Dream triad

Konica12520

 

 

 

 

1)    Entrance.

 

Grotesque impressions

flashed before her mind.

Forms which moved
through shadows.

“I feel faint,” she thought
“but can’t give in.”

Intuiting
cold vastness
beyond her frightened face.

From where an updraught blew.

Its source:
that entrance
like a grave.

Steps slanted down.

What passageway was this?

She found a door
yet froze.

As if held back
by clinging vines.

Or some malign narcotic
slowly weakening
her will.

 

 

 

2)   The click.

 

With sounds of falling
dim light blinked.

Then motion
overhead
came closer.

Unknown shapes.

She braced herself.

 

And heard

the click.

 

 

 

 

3)   Ivy.

 

The door had shut.

Trapped there
groping round in darkness
hands brushed ivy.

Massed leaves
meeting fingertips.

She tore a large
old spider’s web.

While fear
suffused
her heart.

 

 

It seemed
now

such
a long
time

 

 

since

 

she had been

kissed.

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Hello everyone!

This poem dates from when I was 19.

For me, it marks a period of using poetry and music (learning guitar) against depression.
Which had marred my previous year.

 

(Art on the blog is mine. I hope you like the painting?)

Comments are always VERY welcome! 🙏

 

Thank you
for reading.

 

 


 

(PS:

The virus mentioned last week has flared up again.
Brain fog, exhaustion, and pain are making writing difficult.

But life would feel even lonelier without blogging.

Best wishes to you all. )


 

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

Sleep’s gravity

 

 

Konica12517

 

 

 

 

 

Though eyes grow tired
the mind works on

reflecting
how

beyond a lethargy

(when chains of barren days
are linked
as weeks)

those sparks still linger
in our depths.

To counter
fears

creative fire
died out

or atrophied.

 

 

Remembering
a strange
walk home.

Possessed by an
amorphous sense
of luck.

Which energised my steps

while noting
symbols

(even seen
in twisted wire and
skull-shapes
formed from
crumpled paper).

 

Suddenly

a pure white cat
came
purring
at my feet.

Its beauty like
some night-born
spirit.

Inexplicably
profound.

 

This one
evening where
things felt more
for me than
against.

 

An aura of
significance, whose
code remained unbroken

once I
later
lay in bed.

 

Alertness so
fast fading.

 

Sinking
down.

 

Through
sleep’s

insistent
gravity.

 

 

My body on such
ebb tide.

 

Soon

the
undertow

had dragged
me

off
toward

 

that

 

other

shore.

 

 

 

 

 

Of dreams.

 

 

 

 


 

(1981)

 



 

Hi guys!

 

I’m in a mess:
After almost 3 weeks with a badly-infected thumb and finger on my writing hand.
Can barely hold a pen due to pain.
Pus is trapped under the nail.

Taking antibiotics now. But no improvement, so far.

Also under viral attack. Feverish, with chest infection.

Plus all my multiple chronic illness symptoms.

Feeling quite depressed and anxious trying to cope, alone.

 

Having to write by instinct, now.
Through “brain-fog”.

Please let me know if you think the above (edited prose) works as a poem?

 

Your likes and comments are the most positive things in my life, these days.

 

Any art on the blog is mine. Hope you like it?

Comments are always very welcome!

 

Thank you for reading.

 


 

(PS:

Next weekend will be my birthday post.

If I’m well enough to create one…)

 


 

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

 

 

Suspended normality

Konica12572

 

 

 

That moment when

for reasons unexplained
a train halts in
darkness.

People wonder where
they are, but
nothing can be seen
outside.

The view has donned
night’s veil.
Gone indistinct.

 

We peer from
well-lit carriages
at an enigmatic blank.

Vague unease
stirs slightly
behind masks of
unconcern.

 

Normality suspended
leaves new doubt
round journey plans
or calculated times.

 

Certain faces look constrained
as if exposed
to scrutinising stares.

While others talk
with neighbours, now
and humanise the silence.

 

 

Alone

I gaze
at my reflection’s
odd distortion

set across
the window’s glass.

 

 

Envisaging a limbo

where this situation
turns into an
afterlife:

 

Our spirits trapped
through metal cells.

Unendingly.

 

 

What pointless fate.

 

To maybe
find oneself

surrounded.

 

By
some

throng

 

of decayed
souls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like
mine.

 

 

 


 

(1981)

 


 

 

 

Hi guys!

 

Older prose has morphed toward poetry again, in editing.
But past work is still categorised according to its original form.

 

(My health problems are so dominant at present, I was worried about managing any blogging this weekend.

I’ve attended two hospitals and a medical walk-in centre in the space of four days.

