Tag Archive | poem

Week 2- “productive”

After last week’s hectic schedule, this week just gone was a lot more relaxed and productive.

One of my favourite 2016 projects was revived for 2017 and I spent a couple of days putting together a “fidget” or “dementia activity” quilt following a request from a friend of my Aunt who had seen previous examples of mine on Facebook.

This project is more personal in that I have some information about the person I am making it for; I understand that he is a retired priest, a poet, loves Christmas and has an allotment. My task therefore is to tailor-make an activity quilt designed to be interactive, stimulate memories and discussion and to keep a sometimes troubled mind occupied.

I’m pleased with the result.

I also included a card printed with one of my favourite poems by Gerard Manley-Hopkins;

Pied Beauty.

Glory be to God for dappled things –
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced –
fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

I hope he likes it.

 

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Maya Angelou

National Poetry Month (US)

April is National Poetry month in the US and the great thing about the global Blogosphere is that we can all share in their celebration.

Regular readers here will already know that three years ago I went public about my depression. One of the results of that admission was a release of creativity which I had suppressed for almost 3 decades. As a child and young adolescent I was always very creative and artistic, but once depression struck, all my energies were focussed elsewhere and I had nothing left for creativity. It was buried deep and long.

My first creative release came through writing. I couldn’t stop writing. I took a notebook everywhere and wrote lots of poems mostly in Haiku format. Haiku is great for me as it combines expression with use of language and vocabulary with a structure.

One of my first efforts was to describe my take on depression.

In celebration of National Poetry month, here it is again.

BeFunky_0014

Depression-what does it feel like?

Wings clipped, feathers oiled
Aborted daily take-offs
Wading in treacle

Lacklustre. Can’t breathe.
Manic inactivity
Encroaching numbness

Confused, forgetful
Endless lists, tasks for the day
Sleep; insomnia

Dark introspection
Fatigue, every effort blanked
Fortified shutters

Rainbow long faded
Black and white and shades of grey
Monochrome living

Endless shivering
Blue ice pumps through veins
This polar cap never melts

Deflated, let down
Weighted to the ground; handcuffed
Every bubble bursts

No winner’s medals
Struggle to the starting line
Not at the races

Creativity
Dries up. Flourishes; small steps
Something from nothing

Callous self-hatred
Stricken senseless. Alien
Crushed by fate. Friendless

First hurdle faller
The conspiracy of life
Odds on a loser

Inevitable
Break down, break up, no breakthrough
Corralled, reined in, trapped

Frustration, anger
Crescendo of emotion
Threatens to burst forth

Regrets, lost chances
Tears of disappointment well
Lost soul, futile search.

That’s what it feels like to me.

BeFunky_0014

Write a Haiku about something that drives you nuts….

Depression drives me completely nuts. Here is a poem I wrote based on the Haiku format 5-7-5.

Wings clipped, feathers oiled
Aborted daily take-offs
Wading in treacle

Lacklustre. Can’t breathe.
Manic inactivity
Encroaching numbness

Confused, forgetful
Endless lists, tasks for the day
Sleep; insomnia

Dark introspection
Fatigue, every effort blanked
Fortified shutters

Rainbow long faded
Black and white and shades of grey
Monochrome living

Endless shivering
Blue ice pumps through veins
This polar cap never melts

Deflated, let down
Weighted to the ground; handcuffed
Every bubble bursts

No winner’s medals
Struggle to the starting line
Not at the races

Creativity
Dries up. Flourishes; small steps
Something from nothing

Callous self-hatred
Stricken senseless. Alien
Crushed by fate. Friendless

First hurdle faller
The conspiracy of life
Odds on a loser

Inevitable
Break down, break up, no breakthrough
Corralled, reined in, trapped

Frustration, anger
Crescendo of emotion
Threatens to burst forth

Regrets, lost chances
Tears of disappointment well
Lost soul, futile search.

That’s what it feels like to me.


When I get old, no way am I wearing purple..

You may be aware of a lovely poem by Jenny Josephs called “Warning”, the first line being “When I am an old woman I shall wear purple….”. I love this poem but have been meaning to rewrite it for a while now as I have ideas of my own for when I get old.  Here is my version;

Beware!

When I get old I shall buy the biggest, reddest mobility scooter I can find.

And drive it recklessly around Sainsbury’s and make everyone jump out of the way and spend my pension on a CB radio and monster ariel to go with it.

And sit in the park interfering with the emergency radio frequencies, drinking vodka wrapped in Tesco bags and say we have no money for Sky Sports.

I will ride my scooter along pavements and down one-way streets the wrong way and when I am tired I will crash into fences and lamposts and not give a hoot.

I will honk my horn at anyone who gets in the way and make up for all those years with “nil points” on my licence.

I shall go out on my scooter in the rain and terrorise pedestrians by splashing through puddles  and will hog the commuter lane during rush hour.

I will wear polyester trousers and floral blouse with my Hushpuppies and visit the Post Office and Sandwich Bar ONLY at lunchtimes.

I will take ages to count my pension and order my stamps and I will be dithery and confused and hold up queues of workers in their lunch hour before popping into Argos to pinch those lovely blue pens which match the red ones I get from the Bookies.

But now I can only plot my revenge and must behave myself until the time comes.

I must talk to my friends on Facebook and read “The Rules of Work” from cover to cover.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now so that you won’t be surprised and shocked when I am arrested for “Driving my buggy under the affluence of incohol”.

Beautiful day, beautiful person


Today. The first time.
Two souls meet up and reach out.
Today. The right time.

No cares, no worries.
Together free and easy.
Minds alike, unite.

Problems shared, tales told
Laughter, teasing, smiles at last.
Friends before lovers.

Inhibitions fly.
Happy in each other’s shoes.
All doubts cast aside.

A beautiful day.
Full of sunshine, full of joy.
Beautiful Person.

Thank you x


 

Depression-what does it feel like?

Wings clipped, feathers oiled
Aborted daily take-offs
Wading in treacle

Lacklustre. Can’t breathe.
Manic inactivity
Encroaching numbness

Confused, forgetful
Endless lists, tasks for the day
Sleep; insomnia

Dark introspection
Fatigue, every effort blanked
Fortified shutters

Rainbow long faded
Black and white and shades of grey
Monochrome living

Endless shivering
Blue ice pumps through veins
This polar cap never melts

Deflated, let down
Weighted to the ground; handcuffed
Every bubble bursts

No winner’s medals
Struggle to the starting line
Not at the races

Creativity
Dries up. Flourishes; small steps
Something from nothing

Callous self-hatred
Stricken senseless. Alien
Crushed by fate. Friendless

First hurdle faller
The conspiracy of life
Odds on a loser

Inevitable
Break down, break up, no breakthrough
Corralled, reined in, trapped

Frustration, anger
Crescendo of emotion
Threatens to burst forth

Regrets, lost chances
Tears of disappointment well
Lost soul, futile search.

That’s what it feels like to me.