’s

Rachel at rachel tremblay

Heni at Heni’s Happy Paintings

Marisa at Abstract Reception

Damian at Visual Faire

 

 

 

Photostars!

JJ Raia at jjraiaphotography

Angela at My Creative Wayz

 

 

Gothstars!

Jennifer at Vamp Jenn’s corner

Kelly at Twisted Libra Cemetery

 

 

 

I hope you will enjoy some of these?

 

 

(Also, a big “Sorry”
to those not listed!

As I currently follow 275 blogs,
putting them all here, would make this post overlong.)

 

Please visit my previous “Blogstars

(from 2019)

For 26 more fine Bloggers.

(Including Candice Louisa Daquin; Devika Mathur; River Dixon; Gary J Steele; etc.)

 

I’ve only linked writers found since publishing the first version, in this piece:
to avoid duplication.

 



 

Did you find great new blogs in 2020?

Do you agree with any of my choices?

 

Comments are always very welcome. 🙏

 

Wishing everyone a

Happy New Year!

 

Thank you
for reading.
😊

 

(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?)

 

 


 

(PS:

Meant to publish this during December, but got hit by another flu-type virus
(alongside my usual chronic illness) through the festive season.🤒

Totally sapped energy for contacting others.
And when the phone actually rang, on Christmas day, I felt too unwell to answer it.
Reinforcing the isolation.

So passed my 28th Christmas alone.

Anyway, with luck, none of you can top that,
for sheer dreariness?
LOL! 🤞🏻)

 


( art / blog / blogging / depression / drawing / life / love / mental health / photography / poem / poems / poetry / reading / writing )



Desire

Konica128519

 

When day returns

like something never reached

Aflame
on the air.

Then
(O muse)
let me speak
from my dream

of her eyes

I so wanted
to meet
with mine.

(Yet
which always
stayed
behind their clouds.)

 

Just once
(Yes!)

Let me sing

while still
I lie
and seek

Imagined dawns

New-breathed.

Inspiring
to the lungs.

 

Or wish
for years
less lost.

 

As these
thoughts

attempt light.

 

Through
mere networks

of signs.

 

 

 


 

 

(Above is a piece based on poetry written aged 23.
I’ve felt unable to create poems, lately, due to illness.
Hope you think it works?)


(Below is a prelude to this post…)


 

 

Digital nightmare!

 

After logging in, unfamiliar sights transfixed me.
Waves of anxiety coursed through my body.
What was happening?

The screen now resembled a strange, alien puzzle.
A digital nightmare began.

The WordPress Block Editor had taken over! 😱

ARGH!!

 

(I soon nicknamed it “Blockheaditor”.)

Perhaps designed by geek sadists?
(Who’d decided we tech-phobes were not suffering enough already,
just trying to be bloggers.)

Being a humble poet: an image with some words underneath was all I knew.

Struggling against disorientation: a panicky nausea arose.
As if betrayed by a trusted friend.

Amid confusing options, I sought pathways to coherence.
Painful hours passed.

Finally, my nervous hand crept toward the “Publish” button.

Would this reveal success?
Or disaster?

Click!

I squinted into an electronic glow.

Had the words appeared correctly?

There?

 

HERE?

 

 

 


 

 

Have any others found the Block Editor an unwanted change?

It may be great for those with more ability than me.
Or who need extra features.

But I prefer freedom of choice to compulsion.

 

Comments are always very welcome!🙏

 

Thank you 👏
for reading.

 

(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?)

 


 

(PS:

Sorry for the lack of content, recently.
Depression’s been hitting me hard.
Motivation got crushed.

Intended to post at least once per month, but failed.

On the positive side, I’m still active:
following 277 people;
using the reader,
and discovering new blogs.)

 

Wishing you all well.🙂

 


(anxiety / art / beauty / blog / blogging / depression / drawing / life / mental health / poem / poems / poetry  / thoughts / writing )



			

The message

1_Page_04

An ancient code
long wove through
souls.

 

Its falling tremor
a veiled melody.