The infected thumb and finger on my writing hand will not clear up.
Hard to do the simplest things, and the pain is bad.

Have also been losing my vision due to migraines.
Plus a cold, viral outbreak, and the usual mass of M.E./CFS/ pancreatic symptoms.
The stress of illness affects mental health as well. Anxiety especially.)

 

Sorry to be missing out on other people’s posts, being too unwell for much activity on WordPress, recently.

 

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

Comments are always very welcome!

Thank you for reading.

 

 

 


(anxiety / art / blog / blogging / depression / fiction /life / mental health / painting / poem / poetry / thoughts / writing)

Ethereal

 

Konica12455-1

 

 

 

November’s night had cast a spell

when low mist wrapped the valley’s trees
its gentle grasp

ethereal.

 

Though their tops still bulged
from this pale shroud
as if curious sea monster
heads
surveyed some shallow bay

well silvered by
strong
full moon’s light.

 

 

The whole place set
quite deep in peace.

While my breath
merged fast
with freezing air.

 

I passed across
one small iron bridge
which trembled faintly
under weight.

Below rose
muffled trickling sounds
where the rain-starved stream
sent remnant water
moving
down its narrow cleft.

 

 

Nature’s cold
reversion to
an eerie calm
evoked a quieter age.

Here I felt no urge for speech
but, rather,
sensed
our finitude
before eternity.

 

Envisaging
oblivion

approaching at
slow
steady pace.

Invisible
yet pitiless.

 

 

Once reaching slightly
higher ground
I looked back on
that spectral scene.

Then followed
a familiar route
through dismal
charmless streets.

 

 

It was by now
extremely late,
thus, craving sleep
I hurried home.

Regretful

since suspecting

there

(just giving way
to habit)

I’d resume

 

my
empty
life.

 

 

 

 


 

(1978)

 


 

(Hi guys!

My old prose got poetised again, during editing.
Please let me know if you think this works, as a poem?
(Illness and depression make it hard to trust my own judgement.)

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

Comments are always VERY welcome!

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

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

Spun from light

 

Konica12576

 

 

 Lostness    ( 105 )

 

 

Who decided we need music in bookshops?

Why save no peaceful corners for
a quiet soul to seek?

 

Introverts get reduced choice
as others move to bar more space
from unfilled silent time.

Creating asymmetric stress
on those made tense by noise.

 

Aping malls, cafes, and
lavatories: will
libraries soon
proclaim some added sounds?

 

At hospitals
I’ve fretted
pain’s lost hours
trapped facing
fixed TV’s.

(Many adverts later
euthanasia gained appeal.)

 

Illness drove me there again
a body breaking down.

Sat wishing I’d been spun from light
not draped by weary flesh.

 

 

Awareness of deficiencies
may leave unsolved
their cure.

Though deep within
are yearnings for
a place
beyond this state.

 

Yet being gloomy
through these moments
what will brighten up the rest?

(Or if I can’t change now
then when?)

 

 

But misfortunes
starve
an appetite
that hungers after hope.

 

And a heart craves
thought
which
comforts.

 

While
sour truths

just feed
despair.

 

 

 

(2012)

 


 

( Any art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?

Comments are always very welcome!

It’s so nice when people break the silence and isolation of blogging with chronic illness.

Thank you all for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / blogging / depression / lostness / mental health / music / painting / poem / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )

Piercing through

 

Konica12456

 

 

Lostness    (102)

 

 

X million sperm had swum for life

and to the quickened one
who won these
years
in light

existence
started with a race
gestated vague survivor guilt.

 

Then thoughts it might be best
to go back
dreaming
snug
inside a scarlet cave.

 

But fear already
sank so deep
this stomach didn’t rest
from turning.

Hearing sudden noises round me
piercing through unshielded walls
pressed all concentration hard
which rendered calmness
something lost

though found by others
(duly envied
in their
peace).

 

 

My body’s now
a futile site
where nature
slowly erodes hope
of chance for sharing
beauty’s grace.

While sensing women formed
the gateway that
will always remain
closed.

And being shamed
I shall not
enter
feeling manly
(let alone become
a father)
since
long illness leaves
me sticking fast
in stasis.

Lately grasping
after somber
themes.

Exploring

just how
truly stuck

I am.

 

 

 

(2011)


 

(Art on the site is mine. I do hope you like it?

Comments are extremely welcome!

Interaction is one of the best parts of blogging.

It’s such a nice break to isolation: hearing if anyone has got something from a post.

Thank you for reading.)

 


 

( anxiety / art / beauty / depression / drawing / life / lostness / love / mental health / painting / poem / poetry / thoughts )