Anxiety (28 Sep. 14)
Anxiety rises in the morning
Like a black sun
The morning, the day, the week
Stretches before you
No light
Just a nameless fear
Of what?
Of everything and nothing.
Sunday 28 September 2014
Sunday-a poem
Friday 26 September 2014
Some random thoughts.
I'm starting this entry with a completely muddled mind. I have so much going through my head just now that I don't know where to start or what to do.
I have a load of tasks and little motivation to do them other than the fear of not doing them.
I want to be positive and proactive, leap into action and clear out the storage unit which has been festering for so long, clear out the lumber room in the house so I can turn it into a guest room should anyone ever want to come and stay, give the house a good clean and get the garden ready for winter.
Perhaps I need a plan of campaign and set some deadlines for these various tasks. Procrastination is my enemy and always has been. I don't do well on my own yet that has been my state on and off, mainly on, for most of my adult life.
My perception is that people look at me and see a loner who interacts with others in a distant fashion, someone who is detached with a sardonic, even sarcastic demeanour. This is my defence mechanism, I hide behind bad jokes, witty one liners and a general air of self-deprecation and coolness.
It seems whenever I raise this portcullis and become close to someone the situation ends in disappointment on both sides. I'm OK on a superficial basis but as soon as emotional attachment becomes involved I screw up and am left picking up the pieces. Sometimes many of those pieces are left strewn like a trail of disappointed breadcrumbs leading to a bruised ego and battered self-esteem which then leaves me to retreat behind my aforementioned defences.
What's the answer? I have no idea. I use this blog as an outlet for my thoughts and feelings and have been criticised for wearing my heart on my sleeve and giving too much information about my struggles with anxiety and depression. Some people may look down on me for this approach and that's fine if they feel better by doing so. I have no ego where that sort of thing is concerned.
Others have been supportive, usually fellow sufferers who know what it is like to wake up in the morning with that feeling of, actually I can't describe the feeling so I won't try. Suffice to say it is rotten.
Generally though when these low periods subside and the 'normal' periods come to the fore I am happy with my life; it's only when the troughs come that I yearn for a special person to come along and give me an arm to lean on.
I've just read through what I've written above and it seems to be a bit of a ramble. That though is what my head is like inside at the moment, a gentle swirl, I won't say maelstrom as that would be over egging the pudding, of angst and low grade gloom which I'm trying to fight off. A bit like having a cold which won't come out I can only describe the whole thing it as a general feeling of 'meh'.
So feel free to criticise my putting this in the public domain, mock me for being weak, empathise with me or ignore the whole thing, that's up to you. All I know is that writing about how I feel helps me go on so hey ho and ttfn.
Peace and Love x
I have a load of tasks and little motivation to do them other than the fear of not doing them.
I want to be positive and proactive, leap into action and clear out the storage unit which has been festering for so long, clear out the lumber room in the house so I can turn it into a guest room should anyone ever want to come and stay, give the house a good clean and get the garden ready for winter.
Perhaps I need a plan of campaign and set some deadlines for these various tasks. Procrastination is my enemy and always has been. I don't do well on my own yet that has been my state on and off, mainly on, for most of my adult life.
My perception is that people look at me and see a loner who interacts with others in a distant fashion, someone who is detached with a sardonic, even sarcastic demeanour. This is my defence mechanism, I hide behind bad jokes, witty one liners and a general air of self-deprecation and coolness.
It seems whenever I raise this portcullis and become close to someone the situation ends in disappointment on both sides. I'm OK on a superficial basis but as soon as emotional attachment becomes involved I screw up and am left picking up the pieces. Sometimes many of those pieces are left strewn like a trail of disappointed breadcrumbs leading to a bruised ego and battered self-esteem which then leaves me to retreat behind my aforementioned defences.
What's the answer? I have no idea. I use this blog as an outlet for my thoughts and feelings and have been criticised for wearing my heart on my sleeve and giving too much information about my struggles with anxiety and depression. Some people may look down on me for this approach and that's fine if they feel better by doing so. I have no ego where that sort of thing is concerned.
Others have been supportive, usually fellow sufferers who know what it is like to wake up in the morning with that feeling of, actually I can't describe the feeling so I won't try. Suffice to say it is rotten.
Generally though when these low periods subside and the 'normal' periods come to the fore I am happy with my life; it's only when the troughs come that I yearn for a special person to come along and give me an arm to lean on.
I've just read through what I've written above and it seems to be a bit of a ramble. That though is what my head is like inside at the moment, a gentle swirl, I won't say maelstrom as that would be over egging the pudding, of angst and low grade gloom which I'm trying to fight off. A bit like having a cold which won't come out I can only describe the whole thing it as a general feeling of 'meh'.
