Tag: Poetry

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The Topsy-Turvy Man

It takes constant work to be balanced, I need special handling,
My mental health’s topsy-turvy, one minute happy and then I’m angry,
My brain’s been through some battles, so I take care of it more,
For fear of becoming a dribbling mess, curled up on the floor.

Sometimes I need to iron out weird patterns in its thinking,
To find a safe place, that doesn’t explode if I’m drinking,
Because when those floodgates open, I become a monster,
Even uglier than an influencer, who can’t find a sponsor.

I try to have fun, but monitor for any quirky abstractions,
I keep many hobbies, I collect things, to act as distractions,
Things from my childhood, old books, vinyl records and such,
But lately I’ve been distracting myself a little too much.

It’s difficult to bring myself to leave the house some days,
Life and then lockdowns broke me, and took my outside away,
I never liked going out in big crowds, I’m a solitary guy,
But now that anxiety rules, it’s even harder to try.

My wife hangs with her friends, and overnight sometimes stays,
I don’t mention the panic attacks I get, when she’s away,
They’re tough to get through, and they hit me hardest at night,
When alone in our bed with my thoughts, things just don’t feel right.

I’ll keep up with distractions, like painting, music or writing,
Working hard not to lose myself, to this brain that I’m fighting,
Workplaces are exhausting, I work from home trying not to get stressed,
But that’s even hard to do, when you’re anxious and feeling depressed.

I’ll keep at it though, knowing there isn’t a quick fix,
To find a place in the world where my peculiar brain fits,
Living in a small country town is the best place to be,
Because the world of my past life, almost killed me.

I’m sick from worry for my kids, my wife, or my friends,
Some have their own issues and on me they depend,
But my personal cup of woe is so very full to the brim,
That most days it’s a struggle to want to sink or to swim.

This poem could go on just like I do, but you get the picture,
Life is hard for us all, and you don’t need my thoughts in the mixture,
So, I’ll wrangle this brain and go on with my life,
Doing the best that I can, to work through my troubles and strife.

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Gentle is the morning light

A golden morning sunlight pours through black window lace,
The world seems silent, bright and serene, nothing stirs,
Anything seems possible at this moment,
Tired eyes and mind are awakened from long slumber,
Gentle is the morning, not yet revealing the days secrets,
Several sparrows busily appear outside the window,
Their frantic chirping soon fades and silence returns,
The warm spring sun brings tree leaves to a splendid glowing green,
As the morning dew is devoured by tidy lawns and flowers,
The outside world seems renewed, any anxiety of yesterday erased.
The hiss from a passing car, cuts through silence, ending peaceful contemplation.
And as the sun rises past the window frame, this blue skied Sunday can begin.

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Changes

When seeking a life change, we all like to ponder,
About how others cope with life over yonder,
Are they as damaged as you, or as broken as me,
Well, let’s pop on over so we can both see,
It turns out, nobody’s coping, we’re not doing well
What once was working, now simply can’t gel,
Society is failing, and all are offended,
But to create change, apple carts must be upended.
So, what is the fix and where is the answer,
The people are addicted, social media is a cancer,
Like heroin junkies they consume and want more,
Of the vacuous fake existence that keeps them enthralled,
Sure, real-life hurts and words can be offensive,
But it’s your phone that keeps you feeling defensive,
Step outside, eat, drink, and witness nature in bloom,
Because you won’t find that life change locked away in your room.

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What am I looking for?

Sunlight flickers through the gum trees lining the road,
Low clouds creep down the dark mountain outside my window,
What am I looking for?
Grey chimney smoke whisps through the ferny undergrowth,
As black cattle graze on the lush pastures outside my window,
What am I looking for?
Scattered thoughts race through my mind, nothing feels solid,
I can’t connect, I can’t engage, I feel like a man out of time,
What I am looking for is nowhere.

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The Fall

From midnight hour I hear the call,
Of distant people kept in thrall,
In blood-stained desert lands they lie,
In a place where birds no longer fly,
With beliefs stuck in another time,
Committing genocide, not war but crime.
Religion is where true evil thrives,
Its bombs destroy families and displace lives.
Over the same dirt that exists everywhere,
But imaginary faith lines create despair,
A time will come soon when humanity will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

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Plea to a Dark Tree Hollow

Dark tree hollow please bring to me,
Someone who’ll love me unconditionally,
Make them kind and true, please end my sorrow,
Bring me love dark portal, from within your hollow.

