It’s Time

It’s time to don the Salomon,
And launch into my run,
Upon the trails it never fails,
I always find some fun,
Slip and slide along divide,
With views so aptly won,
My happy place with smiling face,
That lights the setting sun.

It’s time to skirt some mountain vert,
And leave the world behind,
It’s nature’s call that finds your all,
And brings the peace to mind,
Each step you take, a path you make,
Which leads you from the grind,
Into the bliss, where leeches kiss,
And ferns are intertwined.

It’s time to flee society,
And sprint into the hills,
Where scented trees will make you sneeze,
And conjure many thrills,
No phones to ring, just birds to sing,
No worry for the bills,
With life sublime, no borrowed time,
Just joys to warm the chills.

It’s time to dance, no second glance,
Amongst the ghostly gums,
We need not face the human race,
Nor pay our earthly sums,
For it is here, where air is clear,
That one should beat their drums,
To rhythms heard, of chosen word,
Where destiny becomes.

It’s time to don the Salomon,
And launch into my run,
The mountain breeze will bring you ease,
With views that must be won,
And on the trails it never fails,
I always find some fun,
Yes when you don the Salomon,
You’ll light the setting sun.

Look Into The Mirror

Look into the mirror,
Do you see what I see,
I see a young girl,
Who is pretty and free,
A blessing to others,
As smart as can be,
Yes look in the mirror,
And see what I see.

Look into the mirror,
Do you hear what I hear,
I hear a young girl,
Who is full of good cheer,
With laughter like music,
And spirit so clear,
Yes look in the mirror,
And hear what I hear.

Look into the mirror,
Do you find what I find,
I find a young girl,
Who is gentle and kind,
With a heart that explodes,
And a beautiful mind,
Yes look in the mirror,
And find what I find.

Look into the mirror,
Do you feel what I feel,
I feel a young girl,
Who my heart wants to heal,
A child born to trauma,
Who caught a raw deal,
Yes look in the mirror,
And feel what I feel.

Look into the mirror,
Do you see what I see,
I see a young girl,
Who is pretty like me,
Amazing and special,
And smart as can be,
Yes look in the mirror,
And see what I see.

This poem is the first in a series of works my therapist and I are doing on body image.

Med Resistance

Med resistance, mad persistence,
What a web we weave,
When pills are not the answer,
To the tears upon our sleeve,
We cling to hope beside the rope,
That hangs our soul to grieve,
It isn’t fun to come undone,
When searching for reprieve.

Med resistance, aged existence,
What a tale to tell,
My thirties to my fifties,
Saw me wandering through hell,
And every broken promise,
Kept me trapped under the spell,
Of madness and its feeble thoughts,
I’m far from feeling well.

Med resistance, need assistance,
What a life we lead,
When wounds are open season,
And you cannot stop the bleed,
And therapy’s the tourniquet,
To bandage every need,
Without JB to comfort me,
I doubt I would succeed.

Med resistance, coexistence,
What a mess we make,
When illnesses are pressing,
And we fear we must partake,
In every single protocol,
Our healing does forsake,
Sometimes the cold insanity,
Is difficult to shake.

Med resistance, mad persistence,
Where to go from here,
When pills are not the answer,
Who the hell is gonna steer,
When spinning off the earth,
Is not a hobby made for cheer,
I guess JB is stuck with me,
It’s either that or beer.

A Poem Within A Poem…

As I sit and write I see,
An aging poet just like me,
Aligning words with artful skill,
Transcending life, diffusing will,

And as they write, a window clears,
Revealing more poetic peers,
Who they do watch, as I by chance,
Observe this whole eclectic dance,

A poem within a poem true,
Within a poem just for you,
Three layers of a hopeful plea,
Transforming how the world doth see,

And as we write of lives and loves,
And mental illness with its shoves,
We question what has brought us here,
Where darkness formulates its fear,

And scatters through the breadth of time,
Anointing thoughts that do combine,
To tell a tale that spans the years,
And builds a waterfall of tears,

That drenches decades as they climb,
And fashions rhythms within rhyme,
Ashore it all seems very clear,
These ships were made for us to steer,

Into the night, beyond the dark,
Where nightingales release a hark,
That summons muses far and wide,
And whisks them to the other side,

Where centuries of prose elude,
To change outdated attitude,
On love and life and mental ills,
We still depend on simple thrills,

And as I sit and write I see,
Creative poets just like me,
A hundred years may drift by fast,
But words were always meant to last.

Alive

When mental illness stunts your drive,
Do things to help you feel alive,
There’s no time left, the end will come,
So wander free, embrace the sum,

Of every joy you ever felt,
And every feeling ever melt,
Don’t hesitate to chase the high,
Revealed within that coloured sky,

For colours are your best defence,
When melancholy shouts pretence,
And shadows you with shades of gloom,
Just slam the door and leave the room,

For outside is your looking glass,
Where air is drawn in nature’s class,
And safety rises from the deep,
Providing warmth and hopes to keep,

And words become a way to heal,
Your battered soul as wounds reveal,
The way to truly starve the beast,
Is spoiling its capricious feast,

Returning the internal drive,
By chasing what keeps you alive,
And feeling that this life you live,
Has so much more still yet to give.

