Riding the Adrenaline Bus

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Image: Freepics on the net

Riding the Adrenaline Bus

 

Riding the adrenaline bus

Fueled by a ‘Red Bull’

Mentality and actually

Rocketing along

With ‘Mother’ as a

Bumper sticker

Holding fast,

Yes, fast

As the heart will pump

And the greater

The thump

When the crash

Comes.

Harrowed eyes

Through road maps

The viewer spies

Darting balls this way

And that way

And every way

But shut.

Riding, clinging amid the

Fuss

Why us?

Shut off

The engine and coast

On a quiet roll

Or a rhythmic stroll

At a measured pace

There is no race

For you to face.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 13 August 2018

 


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Reading Poetry online with #Spillwords

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I have posted material from Spillwords before.  Spillwords is an online place for short prose, poetry and micropoetry.

The post here is a poem called Looking for Love, courtesy of Spillwords.  The author writes not only of love, but of being misunderstood.

Here is another that was on the feed today What is Inspiration?

Do you have some favourite sites you cruise into for an idle 10 minutes of good reading?

 

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Guest post #Anxiety by Kia Jones via spillwords.com

Those who enjoy poetry may already have discovered spillwords.com .  This guest post features a spillwords post by poet Kia Jones called Anxiety.  Aka Mrs Jones can also be found on twitter @CYSMbyKia . Those who may experience feelings of anxiety are encouraged to seek help.

Again, We Are More

Again, We Are More

When I wrote the poem We Are More, I knew there was more to tell.  John O’Donohue was reputed to have said that, when he had written some poems, there was more left over for another.  What also helped form ‘Again, We Are More’, is the discovery of a fabulous blog by ‘Anna’ called Anonymously Autistic.  It just goes to show that we still have much to learn from the experiences of others and of how they are more than what they seem.

Again, We Are More

(i)

Perched

On the hard brickwork,

Atop a retaining wall,

He sways:

Back and forth,

To and fro,

A catatonic rhythm.

As each sway completes

Its repetitive arc

Groans emit from within,

Groans of a wordless language

Yet, transmitting a pain

All can sense.

He can memorise

Timetables and schedules

And recipes and shopping lists

And here

He’s reduced

To a state

Of oblivion.

But, again,

We are more

Than the episodes acting out

From us

That we cannot control.

 

(ii)

Into the middle distance,

Not looking

At what’s before her eyes,

She is last

To leave the courtroom.

Another case

Lost,

Gone.

She reels,

And feels

A tremble,

Ever so slight at first,

As the adrenalin leaks

From her

And on

To the parquetry floor,

Beneath

Her swollen feet.

Weary

She will have to face

Her colleagues at the office.

Weary

She will then drive

Through traffic

And home –

At last –

Home

To her son.

 

(iii)

“No, no, no!”

She says,

And her son,

He keeps groaning,

And swaying, more

And more

Before

It dawns on her,

As she cries into her hands,

That the more she rebukes

The more he will groan and sway

And cover his ears with the palms

Of his taut hands.

“Why?”

She asked herself

Had she snapped

At her son so.

Her sobs heavier now,

Face pressed against her knees,

Arms hugging legs.

Weary

With work,

With worry,

With life,

And yet,

Again

We are more

Than the building frustrations

That erupt

In desperation.

 

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk       29 October 2016

Tearless

‘Tearless’  A thoughtful and poignant free-verse poem from Kim at ‘Poetry On a Roll’.

Poetry On A Roll

I see the pain in his eyes raw from
years of ill-treatment, he’s hiding behind
the cigarette-smoking and heavy-drinking
I see the tears that will never flow
because he’s a man and they do not cry,
so he holds it all in because he’s doing
what others expected of him
—to be a man who doesn’t show emotions—
but he’s desperately seeking approval
to relieve the discomfort. Yet, he won’t
shed a tear on his terms, not even one drop.

View original post

For The Black Dog Bites Severely

 

For all those we know and love.  May they find peace and vigour again.

 

For The Black Dog Bites Severely

For some the Black Dog bites severely,

Smiting in an awful wound;

The cost to victims is dearly,

As they may feel sorely doomed.

 

The bite may infect like rabies,

And take a diabolic toll;

Turning certitudes to maybes,

As it eats at body, mind and soul.