I have so much to offer and so much to give,
To a sweet one who’ll share in the life that I live,
From your black laden doorway, do make them appear,
And I will share with them my heart, total and sincere.

Put an end to my lonesome tumultuous life,
And help me put down this self-harming knife,
That I’ve used too long to keep myself sane,
I’ve cut wrists and thighs and cried through the pain.

I feel so alone that I can’t cope anymore,
Send me someone to love, that’s all I wish for,
I know there’s some magic within you great tree,
So please, bring me someone who needs love just like me.

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What Slumbers Beneath the Waves

Under knotted storm clouds and blackened night-soaked seas,
Ancient stone columns plummet countless fathoms to the darkest ocean depths,
Beneath the coral covered chancel of a long forgotten holy place,
A white leviathan’s eye, stares blindly upwards to the distant surface,
Forgotten by time, the sleeper beneath the waves has awaited the call,
The somnambulistic god of the old world impatiently stirs in the inky darkness,
When called from slumber, the creatures answer will be final,
In its throat the reply awaits, death, total doom, absolute devastation.

On a beach, incantations can be heard among the crashing of the waves,
For the stars are out tonight as death cult followers summon their leviathan god,
With his rising, the sea rumbles and floods, destruction is unleashed upon the world of men.
Cities are annihilated by waves, and sunlight is blacked out by ash from erupting volcanoes,
The lands freeze, and not a soul is left to witness the creature’s cosmic departure.

All is lost in its wake, a dead planet slowly revolves through the cold darkness of time.

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The Whispering Spring Forest

There is a place where tall trees whisper, their voices dance on the wind as they sing,
With rustled leaves and creaking branches, that stretch in the midday sun of spring,
Where green farmlands are sweetly fragranced, creating soft beds for small white sheep,
The warm spring sunlight stretches lazily, across pasture rich and forest deep,
Where scent of eucalyptus on the gentle breeze, seeps into my lungs and heals,
And hungry bees seek sweet nectar, that colourful wildflowers reveal.

A mountain rises from this place, where the fern tree canopy glows bright green,
Because the sunlight kisses both frond and leaf, that line a mountain stream,
High on the peak tree trunks reach up, great columns seek the sun they recognise,
Their branches teem with new life that sleeps, comforted by whispered forest lullabies,
The mighty ironbark trees greet the stars each night, and farewell the moon each dawn,
This is where my heart feels full, my thoughts are free, and on my face a smile is worn.

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Labyrinth of Lost Words

At once a shopfront, but also a cavernous labyrinth of lost words,

An old grey proprietor rubs their hands, anticipating the sale of some forgotten tome.

Deeper the explorer ventures, and the dust covered bookshelves grow dimmer,

The adventurer’s mind buzzes with the sheer wealth of knowledge in one place,

Pressed together in unorganised manner, his predetermined targets are instantly erased,

If asked his own name now, he would not remember it amongst his sensory overload.

Books lay stacked out of order, poetry mixed with dictionaries and the Bards plays,

He clears room one, nothing found, before delving into forgotten fictions, the light dims,

He can hear the proprietor discussing mushrooms, bread and eggs for supper,

As he pushes past the Dickens he owns, sadly stacked amongst the Dumas Musketeers,

He came for Keats, for Shelley or Poe, but his head swims as old dust invades his senses,

Suddenly, one blue book here, Burns, and a green there, Donne, treasure found within chaos,

He makes the journey back before he gets in too deep, back to the proprietor’s hungry eyes,

A deal is struck, and he manages to escape back into the bright sunlight he left behind.

He’ll be back,  the proprietor grins knowingly.

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Fall of the Old World

The world lurches sideways, bringing with it chaos and doom,
Oceans shift, and massive floods cover once barren lands,
New mountain ranges and great valleys rise, creating instant change,
Shifting seas uncover secret terrain, creating a new alien landscape.
Where once there was vibrant life, the floating dead now pollute the water,
Metropolises are swallowed in moments, covered by the rushing ocean waves,
Vast creatures once hidden in deep trenches are unveiled, wreaking havoc,
All light becomes dark, powerful storms rage, rain falls constantly, and the old-world falls.
The devastation of the human species, has been whispered, but was long overdue,
Extinction has arrived with full force, and a new age of the earth has begun.
Mankind squandered a chance at peace and prosperity, and has been judged.
A cosmic force has deemed man unworthy, and the final judgement is total annihilation.