a muddy Monday
angels crying tears of joy
ripples in the sky
germinating seeds
soaked in teardrops from heaven
angels yearn to sprout
_______
squelching steps composed
by angels at work in fields
of fritillaries
a muddy Monday
angels crying tears of joy
ripples in the sky
germinating seeds
soaked in teardrops from heaven
angels yearn to sprout
_______
squelching steps composed
by angels at work in fields
of fritillaries
There are times
There are times the rain
is so heavy, and the cloud so
thick I can hardly see.
There are times the dark
is so choking I can hardly
breathe.
There are times the words
are strangled in my throat.
There are times the pain
grips throughout, and I
am completely at its mercy.
And there are times when it’s
much worse than that…
After the concession
A black bird sits on a telephone line,
suspended between wooden poles
aged by water.
This is no day for tears,
no moment for regrets,
no time for tearing-out hair.
There are other black birds
and a seagull catching light
over the Northside.
There is a hill to descend
a twisting road
past cars
and fading disintegrating leaves.
There’s even sun in my eyes.
It’s easier to say nothing,
to notice the knot,
to register the wish
to lock the toilet door
and simply sit.
Oh yes, there’s reason to be thoughtful,
there’s always reason to reflect,
looking at clouds heavy with mist.
There’s always a will to inaction,
a will to ossify.
Black bird statues
behind a crooked spire,
the one with the lightening rod on top.
The off-licence shut,
the graffiti craves attention,
I see Aer Lingus was looking for my vote
‘smart makes the right choice
for Stateside flights this winter’.
The wounded leopard must go back for more food,
the thirsting camel must trek on,
the beehive must protect and cherish
and guard their queen,
even when forced to swarm.
This is no day for tears,
it’s a day my mother did her best to prepare me for,
and my father knew would come.
Remember Job is more than one man,
and black birds are ever present
whenever there’s a breath to be drawn.
___________________
I made the poem ‘Rain’ while I was thinking about some of the darker things in life.
Mental issues and how they can push anybody to the edge and sometimes even over the edge. Something I recognise from my own life.
My childhood was rather rough. Maybe because of that, I did a lot of crime and vandalism.
Luckily for me, I found a secret weapon to stop it before it got out of control. Drugs.. and many of them. I drugged my brain for 15 years trying to ignore my problems and feelings. But the brain does not easily forget. You can postpone and try to hide, but it will make you deal with it… one way or the other.
In my case, it just ‘turned on’ anxiety in my brain, and, if I did any kind of drugs, it would give me a panic attack.
Effective and without mercy.
It started five years ago, and I’m still fighting. No drugs – only words, a shrink and some good friends.
Most people can’t handle what they can’t see. We get 80% of our impressions thru our eyes, so expect a lot of people to avoid and ignore you.
But face it anyway… Fight it anyway. And when you get your first victory, keep that sweet little moment in mind when the next black cloud starts to rain..
_______________________________________________
Rain
When black clouds
rained upon me
I used to feel sorry for myself.
I looked at people around me
popping their one man umbrellas
saving themselves.
unable to see
unable to hear
the suddenly invisible wet people.
‘we learn for as long as we live’
Maybe so.
But I still get caught in the rain
I still get cold
Still haven’t learned
how to unfold my umbrella.
But I do not feel sorry for myself
Not anymore.
Bring on the rain
Bring on the cold
I eagerly await.
Await the return of the sun
await for its shield of warm clear light
to spread thru my cold wet body
for the return of my smile
and the end of my sighs.