on occasion
I ask myself
what purpose serves
my writing
the answer invariably;
none and nil; as such
yet I carry on
in equal measures
boredom with
wrapping of hope
needless desire of
wanting where lust
wobbled and ability
faltered…
no mortal combat ensues
as Baba Yaga crashes the party
“that is how the cookie crumbles” she says
between mortar and pestle
no combat required
is it wrong
the attraction I feel
the women I see
are kindered
their youth
carried proud
not young but
young at heart
young as am I
though the clock
is winding down
with every day
the closure comes
closer than
I ever will
acknowledge
is it wrong
the attraction I feel
and by feeling
the wrongs I
am doing will I
ever find belonging
among those I
do find close at
heart
If you know someone who’s depressed, please resolve to never ask them why. Depression isn’t a straightforward response to a bad situation; depression just is, like the weather. Try to understand the blackness, lethargy, hopelessness, and loneliness they’re going through. Be there for them when they come through the other side.
It’s hard to be a friend to someone who’s depressed, but it’s one of the kindest, noblest, and best things you’ll ever do.
it stood at the end of the road
the gallows
the sign read: “casting tomorrow at noon”
I felt the urge
to attend
There was darkness until
I opened my eyes
Beholding the beauty that
Lay before me
I saw that of which
The poets write
The essence of songs and
That which make our
Hearts beat.
N.B. The title was unapologetically stolen from a line from a poem by @wordswritteninsilence
The probable cause is
I was born a tad late
A few centuries earlier
On a rural farm I would
Have fitted right in
No worries about who to
Marry or where to live,
What to do today, tomorrow or
Even next week
That would not have been
My worries and
I would have been happier
I think
Back then
was when it started
// I think to myself trying to find someone to blame //
Finding a hidden magazine in
My father’s bedside table
Tucked beneath a flyer of
Someone selling something
innocently
Back then; later
It continued when finding them
Offroad on parking lots used by
Older guts, smoking and drinking
Beer and driving around in their
Chevies and Buicks
Back then; later still
Internet Became
Newsgroup postings showing
More and more details
Expliciticity became the norm
Back then; yesterdayish
It’s in the phone and everyone’s
Sharing
My nudity though still precious
Keeping me to myself
Because of the above or
Not is to be decided but
Surely I can blame some of what is
Me on finding that magazine
In my father’s bedside table
// Yes I do blame You //
Sometimes people don’t think I’m real!!
Reality is in the eye of the Jayholder!
I didn’t know that! I bet that means reality is jaysome! 😀
or! just really really small??? Which! in no way is a reflection on the Jaysomeness of Reality, which! by the by looks smaller if the looking glass is back to front or, I guess, upside down, depending on which end of the stick you are tied to.
