I sit in shade, Overhead loom high canyon walls Behind me river water falls. Swamps with cattails - In a desert?!? I sit timeless in this glade.
Moss, ferns, and even trees Struggle for growth - water from each spring. The Great White Throne - of God or the king. Is now unseen, yet nearby. Black minerals weep Over stones in red Greenness grows as springs seep.
Rocks and river splash, Green and red, blue and tan, all clash! Clashes, such beauty create. Seeing this will satiate The true hunger for natural, silent beauty.
Whipped Apricots Peaks of Yore
Whipped apricot peaks - Egg white icing Orange icing decorated with green trees Shrubs, bushes Vermilion flowers, stripped bees I see them spelling out occasions and names. Unknown language, seen only in rushes.
Smells sweet. Apricot, mint, and sage, Biggest strange cake ever made! Is the ground below to eat? Behind, the Navajo sandstone shows its age.
Whipped apricot peaks, Purple decor. Some apricot spilled on the floor! Sugar in my dress, This does make a mess! I smile as birds go "chirp chirp" with their beaks. This cake has been made of yore.
Goodnight My Friend
Goodnight Sleep tight Sleep easy and free. Stay warm and cozy through the night.
Let no clown spy you. Be gone! Bother no one furthermore! May nightmares pass by you. Gently close your eyes, to lightly dream.
May your dreams be of warm safety, Of laughs and happiness. Of beauty and of Strength. Strength you have, to stay or to leave.
Strength to rewrite nightmares, ...If you so desire. Or banish them completely. They will go away as burned by fire.
Awaken then, after sleep in warm safety, Renewed and refreshed. Laughing from the funny dreams. Inspired by the rest.
From the dawn of memory I desired, no, needed it a dream dangling on the sunset of every tomorrow an eternal moment away
allowing perversion of the goal in an attempt to attain something similar I become all things to all people hiding my soul behind masks alone in the crowd craving acceptance yet fearing rejection a popular personality fraud
eyes back on the prize guard drops letting others see earning reward of rejection run oh run away back into the cave project positive image again damage control with festering wounds
gather courage, try again success? only its shadow the illusion is shattered the heart bleeds once more
forget the ruse I'm tired of the game of playing the many parts free my soul to fly acceptance starts with me
the rejection comes in large doses probably always will but acceptance is finally achieved if only, I find, from me
no longer living in a mold set by strangers, family and friends love ME or hate ME, but know ME only then can I hope to win
I gaze at last into the eyes of total and true acceptance finally free of the fight the face staring back smiles brightly a mirror's reflection of ME
Throughout the garden of life there's beauty at every turn but even the loveliest rose carries inconsiderate thorns to make her bleed who would love it an imperfection it can not avoid but when handled with care and caution caressed the greatest joy can be gained from what others would have avoided
What the hell is that burning that set my nose on fire twist turn what's going on back to sleep it must be a dream all just a bad dream
did a far off voice just say "hit him again with ammonia" OH MY GOD!! there's the burning again eyes pop open blur of images rushing about grabbing holding pushing pulling when did I sit half-way up who put those needles in my arms
senses flooded by the distinctive smell of every emergency room a stench that can overpower anything even ammonia
by the sounds that surge through my head of nurses and doctors and paramedics "at least he's reactive" "he's breathing again" "do you know where you are?" who me yeah - I'm in hell
Hands forcing my head back and a tube down my throat NO!! I can't take this - PLEASE I'll gag! - I'll puke!- I'll die! Please damn it - LISTEN TO ME! why won't they listen why can't they see
the straps are pulled tight racking me to the four corners of existence we've come so far since the middle ages ancient torture mixed with high tech beep, beep, beep, goes the heart monitor pry bar pulls apart the jaws breaking a tooth twist turn struggle fight that goddamn thing's NOT going in my mouth "OK - stick it down his nose" that's OK doesn't bother me this bruising struggle could have been avoided if you would just have listened in the first place why doesn't anyone listen why can't anyone hear
"what did you take?" everything sounds fuzzy far away again I don't know I can't remember who mumbled that fall back asleep
David Woodard: My friends know me as Tigger. I'm a 28 year old (I'll turn 29 on March 18) photographer and digital artist from Texas who just happens to also have a mental disorder known as manic depression. The clinical term for my illness is Bipolar I; Rapid Cycling. I have been fortunate to find a partner who loves me despite the hardships of living with my mood swings and their consequences. I have been married to my wife, Jan, for 10 years. The driving forces in my life are my faith, family, art, and writing. I have described my writing as a voyeuristic voyage into the disordered mind and emotions of a manic depressive. It is my hope that those reading my work either feel hope in the understanding that they are not alone or receive a better understanding of what it feels like to struggle with a mental illness.
From her charitable heart A sane mother comes to the aid Intending to cure with a pill
Inside my soul the lilies whine On the fields of the gray day For ever reliving an ugly past
Sleeping I weep It weeps in me Sleeping I weep Or is it someone else? Another weeping Another sleeping Another not being Anyone but him
And if I go further Can anyone call me back? Can anyone be my mother? Can anyone fill the lack?
