We all need friends
My sadness surprises me. I listen to a story on the radio, my thoughts wander. I remember independence, waking up early and seeing the morning unfold while the coffee warms my hands and I have my thoughts to myself. Perhaps my sadness is the loss of freedom of 360 degrees of choice.
Now, I wait for my hair to be brushed while I rinse with the mouthwash. Mornings are the beginning of a cycle made up of being pushed, pulled and adjusted. Choice is limited and independence is only a word others use.
I have become someone I don't recognize. I am disinterested in doing anything. I am so sad inside. I'm without hope and motivation is just a disciplined action. I clutch desperately to any opportunity for comfort or extra mobility. Decay, disrepair and disarray overwhelm me, gloom and failure become my friends.
Waking up and discovering you aren't comfortable, not being able to talk to people and have understanding. Then comes the realisation you're in hospital, paralysed below the neck...
Wednesday, 17 April 2013
Saturday, 19 May 2012
Becalmed
So why do I bother to write a blog?
Does it reward me? Do I profit?
Why do I struggle with an inadequate body typing letter by letter?
It's a waste of time. It takes the life out of me, it drains me.
So why bother?
I returned home yesterday. After a month of being in hospital;
every day rushing between therapy sessions and test appointments.
A day without appointments, just silence.
In the quiet thoughts drift aimlessly, becalmed on a deep ocean of feeling.
So I write to stop the mutiny arising from the idle activity of meandering aimlessly.
Speaking to myself makes poor company.
Looking at a screen "flipping" virtual cards...
Kings, Queens, Jacks and impatience.
I have checked my email an facebook, but with mixed emotions, nothing new.
I am not lonely, just alone in my sea of feeling.
I write because for a moment in time; the aching, the aimless drifting, stops.
Just for a moment I feel substantial.
The hollow echoes become distinct.
My soul surfs on the breath of purpose.
Spent, the gust ends....
Does it reward me? Do I profit?
Why do I struggle with an inadequate body typing letter by letter?
It's a waste of time. It takes the life out of me, it drains me.
So why bother?
I returned home yesterday. After a month of being in hospital;
every day rushing between therapy sessions and test appointments.
A day without appointments, just silence.
In the quiet thoughts drift aimlessly, becalmed on a deep ocean of feeling.
So I write to stop the mutiny arising from the idle activity of meandering aimlessly.
Speaking to myself makes poor company.
Looking at a screen "flipping" virtual cards...
Kings, Queens, Jacks and impatience.
I have checked my email an facebook, but with mixed emotions, nothing new.
I am not lonely, just alone in my sea of feeling.
I write because for a moment in time; the aching, the aimless drifting, stops.
Just for a moment I feel substantial.
The hollow echoes become distinct.
My soul surfs on the breath of purpose.
Spent, the gust ends....
Sunday, 8 April 2012
This Place
This Place
Like an outstretched hand, beckoning with promises of the past
The memories call to me, fleeting glimpses of faded times.
I long to be there. When I walked, ran, sang for joy
I long to be there. When I walked, ran, sang for joy
I see the curly blonde hair on my daughters round face as she bounces and hops
The grass tickling my ear while we play on the long grass
Yes yesterday you seducer. You cannot be what you promise
Your promises are spent currency
Memories are not places, memories are not promises
I will stay in my sadness. My reality is a place
This place is where I am
Sunday, 8 January 2012
Death
I saw death.
In nights still
It came to me and
So I saw
A dullness.
Without courage for
black or white.
Pigment poor
Devoid of shape
And touch
Crumbling cowardly into dust.
Nothing left.
Like a mermaid
To ancient mariners
Death calls us
Resist its’ rest
Tho’ it sweetly calls
And beguiles
It mentions not
That to a word
Is a lie
An empty promise
The sense
only absurd.
Sunday, 18 December 2011
Pictures and Words: a Father ‘s Lament
In the dark of early morning I lie awake
My mind is restless
My body twisted and uncomfortable
I try to sleep
Images of memories my pictorial past
My children
Faces and postures, incidents and occasions
Flip like a slideshow
The memories begin to fade, followed by words
Desperate words
Reaching out into my mind and beyond
The words long to be spoken
Oh my children my words are for you!
Waning for you is my role
The words carry the thoughts and experiences
Capsules of living
I will write the words and hope they are spoken
Even if whispered
I will hope that they are spoken
To you
Sunday, 4 December 2011
Dark heart
I have a darkness in my heart.
In my quiet moments, a shadow.
Where am I ?
I am fading, my strength, like ice cream in summer leaks away.
Comfort and hope are repelled from me.
I procrastinate, I shrink from duty, failure follows me.
Gloom in my heart and despair in my mind.
Oh God please help me.
In my quiet moments, a shadow.
Where am I ?
I am fading, my strength, like ice cream in summer leaks away.
Comfort and hope are repelled from me.
I procrastinate, I shrink from duty, failure follows me.
Gloom in my heart and despair in my mind.
Oh God please help me.
Sunday, 14 August 2011
How I feel
Oh Lord why do I feel so worthless
I have emotions
I feel impotent
Life is going on and I am stuck
Time is moving and I am left
I am useless
My thoughts are like twisted weeds
Choking life giving thoughts, die
Hope is a memory
a fading dream
When will it end?
Oh please don't end
So much life to live.
I have emotions
I feel impotent
Life is going on and I am stuck
Time is moving and I am left
I am useless
My thoughts are like twisted weeds
Choking life giving thoughts, die
Hope is a memory
a fading dream
When will it end?
Oh please don't end
So much life to live.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)