Lost in Transit

Footprints clear in the crisp snow;
I follow, hoping to find my way
Back to the place I came in.
The path winds on and on;
No end in sight. Until at last
Familiar sights greet me.
I have been here before:
This is where I started out
Chasing the ghost of my own past,
Round and round, perpetual motion
Leading nowhere. No memory
Of my destination remains.
Lost in transit, marking time,
Walking in my own footsteps
Hoping to find myself
At journey's end.

New vs Old

That's progress for you, march of time,
The local that we knew so well:
A dozen years of dirt and grime
Replaced by light and new-paint smell.

Old habits live on, so they say,
The people still behave the same,
Old memories surface day by day:
Same old faces, the same old game.

And though the steersman's hand is new,
The ship new-found, fresh from the yard,
'Most every hand's from former crew
Who know the ropes, old ways die hard.

The captain is no fool: she knows
Every trick from a foremast jack.
I will sit back, see how it goes
With those who wish the old times back.

With a Little Help

If happiness in life dependsOn finding comfort where you may,
Then most of all you need good friends
To brighten up your darkest day.

If loneliness should reappear
And threaten to extinguish hope,
Don't ever give in to your fear:
Your friends can give you strength to cope.

Kindred Spirit

Come sit with me and we can watch the world go by;
That's all I ask. I won't mind if you want to try
Some light discourse, then later we might take a stroll
And pass some time there by the river as it rolls
Beneath the trees and winds its way down to the sea:
A quiet time. And if in turn you ask of me
Just company, why then I should feel truly blessed
For I'll have found a soul to share my time of rest.

Waving or Drowning?

I drifted far out from the shore
Without a thought nor any care
For where the wind and tide might draw
My broken heart: I turn to stare
Back on that place I left behind
With few regrets. What is there now
To hold me and where can I find
The peace I crave? I wonder how
To send my signal straight to you:
A cry for help, I'm sinking fast.
No longer knowing what to do,
I raise my arms and hope at last
That you will understand my plight
And reach out, offer me a hand
Before I drift beyond your sight,
A castaway from love and land.

Writer's Block

Blank page stares back at me,
Taunts. A mocking challenge,
Battle of wills. To see
How mighty is the pen
When faced with emptiness.

Scar Tissue

The sharp bright pain of fresh wounds
Grows dull with time. Though they heal
The scars are left as scrapbook
Memories.

Each one a window on the past
Through which the hurt still shines,
Less intense: scar tissue hard
And numb.

On The Edge

Unbroken path leads back
The way I came while on
Each side the land runs out
To fade in distant haze.

In front of me the void
Assures oblivion,
Patiently awaiting
That last small step of mine.

I don't remember how
My feet conveyed me here,
Nor any of the turns:
Decisions lost in time.

On setting out the route
Lay wide and arrow-straight
As far as eyes could see;
We walked off hand in hand.

It matters not who first
Slipped from the other's grip:
We each believed our paths
Led true. The distance grew

Until the day I found
We'd drifted out of touch:
I had never noticed
You straying from my side.

Glimpses offered hope that
Our paths would meet ahead:
I'll wait for you forever,
Alone here on the edge.

Loneliness Redux

It was John Donne who wrote in 1624, "No man is an Iland, intire of it selfe". Can't say I disagree with this - the more I build protective walls around me, insulating myself from the world at large, the more lonely I feel. Humans are social animals and merely going through the motions, only interacting superficially, does not involve any connexion with others. I find I need some contact but I'm shut away.

The keep stands fast, ringed by its moat,
Secure, yet isolated.
Defending me from close approach;
Connexions subjugated.

All who try to find a portal,
Some water-gate unguarded,
Can only beat against stone walls
With which my self's surrounded.

Fear builds these walls, fear of getting hurt, fear of censure or ridicule. These fears seem to feed on depression, growing stronger until they overwhelm me, forcing me to withdraw and take refuge behind the reinforced barriers of my mental "panic room".

