Followers

Tuesday 20 December 2011

FEELINGS


This poem of mine was recorded by the band Kraftberk101 who sent me a copy that I have since misplaced. Performed in a trance like monotone it is a hypnotic chiller. If I come across the CD I'll let you hear it.
 
I thought my love was underhand.
But how wrong.
So wrong.
It welled up and filled my soul.
Fast: 'till I could not hold.
And how it came I cannot explain.
But I am glad.
Glad that it came.
Glad but sad that my love,
my mixed-up feelings could never be.
I tried to show,
without flamboyance.
With discretion.
Without embarrassment,
my feelings for you,
and about you.
I did not know.
I do not know if you knew or saw.
But I longed for you to see me there.
To pluck my line and tow me in.
To give to me what I would give.
To recognise me as I did thee.
This I thought before we met,
really met I mean.
When I told, or try to tell,
of all that I did feel.
You listened.
You stayed.
You heard what I tried to say.
And thought;
not laughed or brushed words aside.
Thought and answered.
And listening to you I understood,
that subject matter it should not bloom.
That regard should remain.
That friendship live.
And for this I do thank you.


Love is a fearsome master






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Monday 19 December 2011

UNFINISHED (Gonna Get To You)


This poem inspired the track "Gonna Get To You" by the band Kraftberk101, who sent me a copy that I have since misplaced. Performed in an industrial-techno sort of way, the track lyrics differ from this poem and are darkly ambivalent, unlike the poem which I think is forthright and easy to interpret. If I come across the CD I'll let you have the track and its lyrics. Hear it here...


(An actor)























Your sickness is inside of you
trapped within your head,
distraught with insecurities,
irrational instabilities
are signs I always dread.

With childish eyes - implicit faith
to me you'd run in pain,
I'd never know our meeting place
you called - I always came.
Your breath it smelled of medication
your hair of almond oil,
clothes dishevelled,
yellowing teeth,
the outside world was seen through me.

I do not hate you.
I did not let them see you die.
I never left you Chessy.
My love it could not lie.

I stood by you Largactil bound
tried to prove you wrong,
bought you a hat so you wouldn't burn
walking in the sun.
Through slurring speech,
fantastic thoughts,
I loved you then so strong,
determination every day;
"let nothing more go wrong".

Time has passed and you've struggled back
but here we stand again,
the crossroads from which this time;
we'll follow different lanes.

Personal comment - the poem above is from my real life. It covers a frightening and traumatic time for both of us; for myself, the helpless and useless and emotionally attached boyfriend riddled by guilt and years of nightmares.

For 30years we had this common secret, but a chance meeting gave up forgiveness and resolution by a recovered patient, happily married with two children.

On our medically dictated route there were good times and very bad and along the way numerous notes (poems) were written by me. I now feel free to let you see some.


LOVE HURTS (TROUBLED TIMES)

If you think of dying
don't leave me alone,
tell me in the morning,
or warn me on the phone.

If you want to leave this world,
just want to get away,
I think I'd like to come along,
but maybe not today.

If you want to leave me
try to tell me why,
so I can understand you,
as I begin to die.

Though you may have troubles
and suffering we are,
call me anyway,
we'll chat in the car.

Above all else,
and this is paramount,
know you are my Chessy
and loved without a doubt.

There was a short period of rationality but soon enough a relapse that was as unexpected as it was rapid. I was quickly and abruptly appraised of an uncertain prognosis. 


FALLEN ANGEL

A broken angel,
down on one wing,
first lost resilience
then entered a spin.

Crashing to earth,
dazed and confused,
she patched up the crack
alighted and flew.

But seeming quite healed,
the crack reappeared,
and she crashed to the ground
worse than was feared.

The angel is down,
the angel is down,
someone please help me;
my angel is down.

We tried; continuing to have ups and downs and even spoke of splitting up, but loyalty to each other over-rode what we both (I think) knew was happening.


LETTER TO A FRIEND

We have felt it before;
to others we have opened our being,
souls and hearts,
and it hurts
when it ends,
a duet of hearts
coming to a close
for the entrance of loneliness,
the opening of old memories
and wounds,
giving up the puss of remembrance
and self-pity;
but not for us!
lest we scrutinise this bondage,
picking its meat
'till skeletal, lifeless fact remains;
for mystique and mutual unspoken understanding
still warms our hearts;
to nurture love and truth
as one.

