Corner

I am a dreamer. I dream often and regularly remember bits, if not all, of the fantastical tales and crazy adventures I have during slumber. The weird and wonderful worlds I inhabit whilst sleeping can be a rich source of inspiration for my writing whilst awake, and I keep a note book beside my bed to jot down anything I want to hold on to. Sometimes when I look back at them my night-time scribblings make no sense at all, but once in a while when I check my notebook I am amazed at the insight or poeticism I find there.

A few days ago I had an unusual dream, even for me. Instead of being in the dream, playing ny part, I was an observer. And as the scene played out before me it wasn’t live action it was a black and white cartoon, all rough drawn and jiggling. I can only remember a very small part of it but it was such a striking visual images that it inspired a poem.

I can see myself in the corner
In a small stark patch of light
All couched and folded inwards
In a world of black and white

The darkness that surrounds me
Is slowly pressing in
The fear of it constricts my chest
I feel it chill my skin

But flickering, and glorious
A white light comes to shine
And rages ‘gainst the darkness
In this corner small of mine

So sensing something easing
I dare to lift my head
And see the light expanding
And catch a glimpse of red

I can see me in the corner
In a growing patch of light
All couched, but less uncertain
In a world of colours bright.

DAY 14

Today’s prompt was to write a poem in a single sentence begining” She told me”

She told me once about an amazing day, 
when the sun had shone down
from the bluest of clear skies
upon a child of undetermined age
while she skipped gleefully through the field,
wiggling her fingers through the waist length grass
that was dappled with the reds and yellows of wildflowers
and hummed with the frenetic activity of
creatures she could not yet name,
but which fascinated her curious eyes,
hungry eyes that drank in every drop of the
idyllic scene,
before he found her
and roughly grabbing her arm
dragged her back to her
cold, grey-skyed reality.

Dismay

You try so hard to bind my tongue
At times I can hardly breathe
Your hand is clasped so tightly over my mouth.
Confined in your embrace
Your warm breath on my cheek sends shivers down my spine

But do not mistake my inaction for fear
Do not take my hush for dread

I am ready to rage and wail at the top of my voice
I am ready to scream and flail and fight
I will not be silenced
I will not allow you to still my voice
Though you may grasp at me ever tighter
And squeeze the very life breath from my lungs
I will kick, I will punch
I will grapple with the bonds you have drawn about me.
My voice must be heard.
My voice will be heard.
Though my strength may at times fail me,
I will not concede
I will not kowtow to your pride and self importance

Enfolded in your arms I will squirm and claw
Emboldened by your arrogance I will strain and wrestle
And I will break free
I will find space
To draw breath enough to fill my lungs to bursting
And when I raise my head and forcefully release
No sound will come
For my silence is of my own making

Cerulean

I have soared through cerulean skies
Catching my breath on the
peaks of mountains
With the warmth of the day on my face
I have watched the clouds unfurl their stories before my greedy eyes.
I have inclined my ear to the
music of ravenous thunder
My feet have danced to the
beat of the rain.
I have tumbled in the arms of the ocean as it rolled out it’s lofty promises to
dry in the midday sun.
And when skies grew inky cold I set my course by the
whims of the wind
And hung my hopes on the shining stars

In a world that abounds with infinite possibilities
You
Are my truth.

Enough

Photo by Nadine Shaabana on Unsplash

Occasionally, when I am in the midst of a bout of depression there come odd bursts of anger. Sometimes these are nothing more than the irritability that many experience as one of the symptoms of depression, or a result of the lack of proper sleep, another all too common symptom. Sometimes they are outbursts of cathartic rage against the injustice of mental illness. On rare occasions they are my brains way of saying “Enough’s enough! No more! No more hiding, no more apologizing, no more feeling sorry for myself. It is these outbursts that act as a catalyst, pushing me one more step along a journey of change, of better self understanding, and hopefully a step towards freeing myself from depressions’ grip.

I have had enough of cowering cowardice
Of having so much to hide
Of clutching my mysteries so tightly
I have almost engulfed them in my very flesh
And have shrunk with the weight of them.
But no more curling my defences around my core
As you creep advancing.
I will open up,
I will Unfurl and stand tall.
I will lift my head high and
Throw wide my treacherous arms.
And as I grow taller with each breath
I will let all who would
see all.
For through exposure I am
Emboldened
Enlarged
Empowered
And when I stand full free –
Tall as the sky and
naked as a babe
You will have hold of me no longer.
And I will smite you.

