Category: Angst

As waves die

The music is the waves as they run high
Across the pebbly sands onto the road
Then groaning of the shingle as waves die

The fish that dwell deep in the dark, dark brine
The flow within as outer waters flow
The music of the waves as they run high

The moon reflects sun’s light to other eyes
Above the seas which rise up to its goad.
Then groans the shingle as the steep waves die

The sea holds hidden goods where we can’t pry
In the deep the heavy water moulds
The music of the waves as they run high

All the day and all of the black night
The seas and oceans change from high to low
Ah, groans the earth as each wave has to die

Re-hear these sounds, are they a sacred code?
As angels wrestled, Jacob feared the Lord
His music is the waves as they run high
His groaning is the shingle as waves die

In the desert grey

I was walking in a desert grey and bleak
All alone, with none to speak or  eat
I shuddered when I realised the truth
I was unmarried, pregnant, mere refuse.

Cast out for other failings all unknown
My baby came too soon and I alone
A doctor with no face appeared and said
Your baby died ,I see he’s never fed

He flung my baby  on his heap of dead
I lay there  in the dirt, red with  my blood
I  had to leave or I  would  die of grief
The will to live  just stronger than a  leaf

I went to see my baby, and  he smiled
He was still alive, my love,my child
I took him in my arms,  where should we go?
I walked into that darkness full and slow

The shape and form

Put your painful feelings into form
The sonnet,villanelle, the triolet
The shape controls the anguish of the storm

Our wounds can shape our vision and our thoughts
Remember school, where bullies made you pay?
Put your painful feelings into form

Words like daggers pierce the loving heart
Oh, memory must not cut us off from play
The play controls the violence of the storm

Let all thought of vengeance now depart
Or our spirit blackens, then decays
Put those painful feelings into form

In its time the sun will bring new dawns
Tears will wash our souls from black to grey
The words compress,contain the bloody storm

Do not give the monsters time of day
Conversation does not always pay
Put your painful feelings into form
The shape will heal the anguish like a balm

From the bitter winter of the heart






We  feel the bitter winter of the heart
The icy hand ,the cruel teeth’s sharp bite
When close friends die, when lovers break apart

Terse,cruel words can make our deep self smart
The weak have  little power to make things right
So feel the bitterest winter of their hearts

Humans may like fruit be much too tart
Thus fantasied revenge  can  blind with light
As close friends die or false lovers depart

While we suffer, we seek maps and charts
Which path to  follow,which leads us aright
From  the bitter winter of the heart?

The muscles clench, the ligaments are taut
Faces frown, in mirrors demons  shriek
If close friends die or lovers haste to part

The pain of loss, the tears that agitate
The mental functions,all have gone on strike
Stricken in  the  winter of the heart

Retaliation , bitter, wants to fight.
Yet we have little time to see the Light
We   curse the bitter winter of the heart
Instinct, humbler. finds for us new charts

Willing





Do not cultivate a bitter heart
Nor spread the seeds of malice where you go
Accept the worst, be willing, though it smarts

Do not plot your hatred on a chart
Stand and feel , accept what we can’t know
Do not cultivate a bitter heart

When we suffer deeply, when death parts
The agony is torment passing slow
Accept the worst, be willing, wounds do smart

Though we have no dagger,words are sharp
The little snails have nothing but teach slow
Do not cultivate a bitter heart

Do not be the tiger as it snarls
Fate and death and anguish hurt us most
Accept, be first, be willing, though it smarts

As we sink down further into low
We see the glow worms, wondrous like lit snow
Open arms and time relieve our hearts
Accept, be patient, willing, that is smart

Swear words are so boring nowadays

Now we’re used to hearing “fuck” and “shit”
What words can we use to let off steam?
Oh, what a twit omitting words like “twat”
However will I have erotic dreams?

Few words are forbidden in our books
Little children learn to swear and scream
On the television, some won’t look
As words like this flow out in lengthy streams

Lady Chatterley, you were the cause
But what will be the affect and effect?
Lawrence, you were eager to enjoy
But who could know what others might detect?

I think I shall say ” sorry” when I rage
Would “lies and curses” draw more to my page?

