napowrimo
counting my losses
controlling regrets
bitterness grates on my teeth and i sweat in the night
no sweet restoration
there is no creation
can’t paint
can’t dance
can’t read very long and can’t type
neurologically challenged
hidden in armour
and ”doing so well” on the outside
now tell me
what IS the purpose of this?
Am I washed up and is this the tide line
Yes Surgeon whatever you say
you know best
ha
I dont suppose that’s right
i really dont
because i know what will happen next
but
seeing his hands later
touched me deep inside my psyche
just a man but he opened me up
poked at my heart
switched it off
and followed my arteries
a street map of blood that stopped gushing while he clamped and channeled
and changed the flow from its route
the canal through my heart
and I’m lost but he doesn’t lose me
with my heart descended
decidedly stopped
and quickly restarted
and my soul suspended in limbo and shock
behind and above him and blind
while he looks at the wreckage he never expected
and devotedly mends
so kind, so determined
i really cant hate him
i cant help but love him
i love him because he’s a saviour
so kind
Then partially fixed and partly destroyed
when they shift me from the cold table
after three strokes, not out
you might call me disabled
i might call it tabled and shelved
i still cant call it grateful,
I’m wrecked
There’s a deep dark hue
to the worst of dreams.
I’ve been hanging out with the dead.
Those old ghosts are controlling my head
My heart is an open wound
Sweet grapes stuck in old glue.
Close the door.
Baby, I’m crushed, battered and blue
from banging myself on these boarded-up walls
with the juice pouring out on your floor.
Held down and shrouded by clouds,
Enveloping, heavy and grey,
there are people who cannot rise.
They are deprived of any fresh air
yet they show no sign that they care
Others are born to fly
above,
where thought is ardent and clear,
in the vastness of open blue skies
stretching for miles and miles.
You are one such my dear.
Don’t sit and suffocate here.
The water here is clear and bright.
It has a summer dazzle.
On this beautiful island
the water laps against the shore and I smell salt and shells.
A shore of bleached white sand running through my open hand.
It’s been a year without a poem.
The world became too real.
And where did I go in that dark space?
Too crystal clear
and full of stalking fears.
Trapped in fractured time
with dreams from fentanyl.
It haunts me still; ten weeks in hell, unconscious, surviving on my wits
Music, music, music,
My head is full of music
and memories interlaced with tunes
Woven into patterns and wandering variations
New melodies unlocked by changing keys
The moods of major, minor
Triumphant shifts then pathos
To rest in lullaby and memories of dreams.
It’s too hot to write.
Sweat is dripping in my eyes.
I turned my keyboard off tonight
To try to keep it cool is wise.
Music brought us all together
Sun or rain didn’t matter
We went dancing in the mud.
Student, hippy, drop-out, traveller, punk,
There was no real space between us.
Hendrix, Dylan, Floyd, The Clash, Sabbath and Santana
Floated us above the void.
Keith Richards punching rhythm bound us to the bouncing beat
and brought us prancing us to our feet
We had a vision; a world with no divisions,
Positive the world could change.
We were busy looking inward
So it’s not so strange
We didnt see ourselves surrounded
By the swiftly gathering chains.
He always knew I watched him.
I made no secret of it.
A child obsessed with ancient gods I chose him.
Did he choose me or I choose him?
I neither know nor care.
A bargain had been struck,
Just as his foot struck the earth
before he took to flight
and where he went, I followed
inspired by happiness or sorrow.
I don’t know why I write this now
It isn’t me who holds the pen.
Now my youth is gone
He compels me in the task
Of speaking truth to men.
The Dreaming Path 