The Mirror

One of the strange things about depression is the effect it has on my relationship with my reflection. How I feel inside is often not obvious in how I look on the outside. Sometimes when I look in the mirror and see someone who looks like they’ve got it all together, someone who is doing life successfully, I am amused at how well camouflaged the truth is. But other times it catches me off guard, I catch a glimpse of my reflection and think ‘who the hell is that?, that’s not who I feel like today!’ On the worst days it scares me, I look in the mirror and know that it is not me that is staring back, and i feel lost. Like the real me is invisible, is disappearing. Thankfully those times are usually short lived and I reconnect with my reflection pretty quickly. I think it’s so important to remember than you really cannot judge a book by it’s cover. There is absolutely no way of knowing what is going on inside someone by looking at them, and the most confident, together looking person could be crumbling and fearful inside.

Who is this person before me now?
A familiar face worn by a stranger.
Tell me if you know her, for to me she is an imposter.
She hides the truth and assumes what she is not.
Her smile is a lie and the curve of her cheek a deceit
I cannot escape her for she is my reality.
Tell her to leave,
Command her retreat.
She is not welcome!
She makes a mockery of my pain.
She belies the truth of my self doubt.
How dare she confront me with the truth I would not hear!
Leave me to struggle with the demons of my choosing,
But for pity’s sake,
Take her away!

Star

Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how hard you try . . .

There was a star I reached for
I stretched my arms so far
I wanted to embrace it
And clutch it to my heart
I tried so hard to grab it
I sought to make it mine
My hands outstretched, my fingers
In it’s beams I did entwine
But as I tugged I realised
The mistake that I had made
It’s burning heat seared through my flesh
And made me much afraid

There was a star I reached for
I stretched my arms so far
I wanted to embrace it
And clutch it to my heart
With both my hands I grasped it
This glowing orb of joy
My arms grew weak, the might of it
I knew would me destroy
I let it slip from twixt my hands
For I am not that strong
And further heavenward it rolled
And took my dreams along

There was a star I reached for
I stretched my arms so far
My failure to possess it
Will ever break my heart

Beautiful One

Holy Cross Convent

Last year I had the chance to go on a couple of convent retreat days. I was a little apprehensive having never been to a convent, and because I knew I would be expected to spend increasing amounts of time in silence (no phones or other devices allowed). Life today is just so busy and noisy that the idea of spending time in silence just reflecting and being, without actually doing anything is entirely alien. But it proved to be a truly wonderful experience. It took a while to rid my mind of all the daily concerns and just stop it whirring, but as it did I had time to reflect, to breathe. I was fortunate that the weather was good each time I went, and I was able to sit in the grounds and listen to the sounds of nature that are all to often drowned out by daily life. I lay on the grass of the garden and sat pondering on the bench in the picture above. I was also able to speak to and, for the first time in a long while, hear from God. It was a wonderfully refreshing time. I really believe that whatever your religious beliefs, taking time out once in a while to just be silent and still, to step away from the bustle of daily life is of great benefit for your mental health. I was inspired upon my return to write this poem about women in the Bible who encountered Jesus.

Kneel at the crib of the beautiful one
Knowing that you have been blessed.
Watching the saviour of all of this world,
this child, who lies now at rest.

Kneel at the feet of the beautiful one
Washing them clean with your tears
Finally finding the love that you crave
That you have searched for these years

Kneel at the well while the beautiful one
Tells all the things you have done
Offering to serve you the waters of life
Proclaim now that he is the one.

Kneel in your shame while the beautiful one
Asks who will cast the first stone
He knows no-one will be left to condemn
For each of you he will atone.

Kneel by the seat of the beautiful one
Listening to all he will say
Leaving the chores and the tasks to be done
Seizing the joy of this day

Kneel at the cross of the beautiful one
Weeping is all you can do
But take from this moment the promise of hope
Knowing he did this for you.

Kneel at the tomb of the beautiful one
Rejoice as he calls you by name
Knowing this moment the world has been changed
Never will life be the same.

