ENDGAME

'NIGHTFALL GAMBITS'

Words, words, words.
Words pouring from my sore head 
Onto the screen; black on white.
Not quite a symphony in ink; 
But near enough, yes? 

Too many doubts and fears? 
Too much crap clogging up 
The pipes in your mind? 
LET IT OUT [!]
Clean out the rotten system.

All the people
Picking apart pain;
Chugging the balm
From sleek Olympian chalices; 
Calming nectarous merriment.

But fear is invading; 
A fleet of scares and sorrows
Including the fear of fear itself:
Muscles twitch and limbs shake; 
Will I be whole again?

Three colours of my moods:
Gold, silver and blue.
Not enough of the former,
Too many of the last: 
Improvement needed fast.

Hope for the best. 
Pray for the best. 
Prepare for the worse. 
It was ever thus.
Wasn't it?

Trapped. 
Twice trapp'd: 
Alone on the outside;
Alone on the inside. 
Doubly damned?

Set up the board, nicely. 
Do I play for checkmate? 
Stalemate? 
Zugzwang?
Or another option?

I move my pieces;
So does my opponent. 
I simply don't want to lose.
But is that enough?
Enough for victory?

Wednesday continues apace. 
Hours are long, days are short;
The sun will soon set in the west.
Just a game -- but the result? 
Time will tell.

 

OXYGEN TANK TUESDAY?

Just stopping by here in the middle of trying to cope with a too-full In-Tray, and realising that I need to come here and spend more time reading all my fellow bloggers' fine posts... 

I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that Tuesday is the cruellest day of the week(!) 



'OVERLOADED'

Wires? Crossed. 
Fuses? Blown. 
Circuits? Shorted. 
Thoughts? Contorted. 
Psyche? Bent. 
Mind? Melted. 

Give me time, from time to time;
Give me space to breathe: 
Wonderful, much-needed oxygen 
For lungs, skin, mind and soul.

DEPLETION BLUES

Continuing today's theme of Buffy's laugh-a-minute, "tremendous fun Tuesday" [with my apologies for the mild sarcasm]...


'INSUBSTANTIAL'

Out of coherence:
Blurred image in the mirror
Staring back at me.

How to move forward?
Holding my soul together
With mere safety pins. 

So: All will be well...?
Sometimes it feels not enough
To know this is true.

 

O.C.D. — THE REVENGE

Today is not a good day. By any stretch of the imagination. 
I can only hope for [A] improvement, or [B] a miracle.
Just a nice, little miracle. I'm not fussy. 

In the meantime, it's time for more coffee.
Insomnia is no fun -- and it doesn't take a college professor to tell anyone that. If affects everything.
This was composed in the early, sleepless hours...


'OBVIOUSLY CRIPPLING DISCOMFORTS'

Choice phrases such as: 
"Did you lock all of the doors?" 
Pulse thru my soft mind. 

Quickly, savagely
O.C.D. regains my brain; 
Lost territory. 

Been away too long? 
A lifetime's not long enough. 
Please just let me rest. 

How do you cry "help"
When your overheated mind 
Is the enemy?

I'm like a frail bloke 
Facing an enemy tank; 
Helpless, hopeless, scared.

So now I hope for? 
Rest, reassurance, and sleep. 
Holy trinity.

 

THUND’ROUS THOUGHTS

Monday again? Wow. The days can be long but the weeks are short...
This non-haiku is inspired [such as it is] by a dream:


'NORTH-EASTERLY GALES'

Longing
Lingering
Looks.

Soaking in soft psychological suds?
Get out of that warm bath; 
It's time to get hikin'. 

Get out of my head! 
Don't be singing, full-throated,
The Ballad of Chevy-Chase. 

Lord Northumberland
Or Lord Douglas; 
Which old antagoniser am I?

A bitterly grey afternoon 
Searching for singular bits of my mind
On the cool, rolling Cheviot Hills. 

Mad Scots and Englishmen? 
They'll fight 'til the day's done.
The tribes are familiar to me: 

Spoiling for a scrap
They reflect my inner-combat,
And the impossibility of peace.

I know full well I'm not alone.
And yet? 
I am... oh God, I am.

Battered by storms and doubts 
I charge for the cottage; 
The neutrality zone.

Safely inside,
I deliriously bolt the door
And check the tinted windows.

Blackout curtains shut?
I then will myself
Into meditation.

I've shut it out,
The whole of the virulent world
And I am alone.

But I forgot, didn't I?
My own worst enemy;
He who hates so much. 

I'm alone with him now;
We've a board game to play:
He won't stop 'til he's won.

Think of me, won't you? 
Sitting quietly in this cottage;
A half-happy prisoner.

I won't give in just yet:
Trying to maintain resistance 
From one minute to the next.

 

LONG LOST WEEKEND

'LEISURES'

Sweet Easter weekend?

A languid, reflective time;
Believer or non-believer. 

Appreciating life;
And what we love
Or have loved. 

Four days? 
Four moods: 
Hopeful, hearty,
Stressed and sad. 

These moods? 
Sometimes consecutive
Occasionally concurrent.
For now I'll be content
To be inconsistent. 

Hot handful of friends; 
Many mirthful words,
Thoughtful phrases, 
Delicious nonsense
And a few small drops 
Of lusty Socratic wonder. 

Lashings of saucy cider;
Whimsical whisky later:
Drowning in the delight 
Of a balmy British spring.
Days of jubilant joie de vivre;
Heady laughter to drown out
The steady hum of darkness. 

The final day begins: 
Time for WordPress? 
Not enough. 
Time to enjoy the company
Of blogging chums? 
Not nearly enough. 
A most happy addict, me: 
Wanting more of my fix.

 

TEXT-BLINDNESS

Phew... and what an April it is. 

Don't get me wrong; things are nowhere near as bad as they were in January-February, but that's not to say they're fabulous. Far from it, indeed. 

My mind is ever-fuzzy, and the anxiety comes in waves; none of this being helped by my ongoing task of the week. 

A lot of my everyday life consists of emails and communications, but at the moment I'm trudging my way thru a complete proofread of an 88,OOO-word manuscript.

The thing about such extensive proofreading is that I end up temporarily going what I often call "text-blind"... words themselves cease to have proper meaning, chunks of text just go blurry in my mind, and I get fed up of "words".
The worst part of this? I've lost most of what I like to call my creativity. Proofreading really crushes the creative spirit.

I know it won't last forever, and I know [and am content, indeed] that my own literary or poetic talents are modest ones: but two things can be noted clearly from all this over-charging of my mind: 

[1] How much I dislike the 'fussy' element of editing and the like. 
Perhaps because of a certain finicky nature, I find such things stifling. I'm content to avoid such things, if possible. 

[2] How important creativity is for me. 
I do believe it makes all the difference between a healthy mind, which focuses on the good, and an unhealthy mind, which obsesses and gives myself a hard time from dawn 'til bedtime [and that's assuming I sleep]. 

I'm assuming point [2] is pretty much universal... particularly for anyone with a sensitive mind and soul. 

But I have to say, for all the tribulations that my own mind brings me, interacting with kindred creative people is worth its weight in gold. 
So anyway; be creative, mes amis... and remain so, just as much as you wish.
 

'MISTER PROOFREADER'

Drowning in red ink.
Rubbing my weary, red eyes. 
And red mist rising. 

Words clog up my mind; 
Literate suffocation. 
Time to get fresh air.  

But I love stories; 
Keep me clear of minutiae 
And all will be well.