Iris, the child She throws her big eyes In my sinful hands
Twelve cherry eyes She throws the dice
She throws the dice Twelve red cherry eyes
Mother of lightning Are you still steering The wheel of this life My only one?
And who receives your mercy? The killer or the body he leaves? Cause sometimes the one is both...
The fire inside me Is it too cold?
From the poison heart My mad mother jumps to the sky Pretending to cure with a pill
I'm a tree sometimes Blossoms falling again I dream that
This empathic universe Cries tears of blood For all souls lost
From the mercury well The golden calf rises Like a yellow dragon of revenge
I am writer Bio-hazard-creator Earth-mover, grave-digger Life-fucker, Jesu
I should be A zero magician Free from desire Ready to go
I should be Chewing gum Doing nothing Just me
I should be Very very careful
With all this Bottle of gin
A lonely wanderer Listens To whispers Trying to understand
Hearing in the fresh Rustling of springtime leaves The tree-innocence of Being mother nature's son
Hearing in the soft Flow of breathing in and out The free destiny of Playing the child in the wind
Hearing unexpectedly A powerful surge of voices From forgotten religions Vanishing into space
Hearing disturbances Made by people's thoughts trying To find statement in myriads Of self-centred fantasies
Hearing the exchange Of calm and commotion Sailing together like ships Meeting in the present
A feeling of Knocking at the door
A feeling of Carefully opening
Feeling A silent wind bringing Pure insight and great compassion
Disclosing in the idea of Autumn leaves decomposing The speaking revelation that Even God's gold will rot
So I carved for you this rock:
"There is no safe place for a human being Than in his acceptance of the imperfection Of this creation and in his willingness To be part of a certain death"
But the lonely wanderer is lost In fairy voices in and out He follows the babbling stream To an ocean without a doubt...
Word I lock you in a coffin Word I bury you in the depth of the ocean Word I'll make you a deal You may cook until your done for In the pouring rain outside my door
With this stick I throw myself With this stick I hit myself With this ink-babbling shit-stick I bear out heaven and earth With the faith of a dog I bite deep into my slavery
Chained by words Punished by writing
Word I ram you out of your coffin Word I drag you from the bottom of the ocean Word Radiant cosmic appeal You may walk into my life Through any door any time
With this spade I dig in the earth Where I kept my heart Hidden from the world With this spade I compose my life To grinded bones manure In honour of words
Word Have you heard? I, man, cry out the name of my heart My heart is no word!
Frans Lelieveld: I go by my own name. I was born in January 26, 1963. I'm a man. I do my internet from the Royal Library in the Hague, Holland. I've been given a mild and not unfriendly kind of schizophrenia since my first big psychosis in 1987. I'm interested in medical and spiritual interpretations and treatments of schizophrenia. I like to discuss the unverified reality changing quality of psychosis.
The protection of insanity keeps the wolves of reality just barely at bay. I hear their howls behind me, stalking their prey. Stalking me. Hunted in the hour of midnight, I flee across this wasteland of raw hunger and need. I once dwelled in the garden of fantasy. I danced with the Silent Knight of Imagination. I spun tales around me that caught me up in soft feathers of delight, tickling my senses. Then came the nightmare of surrender; Surrender of myself to the throes of living. The frost of fear had killed the garden. No longer was I cradled in the valley of tenderness. I became just another faceless Unknown. An Unloved. A forgotten dreamer, left to the blight of misery. Screaming fields of bloody hate seemed to overcome me. It washed over my feet, as one, tainting me with its foulness. So I fled to the safety found in madness. Now, I will drink my life until I remember what "life" is. In the ever-shifting shelter of psychosis I remain. Always dodging my wolves.......
The smiling executioner in Khrono's playground. A blood feeder to be sated with not-so-innocent lives. He digs them up, from the scum of chaos. Throws a mind into a soulless body and calls them The Hunted. They wander the spaces in-between hoping to avoid him, all the while committing deeds as heinous as his Torturing. Killing. Feeding on the wine of life. Stuffing themselves with their own kind. They breathe Hate. Just as He does. They are All without shame.
(a note -- "Khrono" is a German name for "time" )
Who are You to entrance me so? I am almost scared of these intense feelings You send to all my senses.
Who are You to dance so teasingly through my thoughts and dreams? I wonder if You're even conscious of the web You are weaving.
Who are You, that I fantasize how deep passion between us would feel ? How would Your voice sound when saying my name with desire ?
Who are You to make me feel this way ?
You are a seductress; You are passionate and intriguing.... Already You have me bound in Your trappings of soft allusions.
Age: My name is adrienne aka age. 21 female ... hailing from upstate ny. Uhm... i've been diagnosed with PTSD and manic depression with a side dish of "schizophrenic tendencies".
Labels. ::shrugs:: Been dealing with m' "mental problems" for about 7 years now. i write poetry/prose for one reason: so i don't explode from all the noise and confusion in m' head. ::curtseys:: That's all.