The trouble is that once those doors are closed, once the shutters come down, there is a coldness as my links to those around me are severed. Feelings are dulled and remote, like outside sounds heard through a closed door. In here I am safe from danger but also disconnected from positive influence - a dilemma.

Perfect isolation
Brings a deathlike stillness.
Colorless desert; expanse
Of infinite emptiness.

How to resolve this? It is paradoxical that in my loneliness I feel a need to be alone, to get away and be by myself for a while. To regain my balance, rebuild my strength and, hopefully, recover my happiness. Because at the moment I am down. Have been for some days or weeks now - not quite sure how long.

The blighted trees were once so green
But now stand gray and twisted.
My woodland haven, tranquil scene,
Destroyed, demolished, blasted.

I feel exhausted. There are reasons - I know what they are but not how to resolve them.

Solitary inmate; my prison
Is of my own making, no less
Secure for that. I hold no keys
That will unlock these cold steel bars.

Outside my cell the corridors
Are silent, no guards to patrol.
My small cell lost in this fastness.
I cry out; echoes fade to naught.

Trying to find some inner peace is difficult right now. I try to recall times of happiness and comfort such as walks in the countryside, views across lakes to distant hills and forests - but instead I find I am transported to exposed rocky slopes with the cold wind howling around me as the rain lashes down and thunder rumbles ominously in the distance. I am a long way from shelter and the day is rapidly drawing to an end to leave me on my own in the stormy night.

Trudging endlessly through the long night, the search for a place to rest seems a Sisyphean task. But I cling to the hope that the storm will abate, a new day will dawn and I will at last find a place to lay my head. To cast off my weariness and return to the light.

Dissociation

Signals flashing through the air,
I don't even seem to care.
No expression, sit and stare,
Mind withdrawn: I am not there.

Dissociation is, I believe, a defense mechanism, a way of getting away mentally rather than physically. For me it appears to be an unconscious reaction to some sensory or emotional stimulation - the first I often know of it is when I realize somebody is trying to get my attention and they say to me that I was "miles away".

Don't ask me where my mind wanders during these episodes - they are blank. I have no conscious memory of what has happened and no sense that any time has passed. In a way it feels similar to the hyper-focused state of flow in that my sense of the passage of time is distorted.

It's not something that happens often - it's far more common that I'll shut down or otherwise become non-verbal and unresponsive while still being aware of what's going on around me. But every now and then I'll notice that there is a discontinuity in my memory - either I find myself in a new location with no memory of how I came to be there, or I notice that there has been some change around me. Different people, a change in the lighting. Perhaps the sun has set and I find myself wondering, or even asking out loud, "When did that happen?"

Discontinuity/
Jump cut reality/
Fast-forward memory/
Void in my history.

Returning to the here and now is jarring, unsettling. It's like falling asleep in one place and waking up in another. There is a strong feeling of dislocation, of confusion. A sense of having lost something. It can even be frightening - being aware that I have moved in time or space but not knowing anything about the transit.

Incandescence

Embers glow too dull to see
And yet the fire still smoulders,
Drip-fed fuel of hurtful words
While seeming to grow colder.

Now the kindling's stacked so high
It's balanced on a knife-edge,
Fatal breath of oxygen
Explodes it in violent rage.

Alpha and Omega

Everything comes to an end,
That's just the way of the world.
Every new fashion and trend
Like a spring flower unfurled.

Try as you might, you can't mend
Petals when withered and brown.
Enjoy the moment, my friend,
Go with a smile, not a frown.

Cycles forever repeat,
Memories all that transcend.
Life springs from death, born complete.
Everything starts from an end.

À la Recherche d'une Qualité Perdue

Childhood days -
Endless summer
Over so soon.

School routine -
Facts and figures
In place of friends.

The shy boy
On the fringes -
Mock his strangeness.

Building Lego
Sat for hours -
Transcendent joy.

Exam success,
Afraid to speak -
Social failure.

Computer geek,
Obsessive interest -
The world forgotten.

Curious mind
Always learning -
Child-like wonder.

Naïveté
Jamais perdu -
Le retour de l'été.