Held Ransom

Held ransom to an empty stare,
I cannot breathe the toxic air,
I’m starved of hope and trapped below,
By chains that choke me ever slow,

And locks that hold emotion raw,
My melancholy wants to roar,
Instead it whimpers barely heard,
My sorrow stirs without a word,

The weight of my frustrations pull,
My glass near empty, mind is full,
Of agonising reprimand,
That causes rage to show its hand,

And smite me with sadistic glee,
Restrained by bars I cannot see,
Invisible beyond their fame,
Is being noticed worse than shame,

When being noticed means they laugh,
And brush your stolen epitaph,
With lies that kindness never knew,
And falsities they paint of you,

And even though they spread disease,
You know the truth behind their fleas,
You may be nothing in their eyes,
But ransoms are a cheap disguise,

And shallow waters sometimes drown,
The gaolers and their empty crown,
Made weak through cruelty, hate and blame,
And dodgy rules that change the game,

Held ransom but the end is nigh,
And time will come to shed the lie,
And break the chains and bars that hold,
A life of hope and dreams and gold.

Waiting Room

Sitting in the waiting room,
I contemplate my life,
Will everything work out,
Or will it just be paved with strife,
Will time present a future,
Where the struggle isn’t rife,
Sitting in the waiting room,
The vacuum of my life.

Standing in the waiting room,
The window holds a view,
Is outside any better,
Than the inside given you,
Where raw and bold emotions,
Only bleed the colour blue,
Standing in the waiting room,
Where moods dictate the view.

Thinking in the waiting room,
Of things that haunt my mind,
How can we bear to witness,
When the whole damn world is blind,
With every thread a question pulls,
The answer’s yet to find,
Thinking in the waiting room,
Where echoes rule my mind.

Sitting in the waiting room,
Where conversations start,
For therapy it is the key,
To bridge my ailing heart,
The instrument of healing,
Where the chaos falls apart,
Sitting in the waiting room,
Where life’s about to start.

Manic Musings

Manic musings, oh so deep,
It’s true I found the castle keep,
From whence I shout my raging rhyme,
To spare the thunders of our time.

Manic musings, oh so rich,
My madness loves to flick the switch,
I may be lost, but spirit found,
A way to keep the troubles round.

Manic musings, oh so fraught,
‘Twas light and liberty I sought,
But I’m afraid the darkness won,
And sent me hurtling t’wards the sun.

Manic musings, oh so clear,
Bipolar is a bitch to steer,
These words have passed my lips before,
Though wide awake, I’d sooner snore.

Manic musings, oh so rough,
I know I’m made of tougher stuff,
But when the crazy sucks me in,
Compliance is my only win.

Manic musings, oh so loud,
My mind rejects the screaming crowd,
That echoes in between the lines,
Where trauma lurks like twisting vines.

Manic musings, oh so fast,
I’m cast ashore with broken mast,
Spinning off the earth’s delight,
Emotions swelling up with fright.

Manic musings, oh so terse,
I dance between the vowels and verse,
Forever witty with dismay,
Insanity the price I pay.

Manic musings, oh so deep,
I stand amidst the castle keep,
And still my shouts of raging rhyme,
Will thunder till the end of time.

Manipulations

Manipulations dark and deep,
Do you believe the lies you speak,
Twisted into tales of woe,
So you can always steal the show.

Manipulations fast and true,
Behind mistrust sits all you do,
Disparaging each choice I make,
While your whole character is fake.

Manipulations cruel and mean,
Your dirty tricks polish the scene,
And all who view are snowed within,
The glamour of your phoney grin.

Manipulations cold and raw,
Your spite exists beneath the thaw,
With one hand you deliver grace,
The other slaps me in the face.

Manipulations harsh and wild,
I always was a baffled child,
I never ever seemed to win,
I always took it on the chin.

Manipulations clash and shout,
You loved to cause a verbal bout,
I quickly learned to keep inside,
Those feelings that I had to hide.

Manipulations old and worn,
Your tricks are feeble and forlorn,
For I know how the game is played,
And shun your narcissistic trade.

Manipulations dark and deep,
My fragile heart would slowly weep,
But now the truth is mine to hold,
The future looks a lot like gold.

Bipolar Dance

Stuck in a bipolar dance,
I fly from the seat of my pants,
My efforts are funny,
My nose slightly runny,
I’m trapped in a perilous trance.

Stuck in a bipolar berth,
I spin off the face of the earth,
I slip and I slide,
In a hellish divide,
That separates sorrow from mirth.

Stuck in a bipolar streak,
This crazy is not for the meek,
Existing in panic,
Is simply tyrannic,
But bravery shelters the bleak.

Stuck in a bipolar rut,
The black dog is merely a mutt,
A bully with fur,
That’s more grizzle than grrr,
Unless he is chomping your butt.

Stuck in a bipolar rant,
My anger is often piquant,
And rage can be spicy,
The frustration dicey,
When spiralling into a chant.

Stuck in a bipolar dance,
My fantasies brim with romance,
With sanity fleeting,
My heart starts a beating,
Is madness a lover by chance?