Poetry Corner

[AndyT]

I wrote this a couple of years ago, it is only one part of the whole book, that I have worked on as part of my recovery. There are 49 and just waiting for the illustrations. I found I wrote a great deal and even the name 'Linden' harks back to a time of innocence, I lived in a road of the same name! It was subconscious and the specialist thinks it is significant. Some are to dark to include.

~ Linden's Men of Flanders ~

Many hand shire dray, snorts linden chill,
Firing twin spirals & swirls mist high.
The tremble & thunder as barrels fall.
Echoes to nightmares of the foreign foe,
The pond, where no man can land,
Or deep crater where the mine blown.
A soldier feels the bandage of valour,
And his head shakes, blurring vision,
Another bound to a chair, marches there.
A whistle sounds out the morning mess,
They cannot fight or retreat no more,
The Flanders soldiers cannot cry in fear.
Linden Edward Hall nurse, can not see,
She knows not where mined trenches be.

[AndyT]

BeHealthy,

Thanks for your comments, that is how I felt it.

[Badmemories]

I have been studying the Pine ridge Native Americans and I found this poem. I see it is a deep poem that resonates on the healing we are all doing!

IN SEARCH OF THE LOST WARRIOR
I searched for the Warrior as a child, a spirit innocent and free, but broken by people's reaction to me.
Your too small, the last one picked when we played ball.
How come you're always in the way, don't do what I do, just what I say.
Never say how you feel, do anything but be real.
The way of the church you have to learn, or in * your going to burn.
It's too bad your Dad had to die, be a man and don't you cry.
Fit into society they would scream, but in my heart beat a different dream.
Outside voices conditioned me to fail, but a voice inside said "a Warrior spirit will prevail".
I searched for the Warrior as a young man, a spirit filled with pain and frustration, fueled by anger and intoxication.
I finally believed what they said, the dream inside was almost dead.
Society had finally won, I became the prodigal son.
With no dream I lost my sight, all I wanted to do was fight.
Drugs and alcohol became my way of life, it's the only way I could cope with the pain and strife.
In relationships I could not stay, I would always run away.
In my soul I wanted to die, I no longer had the will to try.
Then God gave me a sign, it helped me quit the drugs and wine.
My thoughts had become my jail, but a Warrior's spirit said "you will prevail".
I searched for the Warrior as a man, a spirit scarred but free, made by my reaction to me.
With the pipe I learned to pray, the spirits guiding me along my way.
In the ceremonies I began to heal, I slowly began to see what was real.
To grow I needed all the pain, just like the grass needs the rain.
Now when people try to use their power and control, I just stop and pray for their soul.
When in my life love begins to fade, I just remember that soul mates just don't happen, they are made.
Not believing in myself was my only sin, that's all I had to do to win.
I now live my life by choice, and that is to listen to the Warrior's voice.
I no longer believe in the end of the trail, because if you find your Warrior's spirit, you will prevail.

by Bim Pourier

[schrödinger's cat]

Wow.

[Convalescent]

Wow, that poem from Pine Ridge Native Americans... that hit hard.

[ding dong]

Hi there . I never liked poetry until I started to realise that I have CPTSD and the creative part of my brain was not allowed to grow properly. This is a poem by Charles Bukowski called Bluebird. It has helped mea great deal in coming to terms with what I have been through.
There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
But I'm too tough for him.
I say stay in there, I not going to let anyone to see you.

There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
But I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke on him
And the whores and the bartenders and the grocery store clerks
dont know he is in there.

There's a bluebird in my heart   that wants to get out
I say stay down,
Do you wanna mess me up?
Do you screw up the works?
Do you wanna blow my book sales in Europe?
Ther's is bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
But I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when every one is asleep
I say, I know you're there
so don't be sad then I put him back,
but he is singing a little in there, I haven't let him die just yet
and we sleep together like that
with our secret pact
and its nice enough to make a man weep
But I don't weep
Do you?

[Convalescent]

Where are you? I shouted away my lungs, but I couldn't hear a sound. Like the last moment of a dream, right before you wake up. I couldn't see a thing, only fragments of my imagination. I tried to wake up, but couldn't decide if I were awake or dreaming. Stuck in limbo, neither alive nor dead. A perfect combination of something wright and wrong at the same time. I couldn't tell if my thoughts were giving birth to this unreality, or if it was the other way around. Always stumbling, never deciding. A vacuum with no end in sight. A fracture of time seemed like forever, like a conscious catatonia, like life unwillingly giving up on life. Like a scream within a scream. Despair without sadness. A dream without beginning and end.

She began folding away her fantasies, blending in with reality. Melting in with the interior of my house of dreams. Like a metaphor for confusion. Like a manifestation of a perfect state of flux.

Everything faded away into black and white, into perfect shades of light and darkness, void of colors and nuance. "Is this reality?" I thought to myself.

