Day: August 2, 2016

In deep now,turn off that light

I’m in deep now,never been this deep before
The world’s hollow like a shell and I’m out its door.
In so deep, the ocean has its own startled floor.
I’m down,down.down.never been so dark , so more

I can’t rightly tell how I got where I am
I think I had an accident,fell over, then I swam.
Sometimes it’s a loss, be times it’s my man.
I guess I have to  stay   till my time is done

I don’t know if the joy is worth the pain
Would I choose to relive it , if I was born again?
The dark joy is the amazing gain.
But the sorrow is  damn sad, let’s admit it plain.

I’m in deep and it’s over my head
What was I thinking of,when I fell  out of that bed?
I look up and  the sea’s so  turquoise like  that mist   is red
When we get good and mad and wish some loon was dead.

At first, it was all just black,black pain
But from the bottom of the  well, I looked up with awed love again.
That’s when I recalled,feelings are plain and sane.
Joy is much greater when we’re in the danger zone.

I dunno if I’m  ever comin’ out.
We can’t control it,ain’t that what life’s all about?
I’ll never love with innocence again,nor not feel doubt.
But I’m no teapot and the devil ain’t got my spout.

I’m swimming and the ocean’s so mysteriously bright
Down here we don’t have no day nor no night
Fish nudge me with  big grins  and   teeth white
Sea flowers fondle me and whisper,turn off that light

Freud

IMG_0083

Ronald Laing
Said he rang
I split him off
Cos I felt rough.

Wilfred Bion
Liked his iron
An odd name
Eckhart changed.

 

Melanie Klein
A tough spine.
She  blamed the child
For  being genetically wild

Anna Freud
Was self employed
Doing   analysis
For folk with paralysis.

 

One third of the vicctims killed in terror attack in Nice were Muslims

More than one-third of the people killed in the Nice truck attack were Muslim

My shepherd

The Lord’s my Shepherd,I’ll not scratch.
Oh, raise me   with words
Underneath the arches,I’ll sit and eat my shoe.
Scarlet ribbons made her glare.
Guardian angels set heaven alight.
Wraiths of our fathers ‘ living bill.
God blessed our Hope
Yesterpray.
Welcome to the Communist State  of Diarrhea.
You keep sewing your  way.
In search of lost crimes with Marred Cell Pouffe.
A still small choice .
Ezekiel,why are you Lear?
My  fiance was a Jew until he met me.Then there were three.His mother made a big impression one me… with her shoe!
Don’t believe all I write.I have blurred derision and fantasy.
The Lord’s my shepherd,so he taunts.

Patterns

We think grieving must have a pattern
So mother knits a jumper following her pattern
And grief must have one too.
We’re all different sizes
So  knitting patterns do have a bit of variation
Knitting a coat for your cat or dog
That needs a quite other pattern.
But much as we like our patterns for predicting and ordering our lives
Maybe there isn’t one for sorrow.
Maybe killing yourself might be over-reacting
Though many spouses die close together naturally.
Starving ourself might be too much
But nobody else knows,except the lost one,
What in us might govern our grieving.

With quarrelling too there are wide variations
I hurt my sister,in a week we make up.
But for others it brings  40 years of silence
Maybe apologising  is seen as failure, as a wound to our self
Whereas for some it’s a welcome means of relating again

For some things,like our British weather, the patterns are unstable
Or don’t exist.
So we feel our way like the blind do through a cave,touching with our fingers
Trying to guess the route.
And some people hurt us by saying.YOU  WILL NEVER FEEL BETTER.
And others by saying,stop moaning.
And they say,NEVER STAY IN BED.
When that might help us for a few days….
It’s as if they think that if we  depart slightly from their path we will  go mad  or die.
But nobody knows

Do we need permission to be sad?

Do we need permission to be sad?
Do we need a licence  if we groan?
Can  a human turn into a stone?
Is inflicting vision ever bad?

 

When  suppressed feelings  drive us mad
May we loose that hidden undertone?
Do we need permission to be sad?
Do we need a licence  if we groan?

 

Who would need these licences when glad?
Who would not succumb when overthrown
Who would like to hide beneath a stone?
Who would have a carapace be sewn

Do we need permission to be sad,
From anyone whose laughter makes us mad?

 

 

 

 

Then icicles will droop

Grief , a rain of loving tears  flows down
To match the weather that I see without.
I’ve known good fortune, that I never doubt
So may I  wear my sorrow’s tear- jewelled gown?

When winter comes with frost and fearsome frown
Then icicles will droop where my lips pout.
Grief , a rain of loving tears  flows down
To match the weather that I see without.

I  fear not that the seeds of life will drown
Though they are soft and never scream or shout
Yet  etiquette is  broken by each bout
So I must buy a long dark widow’s gown
Grief , a rain of loving tears  flows down.

 

 

 

What is a rondel poem?

Photo0508

 

http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/rondel-poetry-form

Here are the rondel poetry form rules:

  1. Poem consists of 13 lines in 3 stanzas
  2. Rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains)
  3. Usually 8 syllables per line

 

If you wish to write a rondel prime (or supreme), add a 14th line. In fact, rondel prime sounds pretty cool.

Here’s my attempt at a rondel poem:

“Some Good”

Every day, there is some good;
every day, there is some bad.
Don’t worry about what you had
or waste your time knocking on wood,

because this life’s misunderstood,
and there’s no reason to get mad–
every day, there is some good;
every day, there is some bad.

Crime happens in all neighborhoods,
though in some crime is just a fad.
If you live somewhere safe, be glad
you’re well off. Elevate your mood–
every day, there is some good.

*****

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