Grab a cup of tea or coffee (oh what the heck, get a danish too!) and sit a spell. You might want to grab your notebook and pen because you never know when you will be inspired to write down a quote, or jot down a poem of your own. Words are like that, they take you on a journey and the next thing you know you are breathing life into your own magical world of words.

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Under the full moon

Mist swirls above the clearing, tall fir trees marking its edge
Yelps echo on the mountain walls, fox or wolf, who knows!
Suddenly, a gust of chilly wind blows across the opening, swishing through the tree tops,
Twisting the clouds into twirls, backlit by the orb of a full moon high in the sky.
Eerily, the white fumes take shape, landing on the wet grass without a sound
Revived, the silhouettes become fuller, denser bodies, their raspy wheezing changes to hushed voices
Illuminating the barren expanse, they quickly build a monumental fire, whispering magic as they do
Owls float silently around their unusual presence, critters disappear into the nearby forest
Under the full moon, they dance, happy to be whole again, together on this Earth
Spirits of our ancestors, here to reminisce every Halloween.
Today is OctPoWriMo's last day! 
We were given options for the prompt, including writing an acrostic poem. 
I chose that option, even though my poem turned into a sort of story...
I had fun this month. Thank you for reading and I'll try and continue writing poetry when the mood strikes. 

Monday, October 30, 2017

Forbidden City

I had an idea of where I could go with this but I couldn't publish my post on this site (Morgan agreed to let me share my poetry here so I could get some feedback from the other poets taking part in the challenge)...
So I'll take a different route for now. 
Seen from the temples atop the nearby hills,
Yellow roofs in a misty sea of winter chills
Lost amid the hustle of modernity
Oasis of quiet in a bustling city.
Mao looks over the throng of people who wait
But time stands still once you pass through the ornate gate
Enthralled by the craft of forgotten dynasties
Oasis of quiet in a bustling city.
Ten small statues stand watch on the roof's sloping eaves
To protect the Emperor from cheats and thieves
A thousand buildings for court and family
Oasis of quiet in a bustling city.
Long ago the seat of imperial power
Now a place where tourists can leisurely wander
Though it's also used by the military
Oasis of quiet in a bustling city.

Sunday, October 29, 2017

As I sit here

As I sit here, I think of you;
While the world may spin around me,
I know I have the strength to push through
The sky is dark and I feel blue
But birds are singing in the oak tree
As I sit here, I think of you
I see your smile, slightly askew,
In my mind's eye, you're all I see;
I know I have the strength to push through
When my nightmares seem to come true,
While memories wash over me,
As I sit here, I think of you
Quiet patience radiates from you
Supportive, unconditionally;
I know I have the strength to push through
Life's not just what I've been used to
Your presence keeps reminding me
I know I have the strength to push through
As I sit here, I think of you.
Today's prompt came late, but I didn't have much to do. Rest and write. Which is important, as it helps me heal, one word at a time.
The prompt was breathtaking and the challenge was to try a Villanelle.
I sort of let go of the breathtaking bit, though he certainly takes my breath away on a very regular basis, but it's not what I chose to focus on today. Instead, I tried to take up the challenge and write a poem that worked with the form that was suggested.
I feel I've succeeded. I hope you agree.

Saturday, October 28, 2017

I belong

I belong in the forest
I belong in the trees
Feeling their rough bark
Against my hands and knees
Brings me comfort
As energy flows through me.
I belong in the forest
I belong in nature
Under cover of the canopy
Humidity makes me shiver
Putrefied scent of fallen leaves
Soil composted from rotting timber
I belong in nature
I belong in the fields
Dark, rich earth just upturned
Across the many wealds
Ground smokes under the sun's hot gaze
Prepared for next year's yield.
I belong in nature
I belong in the braes
With hedges glowing like jewels
Under the warm sunrays.
Tangled branches glide by as I drive
Gold, reds and browns pave the way
I belong in the braes
I belong in the mountains
Mighty ridges towering
Remind us daily how we, humans
are no more than lowly creatures
Scuttling frantically around in vain.
I belong in the forest, I belong in the trees,
I belong in nature, I belong in the braes,
I belong in the fields, I belong in the mountains;
I belong on this Earth
One tiny element
Of something much bigger
Than me.

