WIP: 23 (Title To Be Decided — Song of the Free?)

This is work in progress poem I am occasionally poking at, but I like the concept enough to share it before it is finished. The title has yet to be decided and I don’t really like the working title I had for it, so you get a poem with only a partial title.

In any event the beginning source of inspiration is obvious, but it draws from a number of (mostly subconscious) influences.

I hope you, the reader, find something enjoyable about the piece, rough as it is.

Poetry From The Archives

I’ve begun the gradual pull of things of items from archives into the new site. For the moment I have picked two poems from 1994 – 1995 which is the period when I was first diagnosed with a mental illness. These poems are not obviously poems related to my mental illness (there are others, which I probably won’t share, which are), but the fact I was writing poetry at all had more to do with a need to express myself due to being in crisis than due to fancying myself as a poet or an author of fiction.

About the Trash

There’s smoke in the air and musicpoundingin my earsThere’s cracks in the floorand glass under my feetThere’s hope for me and for youOnly we must meet Tell me how it ought to beTell me what you want to seeTell me. Dance with me and watch me fallin loveDance with me and we will beDance with… Continue reading About the Trash

Twice

Tis twice nowthat friendship and lovehave died twin deathswhat was wasn’t and what wasn’t wasto speak more plainly;in retrospecttwice, best friends, weren’t. Perran November ’94

November

I walk in the last mournful raysof November sunlighttheir pale lightfailing, so it seemslike a melancholy dream I feel the cold chillof air preparing for the snows to come;my heart despairs of finding warmth, hope, comfort. I have walked a hundred roads,thought a hundred thoughtsand still it comes to thisfading November twilight,of time gone, goingof… Continue reading November

Thoughts on a New Room

I have a space of four wallsbetween me and the worldIt is a mess but it is mine A private kingdomA world all my ownA place to hide, to think, to play It may never see another soul, it matters not, for it is mine.