Fog

Fog. It is not something we see an awful lot of. I always find it a little exciting when we do – it lends an air of mystery to even familiar places. There’s a certain romanticism to it too, conjuring up images of misty moors and half hidden landscapes obscured by fluffy whiteness.
Brain fog, on the other hand is ghastly. Unfortunately it is all too common a symptom of depression and can be horribly debilitating.
At the moment I’m finding it so hard to write. Impossible even. It kind of feels like that part of my brain has been switched off. I can only barely deal with the factual and any sort of creativity is just beyond me. I think this may be down to a medication ‘blip’, meaning I am having to go through the initial side effects that I got when I first started taking it. I know that it will settle down in a few weeks but in the meantime I am frustrated, headachey, struggling with blurry vision and can not get my foggy brain to do anything useful despite my endeavours. I am annoyed that I have not been able to post anything for so long, so I have been looking back through my old stuff and thought I’d post some old poems. Hopefully the fog will clear soon and I can get back to writing some new stuff.

The silent depths of very night.
That’s how it was when first you came to me.
Out of the shadows into the silver patch of
moonlight on my carpet.
You startled me
I had thought of being alone,
but instead you were here –
an intruder on my solitude.
The anger flash in my eyes yelled
‘Do not disturb!’
The threads of my thought so fragile
I feared a misplaced word may chafe or tear.

So you sat there silent
in the still of very night
and when the morning sun crept stealth-like
through the darkness
I sent you out to capture for me
the dawn chorus.

Where did the music go?

Where did the music go?
Music was always a part of my life. I grew up in house where people sang. My parents were both in an amateur operatic society, and later in a choir which I also joined in my teens. I started piano lessons at 4, I learnt the violin at primary school, and at high school switched to the oboe, which I played in the church worship band. I did dance lessons for a while. In my teens I had a record player in my room, and eventually a CD player. I listened, I played, I sang, I danced. Music was everywhere, adding colour and extra flavour to my life.
Somewhere along the way I lost it.
A friend on Facebook recently asked people to post which songs they listened to for different moods. I was stumped. I realised I couldn’t remember the last time I actually bought any music. My life hasn’t been silent. It’s just that none of the music I’ve listened to for a long time has been of my choosing. When the kids wanted to choose the music it was easier to just let them, especially on long car journeys and I just sort of gradually forgot that I had a choice too. That might sound silly, but I think one of the characteristics of depression is a sense of unworthiness. Why would anybody want to speak to me, spend time with me, listen to me, or to my choice of music? So I got used to listening to the kids choice and my husbands choice, and kind of forgot about the music that I would choose.
Also, as seems to be the way lately, my phone had it’s part to play too. Previously there were times, especially when I had the house to myself, that I would have put on some music and danced or sang around the house. Maybe doing a bit of housework as I went, but enjoying the music, feeling it. Now I can’t help myself, my phone demands my attention, and once I give it I am drawn in, and have no concept of passing time.
When the post came up on Facebook the first thing I did was to open up Spotify on my phone and look at the music I had downloaded. Most of it, un-surprisingly, was stuff I had downloaded for the kids, some of which I do quite like, but I am unlikely to listen to the soundtrack of Mary Poppins Returns or Trolls when they’re not around. I also had a couple of my husbands playlists and the song list for the choir I sing in. The only thing I had downloaded because I actually wanted to listen to it was the soundtrack to the True Detective series and a Sia album from 2014. I listened to both that day. I sang along and got nothing else done. And then I was sad that something that had previously been a big part of my life had been so constricted.
I am apt to brood on things and not actually do anything to improve them, but I am in a better place currently, so I have been trying to rectify this. I was already on the path – having joined a gospel choir in September, I am at least singing again. But I have been choosing to listen to music this week, when I might otherwise have scrolled through my phone. And, when the chance arises I am choosing to just listen. To let the music wash over me, and to hear the melody, the harmonies and allow myself to feel the music. There is great power in music, and I could really do with some of that in my life!

I didn’t realise that you’d gone
I don’t know when you went
I am sorry that I let you go
Un-noticed

You crept away so slowly
You stole such pleasure away
You left a hole so glaring
Un-noticed

It is only in hindsight that
I realise what joy and beauty
You took with you