 

And we, we try to tend them,

To bring the balm of cheer;

Apply the discipline of listening,

A focussed, compassionate ear.

 

It may take medication,

To bring the chemical mix to still;

And it takes love and dedication,

To bandage their battered will.

 

And so we send these words out,

To the one’s we know by name;

And to all their suffering companions,

Who feel much the same.

 

May they receive the treatment,

The best care all can give;

For we want them all to flourish,

And again to fully live.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 18 October 2016

Fissures

Fissures

 

Fissures break out

onto the face

We work hard

At saving,

Making the mask

Purposeful and perpetual.

Yet fissures

Crumble its façade.

Fault lines emerge,

Atolls of anxiety arise,

Ditches of depression

Sink in shadow.

The posturing persona

Tires,

As the real mantle

Rises from the core,

And the soul stirs,

It’s flame flowing,

To the face.

 

 

Simon C.J Falk 24 September 2016   Forthcoming – “Yearnings”.

We Are More

We Are More

Another response to reading a very good post on depression from Inside the Life of Moi yesterday.  There may be times we feel unwell, having a bad day, or, are beset by maladies or pathologies.  But we are more than our symptoms or our passing circumstances.

 

We Are More

(i)

He sits on the kerbside

With a cardboard sign,

“Please help,” inscribed

on its pulpy surface,

and, in the lines around

his eyes, and in them too,

darting side to side,

“Need more money”,

continued the message.

For while he medicated

His ‘voices’

With cheap plonk,

A desperate user took

His last dollars.

His schizophrenia controls

His happiness and habits,

Yet

We are more

Than the pathologies

That pin us.

 

(ii)

She shares half her sandwich

With him,

Then hears

TOOT!

An idling car awaits,

In readiness to take

Her where

She will ‘work’

This night.

Later she breathes in,

As the barby point

Of the syringe

Also enters in.

Morning sees

The ambulance there

To take her away.

“Another overdose”,

we overhear

someone say.

Yet

We are more

Than some

Of our habits.

 

(iii)

He takes his “Please help” sign,

Turns it round,

And with

A texta he found,

Begins

To sketch,

Feebly at first,

Then

With gusto,

A portrait

Of her,

That Toulouse-Lautrec

Would be proud of.

Yes

We are more

Than the symptoms seem.

 

 

 

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 13/14 July 2016

Trapped

Trapped

 

A partial response to the Australian Story segment, ‘When the Call Comes’ 20 June 2016 http://www.abc.net.au/austory/ about a man referred to as ‘Mouse’ and his circle.

 

First strike

Trapped

By tragedy

A man trapped

By his painful past

A cycle

Of abuse and torment

Through his days.

Second strike

Trapped

By the ‘street scene’

The rounds

By the moment

Like a mouse

Cornered

Stabbed and

Struck

Gone.

Third strike

Trapped

By the memory

Two families broken

This is

No score.

The bystanders

We

In the background

Look

In sad horror

His place

Abandoned

Monument of memory

Of a life taken way.

 

* * *

 

Memoriam

May he find peace now

A true home forever

And peace for his family

May the torment

Become peace.

 

Simon C.J. Falk 20 June 2016

Still Responding to ‘Still Alice’ and Others We Know

Still Responding to ‘Still Alice’ and Others We Know

Some time ago I read ‘Still Alice’ and was struck by the plight of the story.  I also know a number of families who have, or are, journeying with a loved one who has a dementia-related condition. This is partly a response to all of this, and also, to a fabulous post ‘Still Emily’ from the Bookshelf of Emily J.  

 

Still Responding to ‘Still Alice’ and Others We Know

Still

Spinning the cycling conversation,

We were last here

Around five minutes ago.

Still

Asking the same questions

And heading down the same trajectory,

As the narrative arcs out

And returns

Like a jet

Waiting for ground clearance

To finally come

To rest.

Rest

There needs to be rest

For this person

And their loved ones,

From this demented process,

The ‘in and out’ of reality,

Where

Some moments are Ok

But others, oh

No!

Who is this person

Behind the face

Of one I thought

I knew?

Maybe it is I

Who have the problem?

I can be a bit,

You know,

Lost in my world.

But wait.

He’s

Not following

The plot.

The poor family

How can they

Stay with this

Still?

Still

On the journey

The merry-go-round

Of thought loops.

But the go-round

Aint always so merry

Just round.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 4 June 2016