 

At times
barely heard.

 

As if
breaking

on distant shores.

 

Or sought
in old minds

beset
with
dismal thoughts.

(Like dark soil
chafed
by some goading
plough.

As heckling crows
caw down
from
the pointed wood.)

 

 

Though
still

a message
may come.

Scorning our rules.

 

(While men pretend

to have
understood.)

 

 

 

So
legends
are made

breathe.

 

In their
ageless

certainty.

 

 

 

Then carved.

 

 

Upon

wrinkled

stone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

(The poem above is a revision of one written when aged 23.
I find myself too ill for creating new poetry, at present.)

 


 

 

Impostor syndrome?

 

This blog passed 1,000 followers last week.  🎉
That appeared an unattainable total just a few months ago.

I am very grateful for all your support. 🤗

 

Yet depression (which currently grips me) has triggered a sort of impostor syndrome.

My inner-critic’s voice sneers:
“Ha! Get a book published before calling yourself a “poet”!
And putting old stuff online, means you aren’t even a proper blogger, either!”

(With a psyche like mine, who needs enemies?)

 

Yes: I do dream about being published, someday.
But have no idea how.
Or where to approach.

And when my symptoms are bad, I often end up feeling overwhelmed.
The energy required for self-promotion seems completely absent.

 

 

Does anybody else struggle against impostor syndrome?

Perhaps viewing themselves as a chronic amateur, among experienced bloggers?

Or imagining that others are “natural” writers, in ways one can’t match?

 

Comments are always VERY welcome!🙏

 

Thank you
for reading.🙂

 

(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?)

 


(anxiety / art / blog / blogging / depression / drawing / life / mental health / poem /poems / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

Fame!

1_Page_05

 

 

Fame

when now imagined
strays
from certain wilder dreams

to tamer ones.

In any case
persists.

Just

out
of reach.

 

Though chances
ebb
my heart still
lacks

self-love
enough
to
stop

that search.

 

This quiet

craving.

 

For
some
sense of

full
esteem.

 

 

Which never

grew

 

within.

 

 

 


 

 

Fame!

 

At last. 🤩

“Beyond my wildest dreams!!”  🙌 🎉

 

(Well, er, maybe not that far, but…)

 

Bristol 24/7  SW England’s biggest independent magazine
published a piece about me, this month:

“Blogging against oblivion

I promised them to put the link here.
And ask if you lovely people could be kind enough to click it, for a moment?🙏

 

That article is the only recognition I have ever had, outside of WordPress.

(Given my obscurity, age, and poor health: it might remain singular.)

The feature contains biographical information, plus artwork and photography.

 

I don’t enjoy self-promotion. Yet, perhaps, you will forgive me, on such an occasion?

So, please, take a look, if you can.

 

Did you like any of the images?

I hope you found it of some interest?

Comments are always VERY welcome!🤞🏻🙂

 

Thank you
for reading.

 

 

(PS: Any art, or photography, on the blog is mine.)


( art / blog / blogging / depression / drawing /  fame / life / mental health / photography / poem / poems / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

 

Forgotten happiness

scan 21-1

 

 

 

 

 

When I was a small boy
at the zoo

This world seemed
fresh.

And yet

If someone told me
then
how lonely
life would grow.

What could I have done
(or changed)
to stop that fate?

 

(Hence
not finish up
as melancholic.
Black-clad
faded soul.

Like a goth in spirit.

Minus
style.)

 

 

 

Perhaps long illness shows us
who our true friends are?

With mine revealing
I had none.

Except
a loving uncle.

Close
until the end.

 

His photographs were left for me.
Preserving childhood days.

Those early sunlit trips
escaped oblivion
again.

 

 

7

 
To my surprise
he claimed I’d been
a source of fun and joy.

 

(Depression
arrived later.

Once art waned
I lost my way.)

 

His favourite picture
caught me unaware
a swan approached
behind.

 

 

Konica12496

 

 

Recently
I found an unseen image
of what happened next.

 

He’d made it known
the bird drew near.

