Posted in Poetry, prose

Freakout Voice

Hypocrites. All of us jaded. (WP library)

Unfortunately, this is true. My mind is running ragged. Throwing thread-bare cloth to the ground. Nothing fits in the tired luggage i lug around.

So i am sitting here. Typing on my phone. To an audience i cannot smile towards. Or notice the faces that hold an ounce of cure. Hoping fate drags me from this gear that imprisons my soul.

Contradicting myself, i slump back into my head. Wallow in my memory, to bank an unknown future on prayer alone.

Alone.

Posted in letters, Memoir, Poetry, prose

diary excerpt —the old broke through

Felt brave -well enough, so i peered into the book and read his words. Our words.

Jan 19, 2017, 2:13 PM

Stopped my thoughts

and when i stopped
writing you
voices flooded in -mocking

“Why are you bothering?”
“You’re not going to make it?”

Concentrate on anything
but this
this tight chest and lorazepam.

The knife digs in -relentless.

“Just take it.” I hear.

Forced to give in
I conquer fear.

i feel safe.
i’m home.
And that can be
a problem
i need to overcome.

Do u think it is social anxiety because i read something and it made sense. But also about attachments and neurosis.

Do u know when u dont answer i can find myself growing anxious. Second guessing myself, not feeling safe for saying stuff i mean to keep to myself. I havent been bothered lately. I find myself looking around but im okay. Just a couple times, anxious, and

upset with myself because of this.

I cant be still not knowing what to do. Should, or rather, i need to talk.

I dont know and that makes it bad. Then another thing, this taking medicine. Should i try to stop. Maybe ill be all right. But what if not. Will it just cause more harm. Fretting that im stuck in this hole. But i dont feel stuck now, everyone is gone. Its okay. Its better that way. This is long.

Sorry.

I only notice when I leave the house. Looking out

the top floor window seemed safe to leave; leaving was a totally different reality.

“What do you think? I feel like i should be able to go outside but find myself sleeping, not able to move.” He didn’t have an answer.

“I think ill be okay. Thought maybe if i came to talk every 2 months…” She continued the conversation but never realized he was closed off to her after too many years of stagnation.

The escape. A shadow dances, from out the corner of her eye. Her mind unable to override the dark sky.

——–

Stopping my thoughts today? Good luck. I finish my papers but when i stop writing it all floods in, mocking me. “Why are you bothering? Your not going to make it?”

After a while, trying to write, i just couldnt write. Couldnt concentrate on anything but this. My chest is tight and hurts. I tried relaxing, taking lorazapam. Nothing works.

Its all front and center reminding me its not over no matter how much i wish and want to be free. I have no answers or know what im doing wrong.

All i did was stop and something took advantage of the weak wall.

The old broke through.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Soul Journal

Alone

Yesterday, so many old feelings returned. Im angry. Im hurt. The relays of old films played all day in my mind. Scenarios I thought Id forgiven.

I was triggered into old patterns of behaving. Im utterly sad. After the heated emotions, I remind myself to keep forgiving them, so Im spared further damage to my heart.

I suppose I’m depressed too. My soul is tired and art has lost all color. Damn if I haven’t fallen hard.

I know this too will pass. The sun will shine again. But I am broken and hurt and mad.

Forgiveness promises very little in the midst of anguish. In the morning I plan to rise.

Posted in Art, Poetry, Soul Journal

Woodland Echoes

Printmakers paper, acrylics, ephemera, found leaves, coffee stains, and a piece of my poetry. With painted pages ready to add additional words, feathers, pressed flowers or leaves, and whatever else a heart desires.

Found in the Lost Pile of Civility (Jan 2019)

Seems to me
as we slowly decline
we beat around the bush
contemplate how to survive.

Generations realize this drift
on a sail-less boat
the cloth wrapped around our bleeding hearts
words confessed on bended knees
misses the sliver in private eyes.

Same old, same old story.
The beginning is the end.
The terror in other's minds
now belongs to us.
Realize hungry is,
as was,
and nothing eaten satisfies.

Measure our words against ourselves
need I stand upon a soapbox
add my rhetoric to humanity's misery?

As ash buries the smoldering coals
are we aware we are wandering
found among the lost pile of civility?
Posted in music, Photography, Poetry

Melody —Senryū

Bright Side of the Pink Moon
seeking familiar
loneliness settles towards pitch
the strum of a string

https://youtu.be/OmKCb9LcEoM https://youtu.be/kIB7a7f_keQ https://youtu.be/Ny6QK_E5BrY

Yesterday. I once played this song continuously on the guitar I bought myself in high school. As a teen, my summer days were spent babysitting for a divorced mom who worked for The Braille School in Milwaukee WI. The family came from New Zealand and had sheep rugs scattered throughout the house and ate lots of vegemite. The kids had a cat named Erasmus and a pet goldfish, whose name eludes me. The dad was a small-engine pilot and flew planes out of Oshkosh WI. I wonder where they are now?

Cheers 🍻 mates and good day!

Posted in Poetry

First Hint

Copyright free image.
His words appeared
as green shoots
in frozen brown
and I waltzed into
the memory of smell,
a fragrance he once wore
on the crisp autumn air.

The seasoning chimes
and the raw breath released,
he floated away
with me
curving through the cumulus
and running breeze.

Posted in Poetry

storm to safety

winding up
to blow over
everyone
and everything
that stands in my way…
i sense no path -forward
or backward
isolated in a forest
with overgrown fears
closing in
surrounding my feet

i change my mind -escape
and morph into another
hiding once more
an invisible ticket
expired and worn
barely readable
the conductor puts on his glasses
and hangs his head…
the fog thickens

expands

and -poof
persistence
fades as quickly
as memory
is no path
to walk
or hold hands.

(tough morning… so i wrote in hopes peace could ensue… 9/19/2018)

Posted in Photography, Poetry

john

he says
not your friend
but he cannot fathom
the depth
of his words
carved on stone

“goodbye”

my weakest point
and i tremble
at being alone
even in my happiness
tears well
knowing he is gone

—–

I sincerely hope he finds what he is seeking. What he believes he needs. 😚😇

Posted in Poetry

ramble on

i may never
meet such a man -again

covered in satin
words edged in diamonds
born in his throat
the fire sparked through

never heard a syllable
the rat-a-tat-tat -thunder

our hearts beating faster
he hides in my hair
a stinger barette
left behind to chew