Friday, October 27, 2017

Delicate flower

Soft velvet petals
Reveal a carmin center
Delicate flower
Fingers caress her
Gently on the outer rim
Sending sweet shivers
Life sap swiftly flows
Colours change, hot pink, deep red,
Petals full, engorged
Sweet nectar pools 'round
The center bud, glistening
Precious scent wafting
Creatures, wild, enthralled
Bend forward, fascinated
Lapping the thin dew
The flower opens
Receptacle for male seed
Generously spread
The prompt today was flowers, their scent and so on...and the form was haiku.
I played a bit with double entendre... Because I'm me ;)

Thursday, October 26, 2017

My mind on arts

My mind is a movie reel
Full of wonderings and flashbacks
(These are often painful ones
Still needing to be processed)
Luckily, I'm now more able
To get through to my earlier feelings
To sort between what I remember
And the negative influences I'd received
The destructive thoughts that snaked inside
My mind is a cha-cha
Sliding endlessly across the floor,
Sometimes moving forwards,
Sometimes taking a step back;
Shining from my heart when I can,
Or wearing a forced smile,
Fake it til you make it
But my hips don't lie,
I always dance life with gusto.
My mind is a poem
Full of metaphors yet to be deciphered,
Food troubles born from infancy,
Mood disorders from endless control;
Yet others much more pleasant,
A beam of white light descending upon me
A visit from Love so pure it healed me
A feather caught in a branch
Signs from a watchful angel
My mind is a rhapsody
Full of contrasted moods and tonalities
I improvise as I go along
Not aiming for any ending
Now more accepting
Of spontaneity
Since I, myself, feel free.
From the earlier bounds
That forbade any excentricity
My mind is a still-life painting
Taking in every detail
Observing nature and people
Colours, shapes, moods and shadows
Trying to understand their story
The way they move through life
And which lessons I can learn
From the errors they made,
The successes they achieved
My mind is a nude statue
Pure in its simplicity
Harmonious in its plasticity
Ancient goddess or nursing mother
The beauty within shining through
Elegant, erotic, loving, caring,
An image that instigates many responses
From people who get the chance
Of looking into it
My mind is a temple
Where peace and love can find refuge
Strong, resilient,
Much more than I tend to believe
I can always retreat there
Focus on my loved ones,
On precious family moments
And remember I'm here to stay
Rising above, irremovable.
Today's prompt was to think of which picture sounded, looked, felt like our mind.
I started working on this poem this morning, but it was just words thrown onto the page.
Tonight an idea came to me, from those earlier words. I tried to work on it a little. Hope you like the results.

Wednesday, October 25, 2017


Take a family, 
Children, mother, grandfather
Gathered around the kitchen;
Dad is out of place in this environment,
Only comes, but without fail,
Year in year out, a family joke,
To 'check' that it's as tasty as usual;
Dates, walnuts, prunes
Spread on the table
With mulicoloured marzipan,
Sweetness fills the air;
Pitting the plums
is for the older ones:
A sharp blade is needed
Too dangerous for small, clumsy hands;
The dates are easier
Younger children can do it alone;
The walnuts are Grandpa's job
A very delicate task
Tip of a knife
To keep the kernels whole;
The younger ones are set
To roll small chunks of almond paste
Shape them, 
And fill the hollowed fruits.
The marzipan sticks on fingers,
So do the plums and dates
It's a messy task!
But when arranged on a plate,
It's a beautiful sight
A Christmas delight.
Made even better
By the joy they shared 
While preparing it. 
Taste of satisfaction was today's prompt. 
One of my favourites to eat on Christmas eve and then, for breakfast as we open presents. 
Pleasant tastes mixed woth pleasant times. What else could one wish, really?