So I turned back
delightedly.

 

 

8

 

 

Thus
these few shots

which now
survive

though blurred
or aged

might still display

their faint remains

 

of such

(forgotten)

 

happiness.

 

 

 

 

 


 

(This is my third

Birthday blog post.

🎂

After 30 years of spending them alone (and ill)
I often feel sadness, on the day.
It tends to emphasise continued isolation.

My uncle used to ring me.
But, since his death, the phone stays, mostly, silent.)

 

Hope everybody is well?

Do you like any of the photos?

 

Comments are always VERY welcome!

 

Thank you
for reading.

 


( art / blog / blogging / depression / goth / life / mental health / photography / poem / poems / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

Elusive

Konica1248

 

 

Phrases arrive.

Discrete.
Homespun.

Through various fathomless
apertures
of sense.

Like empty sprites
word-bubbles
flash.

 

Then these visitors
(vanishing)
shrink to a speck.

Cross reeling
complexities.

 

Weaving down
past deeper veils.

Where older shades
lay mingled
in their graves.

With an
enigmatic
trace.

 

And thus
(I found)
remained.

Only certain
broken

images.

 

 

Half-

purified.

 

 

By
dream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

(Above is a revised poem, from when I was 23.)

I’m still unable to write fresh poetry, since a recent illness.
Post-viral depression eased, yet the creative spark’s gone missing.

 

 

 


 

 

 

I’ve spent more time than usual on WordPress in the last few months.
Enjoyed discovering loads of new writers, poets, artists, and photographers.

As a result the number of blogs I follow has reached about 240.
This is making it difficult to keep up!
(So far, I try to read every post from blogs I follow.)

Seeing my audience grow is exciting.
(I’m truly grateful to each one of you.)

Though I also feel quite guilty, for not following back all 
of those who are kind enough to follow me.
But the number (700+) seems rather large to make that practical?

 

I’d love to hear how many blogs other readers follow?

Do you think 240 is a lot?
Or am I being a WordPress wimp?🙂

Do you ever feel bad for not following people back?
Do you follow blogs you don’t actually read?

(I worry that over 300 may become hard to focus on?)

 

To be honest, I notice myself hesitate about following long-form, writers, lately.
Especially if they post more than once per day.

I’m much happier to follow those posting weekly, or infrequently.
Plus, art and photography blogs (which are often less text-heavy).

 

Comments are always VERY welcome!🙏

 

(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?)

 

Thank you
for reading.

 


( anxiety / art / blog / blogging / drawing / life / mental health / photography / poem / poems / poetry / reading / writing )

Internet magic!

 

Konica1254-1

 

What a magical place the internet seemed.

Once I signed up for e-mail, transformations began.

Charming ladies, were keen to date.
(Identifying as “hot local milfs.”)

These sounded a pleasant change
from those ice maidens
who blanked me
on lonely shopping trips.

 

Next, appeared financial offers
by the very rich.

People warned against responding.
Revealing cynical negativity.

“Your worldview must be sad, indeed,” I thought,
“Not trusting Nigerian royalty
with basic bank details.”

 

Sharp insight of strangers, also impressed.
Intuiting hidden desires.
For male enhancement products.
And female company.

How could they possibly know me, so well?
It felt a little spooky.

 

Though other messages made no sense.
As if tormented minds shared
deranged states.

Some spam undermined itself
using blatant brand names
in a web address.

 

But certain complimentary mail
one wished were genuine.

 

“You’ve done a formidable job on the blog!”
Said Google.com
“Our community’s grateful to you.”

Had tech giants noticed Me?
Then why did stats stay low?

 

A special comment lit new sparks
amid my loneliness:

“I’m extremely pleased, finding your great site!”
Wrote Ukraine high-class escort.

“I truly savoured every part of it.
And have you saved in favourite.”

 

Might this be my muse, at last?
Wistfully, I sighed.
Imagining melancholy beauty.
A passionate Slavic soul.

I yearned to hear her exotic accent.
Or speak my only Russian words.
(Perhaps provoke a smile?)