Weathering the Storm

Looking back from where I sit alone,
Thinking how it all was meant to be,
Sunny days and laughter in the home,
Not a care to trouble you or me.

Gathering dark storm clouds: trouble looms
On the far horizon, distant fear.
Thunder rolls and hints of pending doom,
Presages the trouble drawing near.

Suddenly the tempest rages round,
Unexpected fury a surprise,
Trying hard to keep feet on the ground,
Lashing rain brings vengeance from the skies.

Feeling such oppression I withdraw,
Cower in the shelter of my mind.
Memories of happiness are straws.
Desolation creeps up from behind.

Say What You Mean

I'm trying to make sense of what you say,
But meaning keeps eluding me. I try
To get you to explain, to be precise,
But fail to crack the code; I'm left confused.

"You don't spend any time with me," you say,
Although I'm in proximity all night.
I guess you must mean more by these few words
Than superficial reading can discern.

In lieu of reading minds, I query you
To tease out your intent in speaking thus.
My literal approach has let me down:
Unable or unwilling, you decline
Request after request from me to put
Your evident concerns a different way.

You speak a language using words I know,
Combined in cryptic metaphors to bear
A meaning that may seem so clear to you:
It might as well be Mandarin to me.
So once again I offer up my plea,
I wish for once you'd just say what you mean.

Mandala

Each instant of the present
Hangs like a leaf
Upon the infinite tree
That is the future.

And just like leaves in autumn
Each in its turn
Becomes an instant of past:
Now falls from the tree

Whose roots absorb the essence
Of fallen past,
Feeding on earlier times
To nourish new growth.

The cycle thus continues:
Old times return
Though in a different guise.
Our stories repeat.

I Miss You, Mum

When I'm happy, want to share,
When I need someone to care,
Though I seek you everywhere,
Have to face it: you're not there.

Grew up sheltered by your wing,
Never wanted for a thing,
You eased every hurt and sting,
Now my birds no longer sing.

There's an empty space inside
To which access is denied,
Though I've tried, oh! how I've tried
To heal my wounds since you died.

But I struggled to impart
(I was lacking in the art,
Never knowing where to start)
I loved you with all my heart.

Think about you night and day,
And I want so much to say
That because you showed the way
I'm the man I am today.

Devious Complication

A simple soul is what I am,
A simple life I lead.
But other people complicate
Their ev'ry thought and deed.

I fail to see the point of this:
Why skirt round what you mean?
By coming to the point head-on
Intent is plainly seen.

Let others play their petty games.
I'll stay just how I am.
Taking in the words they speak,
Ignoring hidden plans.

Because I'm just a simple soul,
I fail to see beneath
The surface of banality
That hides the claws and teeth.

Agendas hidden from my sight,
Though seen by other eyes,
Ultimately come to light
And take me by surprise.

I find it hard to understand
So devious a mind:
Manipulate for one's own ends,
So selfish and unkind.

I'm happy as this simple man,
Content to take no part
In playing games with people's lives
That end with broken hearts.

The Last Rose

Winter is upon the land
And yet outside my window,
Shielded by some unseen hand,
One rose continues to grow.

Single bud encased in green
That hides its wine-dark crimson.
Summer beauty might be seen
So late against all reason.

Barren branches all around,
Grass laid flat by heavy dew.
Perfect bloom can now be found,
The best kept back just for you.

Until at last nature calls
Time; it's heard without a sound.
One by one each petal falls
To wither upon the ground.

The Color Of Yule

Stark monochrome: black trees, white snow,
Gray skies above, dark ice below.
A freeze-frame landscape, time stood still
'cross patchwork fields pervasive chill.

Laid in the hearth, upon the grate,
The source of Yuletide warmth awaits
Its kindling, when the flames will dance,
Bright heralds of the sun's advance.

When rising at the turn of year,
Blood red! sun's light comes running clear
With warmth as if from sacrifice
't were spilled to flood across the ice.

And here like frozen drops of blood
Are holly berries from the wood,
Nestled amid the leaves' dark green,
Reflected by the lustrous sheen.