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

The Day They Met

Let's set the scene:
February 15th, early morning
Dark room, coloured lights swirling
Loud music blaring
A crowded dance floor
People there for various reasons
Some to celebrate Valentine's day
Some to lose themselves in the sound
Some hunting for their next prey
Or find their future partner,
Others simply to have fun
She was there,
Silver lace dress over black tights
Dancing freely, to feel alive
Eyes closed at times, focused on the music
Other times scanning the crowd, people-watching ;
Some were already in couples,
For life or for a night,
Men were trying their luck,
Uninterested women turning their backs,
Wanting to be left alone.
Others were more responsive,
Gazes locked, smiles on faces...
Suddenly, as if caught in a light beam,
On the edge of the dance floor, she saw him.
Her heart beat faster, yet time stood still;
In that instant, she noticed his features:
Sharp brown eyes, caramel skin,
Slim, but muscular, no hair to be seen,
Forehead never-ending
Two darker dimples nestled above his eyebrows
Handsome in an unconventional, assertive way;
 "Egyptian God" was her first thought.
Their eyes didn't meet,
She closed hers and kept dancing
Resigned that he hadn't seen her,
Or wasn't interested.
As it happens, he was scanning the room,
Noticing another man who seemed keen.
His hand forced, he made his move.
She was dancing by herself,
Eyes closed, lost in the music,
Focused on the sensations in her body.
He reached for her hand, swirled her around.
Surprised, she opened her eyes
And couldn't believe who was standing there.
Her Egyptian God , saying "You're a good dancer"
A gentle smile illuminating his face.
She couldn't believe her luck!
She hadn't come there to find anyone,
But this man had something,
Though she wasn't sure what exactly...
She lowered her eyes, full of disbelief,
And thanked him for the compliment;
Bu a smile was already forming on her face.
He couldn't believe his luck,
That she didn't reject him.
It was as if a bolt of lightning
Had followed him to her
And settled upon them.
He was patient,
Assertive, but not pushy,
Reading her as if he'd always known her
His touch electrified her,
Lighting sparks along her spine,
Then between her legs,
Over and over again;
The desire in his eyes was palpable,
His lips, his tongue, claimed her
And she willingly surrendered to them,
Arms pinned above her head,
Back arched, hopeful for his fingers,
His kiss.
That night, they set the dance floor on fire.
On a note, scribbled,
His phone number was waiting for her
As she came back to their table.
He was showing deference,
Giving her the choice of where this led.
When he wanted to go,
She followed him
Towards the entrance of the club,
Not ready to let go.
They stood there, facing each other,
Him leaning on the wall,
Her standing in front of him;
There too, she was free to decide,
Not pinned to the wall, all escape impossible.
They talked and talked
Much longer than expected,
Learnt a bit more about each other,
Age, children, languages,
The conversation simply flowed,
Spiked with brushing fingers and stolen kisses,
Teasing ones from her,
Keeping him hungry for more.
He wanted to go home,
She wanted to dance still,
Her freedom quite new to her,
A deep need to enjoy it to its fullest.
He stayed.
To be with her,
Or to secure his prey from other hunters?
They had more fun.
Like teenagers,
Oblivious to the people around.
Until she finally grew tired.
He escorted her to her car.
They kissed
And he finally felt he could leave.
Beating heart,
Wondering what was going to happen,
She drove home,
Hottest scenes on replay
In the cinema of her mind.
Fast forward a few years,
Desire has blossomed
Into Love,
Respect, support.
She is one lucky woman,
And he also seems to think
He is one lucky man,
Proud to be seen with her.
Together, they've already been
Through more troubles
Than many in a lifetime.
Health problems, complicated divorce, financial difficulties.
He's never shied away from offering support,
always shown her he believes in her,
She can do it, doesn't need help,
Just the gentleness of a man
Ready to stand by her side.
Ok, the prompt was "When lovers meet"... there was a suggested form too, but I simply couldn't go with it.
I know there is no rhyme nor rhythm, I know there aren't many poetic expressions. Just the love in my heart, and it'll have to do for today.
This relates something I already wrote about, a long time ago, in prose. But it also adds The Dancer's perspective, which he gave to me a little while back, as we were reminiscing.
I love him. I'm the luckiest woman on Earth.

Monday, October 23, 2017

Spooky Night

Deep into October's longest night
Bats are flying, moon shining bright
A chilly wind is howling
Or is it a werewolf?
A door is creaking
Lights fluttering...
A ghost.
Today I didn't feel like following the theme of the prompt (messenger), but I did follow the form (a nonet).
Hallowe'en is coming you guys!! 😊

Where the Greek Goddess Roams

Bev, over at OctPoWriMo, suggested the poetry form Nonet, for today's prompt What is the Message?

I am a strange one and love counting syllables. I couldn't find a photo of the Goddess Iris or Arke, so I settled for the interesting photo of  the Greek Island Mykonos.

Greek Island Mykonos where I'm sure the
Greek Goddess roams. Photo courtesy of
PublicDomainPictures by Kevin Casper

Once upon a time, far far away
lived a beauty, smart and divine
unhappy with her lot she
created a new life
and lived happily
ever now
where she

Visit the other OctPoWriMo participants and share word love along the way.