You could not understand

If you came back you would not understand
The death of virtue ,truth and beauty too
And to advertise it,tell lies on demand

In my childhood, that bewitching land
Respect brought out good character to view
If you came you could not understand

Writing with a stick upon the sands
Up the tide will rush and wash out truth
So ,to advertise it,tell lies on demand

Evil,slick , obedient Eichmann stands
No human is as mighty as the noose
Coming back you would not understand

We can split an atom, yet be bland
Drop another bomb on human youth
To hide our sin we tell lies on demand

Once we worshipped Pan with horns and hoof
Now we worship Satan,God’s own proof
f you came back you would not understand
Media will tell lies and make demands

I


The silence glows

Aldeburgh,Sizewell,Dunwich Heath
The nuclear bomb shall bring eternal peace
Housed between the town and the Reserve
Its blackness is ignored by little birds

If force deters, then we shall all be saved
Or this our world will vanish without trace
Innocently playing on the shore
Children find old marble unrestored

Birds may sense the blackness of our hearts
For, even though unused, the bombs take part
They are here where Britten once composed
And so the sanctuary ends unsaved,destroyed

In between the lover and his rose
A screen electric in the silence glows

Ironized

Your eyes are sharp as razors boiled in wrath
It’s easy to provoke but less to soothe
My hair is protein, do not rip it off

You think you are above us yet we laugh
Your hair curls tightly. men don’t like it smooth
Your eyes are sharp as razors boiled in wrath

Though my hair is tangled I’ve no moths
I have no lice, nor eggs,so do not brood
My hair is protein, do not cut it off

You’ll catch nineteen germs if someone coughs
Stay in Lockdown, banish those who feud
Your eyes are sharp as needles boiled in wrath


,

Take your steely look and make it love
Our eyes can with such kindness be imbued
My hair is protein,I must be a Goth

Life is wasted when we start to feud
Or stick like needles in the rounded gtoove
Your eyes are sharp as hawks sent up in wrath
O tragic world,men hate more than they love

Wait on God,like waiting on a tide.

Wait on God,like waiting on a tide.
The moon exerts her pull with dignity
No human force can change how these seas ride.

We plead with God forever to abide!
Should we fear his great sagacity?
Wait on God as waiting for the tide.

Maybe it is his will which decides
Not ours to go there in audacity
No human force can change how these seas ride.

Do not mock and torment him we flayed
With no control of our temerity
Wait on God be patient towards the tides

When we suffer, we obey our pride
Demand we shall not lose our dignity
No human force can change how great seas ride

For a lover, life has clarity
Within those arms a rich variety
Wait on God,like waiting on a tide.
No human force can change the wild seas ride.

We forget that grief is close to fear

My skin is aching,tender, loss has pierced
My heart needs walls, its boundary has gone.
I miss the touch of love from him so dear |
|
A rack of metal pins brought me tears
Why suffer this till I am quite undone?
My skin is aching,tender, by loss pierced

We forget that grief is close to fear
When alone, we panic, what’s to come?
I ache without the love from him so dear

Psychotic, with no unity, who steers?
My head is so remote,I have no plan
My skin is aching,tender, by loss pierced

Cursed be the One who made our sphere
Since Eden went,by so called sin undone
I ache without the love from someone dear

I should get my cell, St.Julian
Hid inside the church wall, does Love come?
My skin is aching,tender, loss has pierced
Uncaressed by him whom I held dear,

I never think

They tell me I’ve got three years
What did you do?
Stopped chemotherapy, got all my money together and sailed round the world
Sounds good
But I have no money left.They said I’d die in one year
I am so sorry you are still alive.Those doctors are idiots
I’ll have to go on benefits
Just applying might kill you
Well. God knows I want somewhere to live
Try a Stable!

I can’t afford to be ill.What’s the cheapest way to die?
Either starvation or Beachy Head
I long to visit Gaza first
Why?
I’ve never seen a person strip
And if you go near the Border….. it could be the answer to your prayers.
I’ve not prayed for years
Just a metaphor.You could go to the USA and as you are black the police may kill you free if you can’t pay for your cigarettes.Just get a fake 20 dollar bill before shopping
Where from?
I can make one here
You mean you are a crook?
Not yet, but I am hoping
Why?
I’ve got schizophrenia and I need money for therapy
You mean they charge the sick?
They are just being politically correct
It reminds me of the Light Brigade
They say a foetus is sacred
Yes, until birth!
Well,I’ll have to think about this
I prefer never to think
How thoughtless!