So feel free to criticise my putting this in the public domain, mock me for being weak, empathise with me or ignore the whole thing, that's up to you. All I know is that writing about how I feel helps me go on so hey ho and ttfn.
Peace and Love x
Sunday 21 September 2014
More blasted poetry-will it never end?
Want Vs Need
I want you here
You say
I'll go
I need you here
You say
I'll stay.
Saturday 20 September 2014
September-another poem
September (20 Sep. 14)
A dull September day
Clouds as far as the eye can see
Damp, cool and grey
Waiting for brightness to come again.
Until the sun breaks through those clouds
Enjoy the fact that you're alive
And able to experience
This dull September day.
Friday 19 September 2014
Another poem (with apologies to Mr McGonagall)
The Noes have no'd. 19 Sep. 14
The noes have no'd and the yesses yessed
It was quite tight
We'd have never guessed.
As processes go it was civilised
Unlike some votes
When folk have died.
And now we move
To a future bright
Or is it back to the same dark night?
Let's hope the powers that be
Have had a fright
And now can lead us
Into the light
Friday 5 September 2014
Two more then I’ll stop for a while. Promise!
Sad
Is it bad to be sad?
Not always I'd say.
There are things in the World
That make you that way.
But it's good to be glad
With what you can see
A flower in the field
A bird in a tree
So it can be OK to be sad for a while
But better to look for a chance of a smile.
Snoozing
Is it the boozing
That sends me to snoozing?
Or counting the sheep
That sends me to sleep?
Oh no! Not another one!
They won't go away
It's true what they say
They won't go away
No matter how bad
They're here to stay
Are they rhyme or free verse?
Not sure which is worse
But there's one thing for sure
They won't go away
My Poems Won’t Go Away
Working at home
It's hard to be working at home
There's much to do
So I'll write a poem
About working at home
It helps to get the work done
When you're writing a poem
About working at home.
Thursday 4 September 2014
The Future.
As I may have mentioned before, after the Great Schism of 2012 I decided that I would live in the day and not look too far forward.
Today though my mind drifted to the future and what it might hold. I have made great progress on The Tale and have moved rapidly from draft one to draft three in the last few days thanks to great help from my esteemed Brother and my friends Ian and Barbara, not Ian's Barbara, this is another one who is a writer and lecturer in writing.
Anyway, this got me to thinking about what I will be doing in the not too distant future when the time comes to hang up my cutlass and tri-corn hat.
I hope that if I'm spared I will find a small place overlooking the sea where I can walk on the beach, go to the pub, visit America and write, not necessarily in that order. The writing bug has really caught me now that I can see progress with The Tale which I will refer to from now as West goes West, since that is its working title.
This writing malarkey is quite fun and now that an idea is moving forward I can see where Bob is going, yes you got it, west. I hope to turn this initial story into the first of a series chronicling Bob's life and maybe, depending on many imponderables, that of his offspring so over time we move from 1865 to the present day.
I find writing a cathartic exercise, it takes my mind to a place where the daily grind is put on the back burner for a while and I can immerse myself in another world and a different life. Perhaps it is the life I led in a previous incarnation, if you believe in such things, because the idea came from nowhere and whenever I am in America I feel as if I have been there before, which I have but you know what I mean, particularly the west. It could of course be all those formative years watching 'The Virginian', 'The High Chapparal' and 'The Lone Ranger' but allow me the romantic thought of the former theory rather than the latter.
Still, writing is my game now, West goes West is the main thing, but fear not, I will still be regaling you with my execrable poetry; which I like to think of as free form rather than tripe.
The poetry is a bit like this blog. I sit down and start writing whatever comes into my head so that it is a representation of my thoughts at the moment they hit the page rather than a planned essay on life which is something I would struggle with. Life as well as the essay.
On that note I think it's time to go. So Peace and Love x ttfn
Today though my mind drifted to the future and what it might hold. I have made great progress on The Tale and have moved rapidly from draft one to draft three in the last few days thanks to great help from my esteemed Brother and my friends Ian and Barbara, not Ian's Barbara, this is another one who is a writer and lecturer in writing.
Anyway, this got me to thinking about what I will be doing in the not too distant future when the time comes to hang up my cutlass and tri-corn hat.
I hope that if I'm spared I will find a small place overlooking the sea where I can walk on the beach, go to the pub, visit America and write, not necessarily in that order. The writing bug has really caught me now that I can see progress with The Tale which I will refer to from now as West goes West, since that is its working title.
This writing malarkey is quite fun and now that an idea is moving forward I can see where Bob is going, yes you got it, west. I hope to turn this initial story into the first of a series chronicling Bob's life and maybe, depending on many imponderables, that of his offspring so over time we move from 1865 to the present day.