Move your body, move your words.

Morgan Dragonwillow

Sunday, October 22, 2017

Memory Lane

Clearing the bed on which I sleep
Of much clutter left in a heap
I saw the ornate double doors
Which, like a gem, hide two small drawers, treasure safekeep
They're part of the old jewelry box,
The kind you couldn't find in shops,
Made with love by my grandfather
With old yet dexterous fingers which never stopped
Seeing it takes me back in time
Thirty five odd years, in my prime,
When innocence was still allowed
Imagination not yet cowed, covered in grime
I miss my Grandpa's loving soul
He was just a hard-working prole
Plunging, every day of his life
Into the mine; back to his wife coated in coal
Yet he knew our hearts to nurture
Took me on walks, taught me nature
To enjoy, he was strict but fair
Days went slowly by, offered their simple pleasures
He told me stories, of the war
Of the mine, gave us simple chores:
Picking wild berries or mushroom,
While learning the name of each bloom, hiking the moor
My mind with nostalgia is rife
His walk, his face, his smile, his laugh
Are all inscribed deep in my soul
"To Grandpa, for life our model"  his epitaph
To this day, I miss him dearly
From him I learnt tenacity
Resilience, love, caring et all
Everyday hero, my angel, eternally
Today's OctPoWriMo's prompt was purposeful passion, a hero's journey. I hadn't had time to try my hand at one of the forms suggested earlier in the month, so decided to give it a go today, when I had few responsibilities. This form is called a florette.
I started writing about my own journey, but I'm getting bored of writing about me. I mean, there is more to life on this Earth than me and my story. And then I saw that old jewelry box that I had thought lost for decades (we'd moved so many times). To see it again sent back memories anew of my dear Grandpa.
Today, he walked by my side all day.

Follow Your Bliss

Follow Your Bliss to Machu Picchu
Photo courtesy of PublicDomainPictures
by Kai Stachowiak

Poets are a sensitive bunch.
We feel things deeply and
that translates onto the page.
We have highs,
so high,
and lows that are
in the deepest of despair.
We move with the energies.
We move with music
we can hear
and sometimes
music that others can't hear.
Everything we feel
lands on the page
sooner or later.
Be kind to your
Be kind on your
poetic journey.
It isn't a race.
It isn't a competition.
It's all about love.
Follow your bliss.

Move your body, move your words.
Morgan Dragonwillow

Hop on over to OctPoWriMo to check out the prompts, write poetry on your blog, and share love in the comments of other poets on their blogs.

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Nothing remains the same

Alone at last;
Breaking from the stranglehold
Caused by your ceaseless control;
Difficult deed it is
Escaping these pervasive voices,
Fighting the urge to lie down,
Grappling for my truth
Hidden deep under your lies;
Introspection is vitally important,
Judging myself needs to stop,
Knocking myself down as well;
Listening to others' advice 
Makes little sense,
Not when they don't care about me 
Or have my best interest at heart;
Progress keeps happening:
Quitting is not an option
Resilience was acquired during all these abused years;
Self-respect is now starting to bloom
Thanks to unconditional love and
Unrelenting support;
Velvety caresses,
Warm embraces and words,
Xenophile passion...
Your hate will not win.
Zoom out till you're gone. 
Your power over me is fading: 
Nothing remains the same;
 I shall overcome!
After a very difficult start of the day, we managed to get to my Mom's, and spirits are higher. 
I'm still quite shaken by this morning's experience, but hopefully I'll manage to explain what happened to my child. Why it was so hurtful. 
For now, I'll go play cards! 
Today's prompt was an abecederian. I did it. 

Don't be like him

You're scaring me
I feel paralysed when you get angry
At me
At your siblings
At time passing by
Don't yell at me
Don't use that scornful voice
That makes me feel 
About as big as a mouse
Don't tell me I should be
More like your dad
Don't tell me I should be 
Stricter with my children
Yelling louder
On top of them all the time
Can't you see I couldn't?
The mere thought abhorrent?
I am tired
Of having to fight him
Day in and day out
Fight the mood he set
The divisive mindset
He instills in our children. 
I'm getting free of him,
His influence,
But my biggest worry
Is seeing him
In the insidious ways
With which he shapes you.
Don't be like him
You're scaring me. 
We are supposed to leave for my Mom's. I can't finish getting ready. I'm paralysed at the atmosphere surrounding me, at how my eldest is yelling at the youngest, telling me "Don't you see they're stalling? You need to be stricter with them Mom. Dad tells us what to do and is on our backs until we've finished doing it. HE knows how to get things moving."
Those are things I can't hear. I mean, their dad is the same person who prefers going on holidays than paying for his children's healthcare, says doctors only want to keep their clients, that's why they aren't telling the youngest the truth on how to heal the fastest. 
Sorry. You don't need all the background. I guess I just need to let it out. 
But writing helped. Even if it's not the theme nor the form, it's where words led me this morning. 
I'm working on an abecederian too. Had started before the crisis. Maybe later today?