[Convalescent]

I really liked that poem by Charles Bukowski, ding dong

[woodsgnome]

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

   David Whyte, from his poem "Sweet Darkness"

[Dutch Uncle]

What a complex thing it is to live
To trust enough to continue giving
Or believing in love
When passion is not tempered by logic
And ambition is not balanced by gratitude
The truth is obscured
In this age of instantly cured
Which values nothing of value
And puts the price on what it is
Which is priceless

What it is, is this
Is what it is
You and I exist
Therefore we are becoming
Here we are in this precisely now

How amazing is this life

Say goodbye to the guilt
Leave the past behind
Leave the pain with the past
Lighten up the cross
It's a long journey ahead
You are innocent victims
Of circumstance and coincidence
Be gentle with yourselves
Forgive yourselves
Release yourselves from the past

Wow
What a wonder is this life
Here we are in this precisely now
What a wonder is this life

------------------------------------------------

It's a song text.
But it already sounded like poetry to me 30 years ago.

And I feel like I have been pursuing this for 30 years now.
And I'm getting nearer to completing it

[NyxBean]

I've got a headache at the moment but I promise to come back and try to give some constructive criticism on others' poems. For some reason I find that difficult to do, perhaps because I am concerned I will be too blunt and my positive encouragement won't be enough at times.

Anyway, this is a first draft which came out in about 3 minutes. As such, it'll be rough. I wrote three poems surrounding the idea of my recent ex in one night, and after two lamenting the break up, I finally managed one which captured him more (which is what I had intended from the start).

My poems don't always have much structure or necessarily classic rhythm. Punctuation doesn't matter so much usually and grammar can sometimes do odd things. e.e. cummings is an inspiration of mine so that might give you a hint to why, though I'm nowhere near as... "experimental"?

Please let me know where it is too weak, too strong, confusing, etc. I might redraft this with the intention to show friends after enough time has passed so they don't know who the characters are.

The Magi and The Dryad

robes of a winter's night
wrapping a deceptive frame
fool the fool who assumes
weakness, the strength lies
hidden inside parchment
quickly jump to nimble fingertips

hood drops, hair flutters
with the frozen breeze
fans in a flurry of soft black
expressionless face stares
the warm brown pigment
veiling serious contemplation

secrets of arcane knowledge
spiritual journeys inward and the
study of the stars above
all twist around snapping demons
fiends picked up on the road
or inherited from a line of blood

dryad spy hides in leaves
followed since the vicious fight
which left the enemies charred
power entrances the tree-spirit
the magi's silence serves
only to intensify her curiosity

through the moons she tracked
his face crept further to her
in those eyes, missed by most
resides a deadened ache
lasting through untold years
festering, stealing a resting smile

the magi converses with all
everyone who walks on the road
imparts words and fancy
he revels in a passerby's laugh
yet when that person leaves
the magi crawls back inside

and is he hermit or host?
the dryad knows not
this robed figure can point out
duality in another, however
does he see it within himself?
a human so conflicted

an approach, impossible
wariness of the wildness
keeps the magi far beyond
the length of a delicate arm
he's far too wise, far too aware
that arm could hold thorns

hood yanked again overhead
inspection of his pointed nails
dryad watches, the shoulders shrug
ignoring her intense gaze
the magi walks to the towered city
No trees to hide in there...

[Lifecrafting]

Badmemories, Thank you for sharing In Search of the Lost Warrior!

[Lifecrafting]

ding dong, I like the bluebird poem; I totally relate to controlling the spirit in myself through addictions...

Thanks for sharing.

[Lifecrafting]

Hi Everybody!

New to OOTS, I find myself unable to share a bit about me; it feels really awful to be so afraid of that.
Anyway, I asked myself: "what will help you?"  Answer: Poetry. Music. And like minded people. So then I asked SOMEWHERE on this site and Woodsgnome guided me here. Thanks Woodsgnome!


I wrote this about 20 years ago when I first started waking up to what my life had been up to that point and I thought to myself: OK! I got this! Now that I know... I can conquer anything and everything's going to be great from here on out!
Well, it didn't quite work out to be that easy, right?

So, here I am, many years later and these words still ring true, albeit in a different way.
The Dream Designer is my spirit communicating with my thinking self, like ding dong's bluebird...

Here you go:


I am a Dream Designer, I go where I wish;
I have complete freedom so there are
no limitations as to who, what, how, where or why
and as such, I can see
the most beautiful,
the most interesting,
the most satisfying.


I am YOUR Dream Designer.
I am your wants.
I am your thoughts.
I am your needs.
I am your fire.

I tell you, my talent is immense - I can do anything!
And I say you are worthy of my time.


I am grateful to have found this site and to be witness to so many who have struggled, who still struggle and who get out of bed every day sharing their love, hope and strength. Thank you all for being here.

[woodsgnome]

Lifecrafting,

Dream Designers are really cool; thanks for yours joining in via this poem. I love how a Dream Designer can hang around, never clamoring for attention, and yet always there. You can travel the world, not be noticed for 20 years, and they're always accessible. They'll never force themselves on you, scream, shout, or insist you acknowledge them, even worship them.

I wouldn't know where to begin to try and understand this, either. The mind hates this, it can't figure why I believe there's more than the grief and sadness it hurls at me every day, or what a Dream Designer has to do with the facts of cptsd. That's nice, mind; you can keep your thoughts and be baffled, because I sense the Dream Designer traveling right along, exactly where its always been. The mind will get its chance, 'cause I'll forget, much to its twisted delight. Dream Designer just treks along, so thanks, Lifecrafting, for sharing some of its beauty.