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 )

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 )

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 )

Monster!

Konica10237

 

 

“Hello, my dear,” the monster said.

“Who’s this?” she cried.

“Come to me, little one.”

“Hey, that’s creepy!”

“You can be a princess
in the underworld.”

“Ugh! Let go!”

“Love’s more pure beyond the grave.”

(Those hands touch
round her throat.)

 

 

Now
here I was
with a pocketknife.

Large plastic torch.

(And holy water
too.)

Sat
fearful.

Waiting
in the crypt.

 

Outside
thick fog

conceals
faint murmured
groans.

 

Some
thing moves
closer

all
the time.

 

 

 

 

 

Get ready!

 

 

It’s
nearly
midnight.

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

(Above is a piece from when I had just turned 21.
Partly inspired by old horror movies.)

 


 

Hope you are well?

My flu-type illness has improved a lot.
Though the post-viral depression lingers.

At present, I feel unable to write poetry.

 

Is anyone else spending more time online than usual?

I found the greatest benefit of that, was discovering many interesting new bloggers
(artists, poets, photographers, and writers) in recent weeks.

Some have even visited my site.

It’s so nice to connect with other creative people.

(And, perhaps I am slightly immature, but an unexpected like still gets me excited.)

 

Comments are always VERY welcome.

 

Thank you
for reading.   🙂

 

 

(Art on the blog is mine.)

 


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

Under closed eyes

1_Page_07-1

 

 

 

“The self is not enough.
But that’s all we’ve got.”

Said a voice
across
my dream.

 

Yet I sensed a
small bright
glow

emerge
within.

 

As if some light
had already
opened

the tick
of a tiny
flower.

 

Split from
its negative

through darkness.

 

 

Under

these

still-closed

eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

(Above is a poem from when I was aged 20.
Inspired by things glimpsed during semi-conscious states.)

 

Creating verse seems beyond me, at present.

The flu, with its fevers and headaches, has eased.
But post-viral depression lingers on.

Viewing the current lockdown, from the perspective of someone
isolated by chronic illness (mainly housebound and alone) for over 30 years:
it feels rather strange to see so many people now
struggling to cope with a slightly similar situation.

If symptoms improved, restless urges for social life would also trouble me.

As fate turned-out, the chances for love, friends, or normality, faded long ago.

Of course, current restrictions could, shortly, be lifted.
While my own health problems remain incurable.

 

I thought of writing a post about dealing with solitude.

Though I worry this blog’s reach is too small, and my circumstances too unusual,
for helping others.

 

Comments are always VERY welcome! 🙏

 

Hope everybody is well?

Have you spent more time online?

(I’ve found lots of interesting new blogs in the last few weeks.)

 

 

Thanks for reading! 🙂

 

 

(Art on this site is mine.)


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

Kiss your chains

1_Page_10

 

 

Commotion through my heart.

I moved into her room.

Taking a straight line
though sideways seemed best.

(Sometimes you have to make do.)

 

She was ready.

 

And, afterwards, said:

“Kiss your chains!
Before you go back home.

Kiss them, honey!

 

OK.

Stand up, now.”

 

 

By then
I really
wanted
a cuddle.

 

 

But sometimes

 

you have

to make do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

(The above piece dates from when I was 20 years old.)

 

I’m too ill for writing poetry, lately.
My brain affected by a virus.
Into the fourth weekend, and it’s still continuing.

Luckily the fever and headache abated.
Though depression increased.

I resisted a break from blogging, which might have been sensible.
These Sunday posts form a chance to connect with readers, that I don’t want to lose.
With a small following, I fear being forgotten altogether, during any absence.

My anxiety about running out of food eased.
Finding empty shelves now partially refilled, in local shops.
(I could not buy preferred choices, but there were, at least, alternatives.)

 

The best thing about the last fortnight was spending more time on WordPress.

I discovered many interesting blogs.
Plus enjoyed interacting with various writers, poets, photographers, and artists.

 

Hope everybody is well?

 

Have you been online for longer than usual?

 

Comments are always VERY welcome!

 

Thank you
for reading.

 

 

 

(Art on the blog is mine.)

 


 

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

Secrets are for spies

9

 

 

 

Explore a face.

 

 

Mine reveals little.

 

This tired old mug:

fit only
to be endured.

 

Though
sometimes
my mouth
bears fruit.

 

 

Yet secrets remain.

 

I can’t help you with them.

 

 

 

Secrets
are for spies.

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

The poem above was the last piece of writing from my teens.

Your comments are always welcome! 😊

Hope everybody is well? 🙏

 

Thank you
for reading.

 

(Any art or image on the blog is mine.)


 

 

Update:

Apologies if this post is less coherent than normal.
Disorientation prevents proper concentration and editing.

I’m really struggling, presently.
The virus, mentioned before, has flared up for a third weekend running.
(Assume it’s flu, but don’t understand why symptoms keep recurring, intead of easing?)

Feeling feverish, exhausted, and in great pain.
Very difficult sitting at my computer, or focussing on words.

Though I refuse to abandon blogging.

Starting to get anxious about the current situation.

Was too poorly for much shopping, during recent weeks.
Using limited reserves.

Venturing out midweek(after five days) I found supermarkets almost stripped of food.
Never seen anything like it.
Now I can’t restock.

I’ve largely been socially isolated for almost 30 years, due to chronic health problems. Going to the shops is the only place I regularly get near others.
Yet still catch colds and flu.
Buses are full of coughing people, all year round, in England.

 


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