Friday, October 20, 2017

I miss you

In the end, I got to write another poem, that fits today's prompt. So here goes...

I hunger for your peace,
Your warmth,
Your care.
I yearn for the safety
Procured by your arms.
I ache for the desire
Etched in your eyes
I long to cuddle up,
Lose myself in your love,
Let it permeate my body,
My soul.
I miss how
You make me feel

Golden Leaf

Wet and windy day
Golden leaf on black background
Shines hope through the gloom

I'm not doing too well today. Physically and psychologically I guess. 
I don't feel like following the prompt. 
This is what you get, from a sad poet hiding in her bed. 

Thursday, October 19, 2017


Mischievious Fox
Spotted a box
Which stirred his curious mind
A quaint parcel
Doused in sparkles
With string and ribbons twined
A flash of red,
A hurried tread,
He checked what t'was in kind
Nosy old Fox
Opened the box;
Greed made him almost blind
Soon, he had dreams
Could feel, it seems,
Gold, jewels for him designed
For a present,
Surely he was to find
But in the box
Poor silly Fox
Lay nothing of the kind
A jack sprung out
Scaring, no doubt,
Fox right out of his mind
Along the glen
Back to his den
Leaving his pride behind
(Such wretched box!)
A frightened Fox
Would now avoid mankind.
This all started a few weeks ago, when I threw a few words on the screen. Fox, Box.... Maybe because, during one of my walks, I saw a flash of red, the tip of a white bushy tail?
But it didn't match any prompts, and I had plenty of material to work on the other ones.
And then, today, as if on purpose, OctPoWriMo's prompt was "Fox or Foxy"
So I played a little bit. I had fun (a nice change from all these heavy poems from the last few days!). I hope you enjoy reading it too!

Wednesday, October 18, 2017


T'was a regular family dinner

My least favourite uncle was there

The long meal was almost over

Time for coffee cups and dessertware


The discussion soon had turned

To politics and adult things

With voices now sounding concerned

About what the future may bring


I'd always been old for my years

And enjoyed deep conversation

So I stayed there, opened my ears

Taking part in the discussion


I don't remember the subject

But this time, I uttered through tears

"All those who suicide elect,

I think I understand their fears."


These were strong words for a young mouth,

But nobody seemed to hear them

The arguments went back and forth

And I, alone, was feeling numb.


They simply kept on talking

As if I hadn't been there

Nobody had been listening

To my overwhelming despair.


I am not sure what happened then

I think I got up in a haze;

I never voiced that fear again

For no one cared for my malaise


Today's OctPoWriMo's prompt was "Everyone went on eating". Well, for me, the meal was almost over, but this is the incident that came to mind.

I know that if a teen of mine were to utter these words, I would certainly pick up on it and ask them about it in a private setting. I wouldn't just let it go and dismiss it as non-sense, or unimportant.

I guess I'm healing from that wound, as writing it didn't make me cry, but the tears are pooling just there, on the rim of my eyelids, like they did back then.

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Hooray, Hooray!

Two days ago to m' Love I said
"When do you come and visit me?
I'd love to have you in my bed,
Even more if you'd sleep with me."
He's coming to see me, you hear?
Hooray, hooray
And he'll even sleep the night here
Hooray, hooray!
His reply came quick as an arrow
"I am not free tonight, he said,
But I can come by tomorrow
And I'll spend the night in your bed"
He's coming to see me, you hear?
Hooray, hooray
And he'll even sleep the night here
Hooray, hooray!
He even added right away
"Or the night after, you decide
I'm free for you on either day
By your preference I shall abide."
He's coming to see me, you hear?
Hooray, hooray
And he'll even sleep the night here
Hooray, hooray!
So let me go and get ready
My Love to welcome in my bed
The news he's staying makes me heady
I'm so glad for my desre I pled!
He's coming to see me, you hear?
Hooray, hooray
And he'll even sleep the night here
Hooray, hooray!
Ok, I'm sort of getting late to go fetch him, so please forgive me for the quick postface. 
Otherwise, OctPoWriMo day 17 was just not going to happen today!