Ups and downs,
backwards and forwards: a child on a swing,
mother waiting anxious for his return to ground;
I may swing with moods
but I must come down
to walk on the ground beside you.

Our difficulties continued for a year and I began to go down with our ship. I knew I wanted to jump but thought I would be judged a bad person for what self-preservation wanted me to do; I saw no improvement however and decided it all had to stop. I needed to walk and I felt a right bastard afterwards.  AFTERMATH came to me when I needed to concentrate on a new (life long) career.


AFTERMATH

I can see us drifting apart,
I can see a fond farewell,
a bitter-sweet
on a screen in the back of my mind.
I feel sorrow deep inside
apprehensive and tense,
not wanting a conclusion
for fear of an awful truth,
not knowing what will happen,
not knowing what I want to happen.
I feel lonely,
a spectator at my own loss
as the wedge of uncertainly
drives us apart.

With the final split, an anger born out of a depression joined me for months; this anti-woman piece became my mantra and I cared not for anything or anyone.


DEPRESSION TALKS

For the twisting of feelings,
the deceptive ease of use;
for the guilt I've felt
and the switchback affair,
and festering resentment in its throes of death.
For all this
and fears of uncertainty;
womankind I dismiss.

Life was bad at this time, a long time ago, and this poem with others of its ilk were all written around the same time;  I am revealing them now as I look back, with the original emotion(s) neatly and securely "boxed away".


WHAT'S THE POINT?

The point of life seems to be to get by.
To move from day to day,
wandering to a time of longing.

Nothing seems controllable anymore,
I seem to mime other people's wishes,
and wonder where I've gone.

Ambitions, love or happiness and caring,
all blunted, bludgeoned and twisted to coarseness
as dictation moulds my life and bolsters my sadness.

After I walked away, an act of self-defence, the sorrow eased, then this memory of a happier time came to mind; melancholic but somehow comforting.


A MEMORY

Shimmering blue-green lagoons of tranquillity
stared into space
and wondered
Am I a good Christian?
Moist and supple lips of sensuality
mouthed to the world
need I do more?
and I answered no
for I thought that,
and I loved you;
and you kissed me.

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OUR LOVE?


This poem was recorded by the band Kraftberk101 who sent me a copy that I have since misplaced. Performed in a punky-Stones sort of way, it builds nicely into a bit of a rocker, so if I come across the CD I'll let you hear it.



My Love
is a kinda strange love,
for my love hurts me so.

Our love
is a kinda strained love,
for our love is mine alone.

You told me -
you told me that you loved me.
You told me -
please don't go.

But your love
is nothing but my love,
for your love is from my glow;
and our love
is really kinda no love;
for our love - it's so cold.

And Passion?
Where's the passion?
And loving?
well that's all gone!

So go,
go on - go!
And leave me all alone.
Leave me all alone.U POE

 

THE LAST GREAT ADVENTURE?




An "end-game" of addiction, the despair of a life only going one way: some people are predisposed to drug abuse, as others are to alcohol abuse, quite possibly because they are "bored" or were abused themselves, but more probably because they have lost essential feelings of self worth or have become detached from mainstream society; a society with ever increasing demands for total conformity. Is there any future other then your drug of choice and how would you imagine your final fix? ......

It's near me and full
and I must smash it to survive;
but as the liquid slides through the needle
sheathed in my hand,
the hit in my brain takes me.

I am dying;
a living horror of pseudo pleasures,
but entombed in the folds of my mind
the deep silence briefly intoxicates,
before synesthesia of light
becomes a cacophony of sound
and fearing harsh reds,
screaming yellows
and agonising blues,
I close my eyes
to see another me of former beauty
and we stare as if each the reflection of vanity.
She pities me
but I laugh in her face
as she sheds cloned images;
advancing as a distorting hoard
intent upon my self destruction.



















For those lucky enough to escape from their habit, researchers are coming to understand the benefits of taking hallucinogenic drugs for therapeutic reasons, though is recommended, following a recently disorder called  HPPD.
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M



So many people out there.
So many people who want to care.
Afraid to share
they are islands in the sun
with empty beaches;
not yet tourist attractions,
desolate and basic,
off the beaten track
they could be the most interesting;
but no-one wants to explore.


In the pantry of life something old may be taken down from a shelf and thus it was here.