Poem: Mr Mysterious

Carefully and in disguise, you went out to seek, to find

If there might be some love out there

Some love out there for you;

And found, perhaps, to your surprise

That love indeed there was to find,

A love right there, held truly, all for you

But in your heart your sorrows held

And as you wandered to, and fro

You tested love and wandered to, and fro;

Then, carefully disguised once more, you came to find

If that same love still waited there,

and still held true for you;

And found, perhaps, to your surprise

That love held true for you to find,

Though carefully disguised you still remain;

Though careful your disguise, and whilst you tease, at least allow

That love was never blind, it wasn’t then

It isn’t now.

Poem: A Further Question…

So, our bodies

do not work

the way convention says they should;

But, it means

we can explore

the endless ways love can reveal

the different ways to live

the love we are both

truly worth

And if the place

we leave to make

that life of endless exploration

is not the place convention

might demand;

it matters not

when the place of destination

is still – naturally –

the love and joy

we are both worth

Poem: A Question…

You want to give;

To make the world a better place

For those you love –

You want to give,

But worry in yourself

If you are enough.

And you think;

Oh, how you think!

About the life

You want to give

To make a better place to live

in love;

But worry in yourself

If you could ever be enough.

I think, too;

Of all I want to give

To make the world a place

Where you can live,

In love.

But worry in myself

If I could ever be enough;

When we do not doubt

each other

Why do we doubt

ourselves?

Why let that doubt rob us

of all the love

we are

both worth?

Poem: Oh, Porcupine..

No wounds, no tears of sacred grief

No scars, no fears, no jowly cheeks;

No green cigarettes when roses are scarce,

Nor trouble of body, no worry or care;

No doubt of self or anxious mind

Could chase me away from you, or

Cause me to doubt, it’s true

If you were here now

it would always be so,

There is only my heart

full of love to say this;

If you were here now

It would ever be so,

I promise, I promise

I promise you this.

On Sacrifice

For various reasons, I am taking a break from my writing here for now,  but following a period of reflection and meditation, I am sharing some thoughts on sacrifice over on my Medium blog.

 

In the meantime, I shall leave you with some of Anne Bronte’s lesser known poetry – this is from ‘Last Lines’, written in January 1849:

 

That secret labour to sustain

With humble patience every blow,

To gather fortitude from pain

And hope and holiness from woe.

Thus let me serve Thee from my heart

Whatever be my written fate,

Whether thus early to depart

Or yet awhile to wait.

If Thou shouldst bring me back to life

More humbled I should be;

More wise, more strengthened for the strife,

More apt to lean on Thee.

 

Poem: How Porcupines Make Love

If you were here now

– a little less prickly,

I would say

My darling, I promise you this;

If you were here now

 – maybe less bristley,

I would tell you

I promise, I promise you this;

No wounds, no tears of sacred grief

No scars, no fears, no jowley cheeks

No troubles of mind or bodily pride

Could chase me away from you, or

Cause me to doubt, it’s true

If you were here now

  it would always be so,

There is only my heart

  full of love to say this;

If you were here now

It would ever be so,

I promise, I promise

I promise you this.

Poem: Oh, Precious Smile

The Girl with a Pearl Earring – by Johannes Vermeer, 1665

There is a smile I seek each day

It causes palpitations;

And heartfelt

fluctuations of my breathing.

There is a smile I seek each morning

Which causes mine to broaden

With extraordinary

chemical reactions.

No spell could cast a smile more perfect

Never disappointing

However long the waiting,

for this smile is worth it.

Come see what your vast smile

Has heartfelt grown in me

– Oh, but I think

You know; come, my love, and see.

Deep Fried Mars Bars Pt 4: The Strangers in My Head [CN/TW]

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

John 10:10 (NIV)

This post discusses intrusive thoughts associated with PTSD. Intrusive thoughts are also associated with other mental health issues including (but not limited to) OCD,  Body Dysmorphic Disorder, depression and ADHD.  

It has been a really difficult couple of weeks dealing with a bombardment of Intrusive thoughts.  It started a couple of weekends ago at work – a comment made by a customer on the telephone: a nasty, unnecessary comment which maybe some people would be able to ignore, and which I don’t doubt some people would excuse or justify in some way.