Monday, October 16, 2017

Telling my story

 OctPoWiMo's prompt for day 16 (yes' we've been through half of it already!) was "Losing your fears and tears".
It seems they are intent on getting me exhausted with finding my way, these poets who write the prompts! Every day almost, I feel like it needs me digging, hard, into those painul spots in my heart, in my soul.
Hopefully, this all helps me loosen those dark threads and find my voice :)

Today's prompt reminded me of this quote


Telling my story
(Or is it stories?)
Is like living them
All over again
The hung up feelings
The raw emotions
Come to the surface
Demand to be faced
It's a hard deed, though,
Looking at sorrow
And what brought it up
Inner soul clean-up
This is the role of tears
Washing away our fears
Tearing memories apart
That are stuck in our hearts
At first, the words hurt
They come out in blurts
Mixed with sobs and sighs
Wailing and loud cries
Then, slowly at times,
We unravel lines
Of thoughts, false beliefs,
Hoping to find relief
When skies get clearer
Darkened threads looser,
Oftentimes we find
The words that unbind
All of a sudden
We gain our freedom
From weighty silence,
Stand in defiance
Of our deepest fears
Washed away by our tears.
Having found our words
Our voice can be heard
And after much time
We break through the slime
That kept us bound,
Stuck to the ground;
We can fly
Reach the sky;
We are free

Sunday, October 15, 2017

OctPoWriMo day 15 Liquids

The first thing that came to mind when I read today's prompt was this poem, written in April.

Then I was reminded of my late night excursion with my Lover and wrote a very different poem, one indeed based on a POSITIVE trigger.

But I don't think it is suitable for publication on Morgan's website, so if you want to read it, you'll have to ask me via email at dawnsnights @ gmail . com (just remove the spaces).

Otherwise, enjoy this poem. Well, not sure enjoying is the proper word. It's a bit gross!

Tip... top... tip... top...
I watched as the drops formed on the overhead shower
Round at first
Then taking this telltale elongated shape 
I love the peaceful sound of water droplets
As they softly hit the ground.
I'd felt a gush of warm liquid 
Running down my leg. 
I wasn't expecting it,
But I had no time to worry about it. 
And it wasn't that unpleasant,
Some people even enjoy the experience:
Golden showers are a kink for some,
A mixture of submission and trust
Even of humiliation perhaps?
The reason I couldn't worry about it?
I was too focused on not splashing
The liquid coming out of my mouth in big spurts
Ejecting the little broth and vermicelli 
I'd just tried to eat. 
That and the medications I had just taken
(With food, it said on the box).
Everytime my stomach contracted,
More pee would pool under my knee
It happens to us older women, 
When we've had too many children, 
And we cough or laugh too hard. 
Or vomit, apparently. 
The liquid coming back up had an acidic taste
That burnt my ailing throat. 
Just what I needed. 
The taste of it made my stomach clench
And caused new eruptions
Until finally,
Stomach empty, 
I could get up. 
Now I'm sure you understand better
Just how peaceful it felt
To watch those perfect water droplets
Form on the overhead shower. 
And how blissful it was
Feeling more warm liquid running along my legs
But cleansing my skin this time
Not just my insides.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Autumn day

Little spark of red
Dancing by my feet
Running with the wind
Dainty glint of green
Snaking by my feet
Floating on the sea
Brazen flash of gold
Striking by my feet
Whispering through the leaves
Today's OctPoWriMo's prompt was movement. For an instant, I thought about talking about how I managed to stand up, or how many times I moved places, countries.
But I was tired of all the darkness, I needed something light today. My onspiration came when I saw a little aspen leaf (I know, they're yellow, but it didn't fit the number of syllables that worked for the rest of the poem!) blown by the wind on the road.
I'm not sure what I wrote describes the image I saw really well (there's no mention of the contrast between the bright yellow and the grey of the road), but I tried to focus on movement and I followed the words.