I find writing a cathartic exercise, it takes my mind to a place where the daily grind is put on the back burner for a while and I can immerse myself in another world and a different life. Perhaps it is the life I led in a previous incarnation, if you believe in such things, because the idea came from nowhere and whenever I am in America I feel as if I have been there before, which I have but you know what I mean, particularly the west. It could of course be all those formative years watching 'The Virginian', 'The High Chapparal' and 'The Lone Ranger' but allow me the romantic thought of the former theory rather than the latter.
Still, writing is my game now, West goes West is the main thing, but fear not, I will still be regaling you with my execrable poetry; which I like to think of as free form rather than tripe.
The poetry is a bit like this blog. I sit down and start writing whatever comes into my head so that it is a representation of my thoughts at the moment they hit the page rather than a planned essay on life which is something I would struggle with. Life as well as the essay.
On that note I think it's time to go. So Peace and Love x ttfn
Tuesday 2 September 2014
A step forward.
I have been havering about letting anyone see the first draft of my first instalment of The Tale which has been finished for a while.
I've just been too scared to show it to anyone. Tonight I bit the bullet and sent copies to my brother who has had books and magazine articles published and to a good pal in Scotland who is a published poet. I'm working on the basis that these two chaps should know what they are talking about.
Depending upon their reactions I may be a budding writer with a brother and a good pal in Scotland or a budding writer deficient of said persons.
Of course accepting constructive criticism is the only way to improve in all areas of life but as I am a delicate flower I may sulk in my garret for a while if they get too brutal in their constructiveness.
Looking on the positive side they may think I am the next Henry James or George Orwell or conversly they may think I have the writing talents of Henry the hoover or George from Rainbow*. Either way I will know what I need to do to get my scribblings out to a wider audience so that you may all; all, what am I on about? Both, enjoy the fruits of my imagination.
Still whatever happens I will continue to write since I enjoy it and I will stick my poems on here just to annoy you if nothing else.
Speaking of poems, I seem to have the muse upon me tonight so I may sit up into the early hours scribing away and producing more McGonagallist piffle unless large sums of cash are remitted to me by dawn.
And on that note I'll be off. Peace and Love ttfn x
*George from Rainbow = a Pink hippo in a 1980's UK children's programme.
I've just been too scared to show it to anyone. Tonight I bit the bullet and sent copies to my brother who has had books and magazine articles published and to a good pal in Scotland who is a published poet. I'm working on the basis that these two chaps should know what they are talking about.
Depending upon their reactions I may be a budding writer with a brother and a good pal in Scotland or a budding writer deficient of said persons.
Of course accepting constructive criticism is the only way to improve in all areas of life but as I am a delicate flower I may sulk in my garret for a while if they get too brutal in their constructiveness.
Looking on the positive side they may think I am the next Henry James or George Orwell or conversly they may think I have the writing talents of Henry the hoover or George from Rainbow*. Either way I will know what I need to do to get my scribblings out to a wider audience so that you may all; all, what am I on about? Both, enjoy the fruits of my imagination.
Still whatever happens I will continue to write since I enjoy it and I will stick my poems on here just to annoy you if nothing else.
Speaking of poems, I seem to have the muse upon me tonight so I may sit up into the early hours scribing away and producing more McGonagallist piffle unless large sums of cash are remitted to me by dawn.
And on that note I'll be off. Peace and Love ttfn x
*George from Rainbow = a Pink hippo in a 1980's UK children's programme.
Monday 1 September 2014
More poetry - sorry
Another one for your delectation.
Alone
It's awful being alone some say
No one to talk to, no one to play with
Silence, an empty chair, an empty bed
No shared laughter or tears
A sad existence on your tod.
It's great to be alone say others
No one to argue with, no one to fight with
Silence, a choice of chair, a roomy bed
Laugh or cry at will
A happy existence on your tod.
The difference?
Choice
Aloneness enforced is a swine
In a world of noise and bustle
Loneliness and silence
Hell
Aloneness chosen is a blessing
In a world of noise and bustle
Quietude and peace
Bliss
More rubbish poetry
Here’s another poem that came
into my head unbidden. It may be tripe but it’s my tripe.
The March
Dawn came, we march another day
With it came rain to drench us on our way
We picked up our packs and formed in threes
And set off through the rain and trees.
The mud was thick upon our boots
We stumbled over rocks and roots
We trudged towards a distant trench
Towards the awful gut-wrenching stench.
When will it end this dreadful fight?
Will we see another night?
Yet still we trudge through rain and trees
Formed up still in our threes.
Formed up still in our threes.
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