Everyone is bleeding

Everyone is bleeding but we won’t stop fighting wars
We even sell our weapons and the torture tools make gold
Europe a disaster for more than several hundred years

We will not watch the News as this sort of stuff’s a bore
My heart is beating faster and I’m feeling freezing cold
Everyone is bleeding but we won’t stop fighting wars

We’re defenceless little creatures with wicked central core
With our many nuclear weapons, maybe we are over-bold
Europe courts disaster for more than several hundred years

Jesus hangs defenceless outside the liquor store
I wonder how much longer those Roman nails will hold
Everyone is bleeding but we won’t stop fighting wars

The pain of living here is that our swollen hearts will tear
God picks up a paperclip, his lips are cold and closed
Europe a disaster for more than several hundred years

Now the Day of Judgement comes, we stand arrayed in rows
The Jews are singing Kaddish while the tortured children freeze
Everyone is bleeding but we won’t stop fighting wars
Civilised disaster for the last two thousand years

Before we were dead

Before the referendum
Before I rang 999
When I didn’t know how near the end you were

Before Nigel Farage
Jo Cox
The lies of Michael Gove
Before Boris Johnson’s genes left Turkey

Before Leonard Cohen sang,save the last waltz for me
Before I heard Suzanne
Before you haemmoraged the bathroom into wine
Before you consecrated the bread
Before you were dead

Before by a journalist we were led
Before children said,fuck everything
Before Cohen died
Dylan got the Nobel Prize

Before aspirations were merely for another shag and a new denim hat
Before marriage was for licking each others’ groins
What poems fell dead
And the snow fled
Before the hatred of slow reading came and glued itself to our minds
Then we had the hottest September
In December
And the ice cap floated down the globe
Observed by toads

When you were still alive
And the lawn was unmowed


Not the words we read

Do not rush about when under stress
You may fall and bang your tender head
With agitation caused by business

Rather than do more, we must do less
Do it slowly till it’s time for bed
Do not rush about when under stress

Do not ruminate nor second guess
Grace is blocked,imagination led
By agitation caused by business

Slowness leads some space, so slowness bless
In tune with nature, not the words we read
Do not rush about when under stress

If you are a hare,keep from excess
If a tortoise,you’ll end up ahead
No agitation caused by business

The lilies of the field by grace are fed
And so our hearts are when our burden’s shed
Do not rush about when under stress
With agitation causing grief to living flash

The buttercups are burning in the fields

The buttercups are burning in the fields
The sun is hanging low as if to see
The Ash fall to the earth, the level sealed

 

The grass turns brown ,the barley ripe will kneel.
The hares are  leaping,wait, I watch them  flee.
The buttercups are burning in the fields

 

The Honeysuckle  curves like a red  wheel
Hanging  flowers still humming with brown bees
The ashes to the earth   dark riches yield

 

This fiery  land will flaunt its bright appeal
As from the  trees hang ghosts  of still born leaves
The buttercups are burning in the fields

 

The spiders wait, the rabbits ,raunchy,  reel.
What is this Earth  our eyes, all new, perceive
Where ashes to the earth   dark riches yield?

 

Who are we such dark gold to receive
When humans  trick each other and deceive?
The buttercups are burning in the fields
Their ashes  shall redeem as  richness yields

The space around our thoughts

 

 

Scillies-StMary's

 

https://www.psychalive.org/the-space-around-thoughts/

 

“Our addiction to the grasping tendency of mind causes us to overlook the spaces around thoughts, the felt penumbra that gives our experience its subtle beauty and meaning. Neglecting these fluid spaces within the mindstream contributes to a general tendency to over-identify with the contents of our mind, and to assume that we are the originator and custodian of them. The troublesome equation “I = my thoughts about reality” creates a narrowed sense of self, along with an anxiety about our thoughts as territory we have to defend. (p. 53)”

 

“In the “Memorial Address,” philosopher Martin Heidegger suggests a certain type of Being-with when he describes the phenomena of Andenken, or “thinking toward” (Stambaugh, 1990, p. 90) as “a kind of waiting, not a passive waiting, but a very attentive, intense one” (p. 87). Stambaugh says Inständigkeit, or a posture of “indwelling,” underwrites this quality of attending to:

Inständigkeit or perdurance is a kind of intensely perceptive sticking something through, sticking it out, perhaps something akin to what we do when we try to recall something we’ve forgotten. It reminds me of what Buddhist thinker Dogen called “sustained exertion.” (p. 87)

With sustained exertion and indwelling with the whole of the experience (thoughts as well as the spaces around them), we can see “what it is that Heidegger wants us to let go of” to “lead us back to the direction of Being” (p. 87), emphasizing that man’s “special nature” is that he or she is, essentially, a “meditative being” (Heidegger, 1966, p. 56).”