Friday, October 13, 2017

Someone like you

Waking up already tired,
Just thinking of your life is painful;
Getting up requires strength
You feel you have never had,
So shutting your eyes suddenly seems
Like the most attractive choice.
The simple act of
A fight,
Closed throat,
Pounding heart,
Chest tight
And from your life you see no respite
(Why should one even need respite
From their own life,
Is a question you often ponder).
You can't get out of your head
Caught in the maelstrom of your thoughts.
You're so tired you just lay there
Yet sleeping is not an option:
The whirlpool drags you ever deeper
Into comatose asphyxiation.
The voices in your head
Contradict themselves constantly
So you don't know which to believe.
One lashes at you,
Trashes you,
The scorn, palpable,
Makes you feel less than dirt
"Look at yourself, slob, you're disgusting!
You're always running late, you're fat and ugly,
There's not a thing you can do properly
You're a sad excuse for the human race."
The other one tries to build you up,
A gentle voice,
Telling you "You're doing great,
You're a good person
With your heart on your sleeve;
Your clients love you,
Come back year after year,
Word of mouth is all the publicity you need
Because your reputation is outstanding."
But that positive voice,
So gentle and fragile
Is drowned out by the vociferous one
Screaming repeatedly its scorn.
So you can't just think,
Like a normal person,
But have to question every single idea
That germinates into your mind,
Checking it's really you speaking
Not some cunning Medea.
Preparing food seems like
Such an insurmountable feat
Your body's hungry
But your mind doesn't want to know
Yet, moments later,
As you finally eat
From that meal
Distractedly prepared, with disgust,
Nothing is left in front of you
Not a single crust;
You ate more than your body needed
And right away regret it.
But you won't allow yourself to slide into
What you consider the next taboo.
If you ate too much, too bad for you:
You'll carry the weight of that decision
Shaming yourself publicly
With the extra pounds you've been taught to despise.

Stimulations are overwhelming:
You're scared by the sound of a drop
Falling from your shower,
A flashing light sends you into a fit,
A smell you can't stand;
You hear sounds that don't exist,
A constant humming in your ears;
Images are so vivid,
Even with your eyes closed;
The taste of your blood
Stays in your mouth
After you bit your tongue.
You feel helpless
But, somehow,
Know you need help;
You need support
But do you deserve it?
What if you bothered anyone...
Vivid pictures
Dance in your mind:
Dangling from a rope
Or lying on train tracks,
You finally rid the world
Of one more burden.
And these images bring
And calm.

But you're too scared
Or too coward
To go ahead with it;
That's what you'd been thinking
All those sleepless nights:
Even in death, you can't succeed!
You're a failure through and through
Why would the world need
Someone like you?
I started writing this poem in the morning. At a time I was just recovering from my last panic attack. Reading the prompt again tonight, I realise that I didn't explore at all the "How is madness linked to creativity". I just read "Write about mental illness".
So I did. My life has been crazy lately, dealing with... mental illness(!), so I didn't pay too much attention to form or rhyme. Let's say it's free-verse, I'll feel less inadequate ;)

Thursday, October 12, 2017


Reading the news this morning
I was brought back to thinking
About when your dad pushed me,
Or I had a D&C.
It was still hard to accept
That it was more than neglect
Leading him to do these things;
The voice inside still saying,
"Don't exaggerate, Mommy
You react like a banshee;
He didn't mean to hurt you
You're behaving like a fool."
Why's it always easier
To argue as an observer
Than as myself to do it
(those times I simply lose my wit)?
Finally, I found my voice:
"The one who made the wrong choice
Was not me, t'was your father.
What would you  call a mother
Who drops her child from a high-rise,
Yet when he's hurt, averts her eyes?"
"Didn't mean to harm you, Son,
Your claim is clearly overdone!
How could I have ever known?
Always thought you would have flown."
Bottom line in all this is
We need support for challenges.
It's all quite simple really
If you love them, think safety:
Can you help them if they flail?
Make sure they're not set to fail.
If you push and can't help them
You're the one with mental problems.
Completely off prompt. Today's was an interesting prompt, but I've been way too busy. I'll try to write about it soon, but for now, I dumped some words, some recognition about me and my life. 
It all came about because I was reading about how many more women die at the hand of their male partner than the other way round (and most women who do kill a partner is because he was attacking them). For those who want numbers, it's about 10 times more.
It led me to reading articles about abuse, which led me to think about my own experience. And finally, the explanation as to why what he did was physical violence, not just an accident, came to me, while I heard my child's voice in my head, and I tried to explain to them why it was violence and not an accident.


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