It was enough though. More than enough, and it is only in the last day or so that the severity of them has started to lessen again.

It is hard to describe what it’s like. The best analogy I have found so far is that it is like waking up in the morning to find a stranger in your kitchen, offering you a cup of coffee and an image of some appalling awful thing happening to someone you love. Worse, this stranger is telling you that this awful thing is something you are going to do. (No, it does not help to know that you would never do it).

Then you find another stranger in your bathroom, and this one offers a different image of something really horrible, being done to you by someone you love.  (And no, it doesn’t help to know that the person you love would never ever do such a thing).

And as you walk around your home you find that your house is full of strangers, all offering up different grotesque, vile images until there is nowhere you can go; even closing your eyes and pulling the duvet up over your head does nothing except make you feel totally alone with all these strangers, who seem to really really want these awful things to happen, because they wont shut up about it.

Those strangers steal everything: energy, emotion, sense of self, feeling, words – until inevitably, you break down, melt down, screaming and crying in a desperate effort to purge yourself of these … well, for want of a better word, demons running around your head and your house wreaking havoc.

Which, of course, doesn’t work, and all the demons are still sat around your table, eating your food, making a mess and plastering those horrid images everywhere you look.

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Those images – all of them, every single last one of them – are lies. Black, twisted ugly lies whose power is rooted, not in their falsehood, but in the veneer of truth that they steal from the past trauma(s) which have given birth to them.  These lies are not just meant to rob me of life, and of love: they are meant to steal those things away from the ones I love too.

For if I were to believe those lies, (and sometimes it is very hard not to), then I would tell my children I could not be their mother. I would tell my family I could not be their daughter, sister, niece, aunt. I would tell my friends that I was no good for them, I would tell my lovers that I am bad and a waste of time. I would live my life in hiding – and in fear.

I would (and sometimes have) push my friends, my family and my lovers, as far from myself as I possibly could, because the single biggest lie those intrusive thoughts tell me is that pushing them away from me is the only way to protect them.

But of course, by pushing them away, I am doing the very opposite of protecting them.

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Some days, most days, faith is all there is: not even religious faith – just a basic, hanging-by-a-thread-faith, that somehow, one day, or one little step at a time, there will be one less screeching demon with its vile images running around my head tomorrow.

Music helps – if music be the food of love, the play on (and on, and on please). Books don’t help (I love to read but simply can’t focus), but writing can – not poetry though: I need a quiet head for that. Increasingly, looking at paintings and photography helps. Anything really, that takes me out of my own head and takes focus off the thoughts and images that so belittle and undermine me.

Anything that stops me being so afraid to love.

Poem: Love, For the Giving

 

For the ones you most love in all of the world,

You would do what needs to be done;

No matter the danger, no matter the cost,

No matter how deep the scars of the battle

the scars left by sacrifice, the scars left by loss

the scars that yet heal when the battle is done.

When the ones you most love in all of the world

Still fight in a battle your heart pleads to end;

No matter how deeply the ache of the burden,

No matter how fear stalks the space of the waiting,

       yet keeping the faith, though so deeply you’re missing

   the ones you most love and so long to be living.

When the ones you most love in all of the world,

Have not yet come home, are not yet at the door

When to wait seems like the most meagre of things

When its seems like a love too piteous to bring

   yet whilst your heart beats you’d you still give it for them

   for the ones you most love, that they might live again.

   .

 

Poem: Which Alters Not

Because of love

I long to see the day your heart

will claim again

the sacred beat of precious life

you did not chase away;

And live all you once dreamed to live

but chose instead to hide beneath

the wrong belief

that you were not fit for

such sacred duty.

Because God gave eyes to love

to see the treacherous lie

that wove in you the wrongly held belief,

and faith to see what lay beneath

and hope to see the day of your

longed for liberation.

No tempest rude or stormy tantrum,

no wound still healing from the battle,

can break the ground

or loose the mighty firm foundations

of a love, of such a love

born of generations.

And so my dearest darling,

whenever comes the day that the chains

that bind you up, break apart

fly away

It will be the day I saw in you

so very long ago

I’ll always love you

Never doubt you

truly then

truly still.