Alas!
Grown too old to meet her, now.

(Could I even afford to?)

 

Yet
a poor man still has dreams.

(Shameful
I confess.)

 

 

That internet magic
just
persists.

 

And keeps me

in

 

its spell.

 

 

 

 


 

(Should this piece have a British irony alert, at the top?
Can my sense of humour work without emojis?)

 

I took a blogging break, this month; for the first time in three years.
Had fun, discovering new sites, and interacting.

Meant to post last Sunday, but messed up.
A poem refused to go right.
Anxiety set in.
(“Maybe I can’t write poetry any more?”)

Then late night, brain-fog, and exhaustion, wore me down.
So another week was lost.

 

Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

Do you ever enjoy spam?

Comments are always VERY welcome!🙏

Thank you
for reading.

 


( anxiety / art / beauty / blog / drawing / humor / humour / life / mental health / poem / poems / poetry / reading / writing )

The summons

Konica12524

 

 

Hear our call!

Come journey
into dark.

 

Where those dead
seem closer.

And the live
more lost.

 

Sense furious spirits

Curse chasms
of extinction.

 

Feel your flesh
watched

by some inhuman
eyes.

 

Let us stalk
ruthless

and empty.

 

Through echoing
passions

 

grown stronger

 

than
minds.

 

 

 

 


 

(I created this piece on the same evening as Pale mistress.

Conceiving both as “Vampire poems.”

A similar mood recurred, decades later, when City night arrived in my head.

Yet the muse has deserted me, again, since it was written.)

 

Behind such works, lay youthful dreams of romantic adventure.
A painful time: when I adored women, with no idea how to attract them.

I remember a Bauhaus gig in 1979. Then wishing for a goth girlfriend.
(While feeling they had zero interest in me.)

One photograph from around those days is on the (May 2019) post A reject.

 

Due to illness, I’m even paler and thinner, now.
Though a bit old for studs or leather!

At least I can still wear black.

🖤  🙂

 

 


 

Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

Were you ever part of a musical subculture?
Or drawn to a style connected with one?

Comments are always VERY welcome! 🙏

 

Thank you
for reading.

 


( art / beauty / blog / drawing / goth / mental health / music / photography / poem / poems / poetry / reading / vampire / writing )

Pale mistress

Konica12523

 

Awake in velvet.

Blackness framed her nails.

 

Then I fought desire
but
(captured by those eyes)
lost force.

 

Resistance gone
she drew me down
toward both hungry lips
and sharp
white

teeth.

 

“Dear Lord, preserve my soul…”

I grasped at words
which fled away.

They drifted
through dead air
like falling snow.

 

Too late for escape

I noticed sounds

as if small
flapping wings
evaded sight.

Or strange
melodies were
(somehow)
produced

by tiny hands

on glinting stabs
across piano
keyboards.

 

While feeling
coldness
stretching
wide as night

over
distant trees.

 

(O life: where is thy warmth?)

 

 

 

Beside me, now
she lay
content.

Yet said

“Past victims haunt our rest.
Old wounds pollute
the psyche with
dread
mortality.”

 

 

I trembled:

Sensing

that voice

rise.

 

 

From a
void

 

 

which had

 

no

end.

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

(Above is a revised version of poem written at the age of 21.

As a lonely young man I secretly longed to meet a seductress.
Of course, I didn’t really want her to be undead or soulless.
(Though, many people I met in daily life showed little sign of having a soul, either.)

Anyway, I was always attracted by goth looking females.
So went a bit “full vampire” with this. 🧛🏻‍♀️)

 

My post-flu depression has eased, yet left me still unable to write poetry, at present.

 

Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it? 🙏

 

Comments are always VERY welcome! 🙂

 

Has anyone else spent more time on WordPress than usual, recently?

(I’ve found many interesting new artists, poets, writers, and photographers to follow.)

 

Thank you
for reading.

 


( art / beauty / blog /depression / drawing / fiction / goth / love / mental health / poem / poems / poetry /  romance / writing )