Poems for the Broken Mind

This is a bit of a departure from my usual style, but I think it's a good thing. I won't provide context, as it will mean what it has to to those that it must, but know that it does mean something.

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I'm walking on shells, can't you tell?

With this bitter knell

Ringing through the countryside,

Rocking out on hells bells

My chest swells with pride

As I look inside

Seeing two lovers crossed

Crissed upon the great divide

I sighed once, cried more

Tells you what I'd died for

My eyes dried, stymied

Beside our senseless rage war

And so it gets deflated

My chest can't hold the pressure now

Pop goes the weasel with his

Eyes beneath a furrowed brow

Bow down before my princess

Prostrate on the weathered stone

A known groan sown upon her lips

A slight she won’t allow

I look back

Wishing to atone for all those things I said

A blurry slurry hurrying

The fury in my bitter head

This can't be the end, I refuse to accept it

I've gotta find an answer, now we've both been rejected

My application denied; the truth I suspect is

You want this back as much as me. We're worth it.

Let's test it.

Thing 50: I didn't know what was happening at the time

Hello internet! We're at thing 50! That means the time is nigh for another story challenge, so I'll be collecting suggestions shortly, and then hopefully writing something worth reading. The last one was pretty atrocious, so I have a lot of ground to make up.

Anyway, on with the thing.

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Thing 50: I didn't know what was happening at the time

A happenstance so surely left behind
In solace now it wracks my tattered mind
But that, forsooth, a gnash upon the rind
In passing then it seeks to wax unkind

At fateful time, yet wreathed in mystery
I stood uncertain, plain for all to see
What magic, this? What ceaseless devilry?
Each answered question brought another three

What bits were true? When shall I find my peace?
Will my poor mind perchance to find the keys?
Unlocking this confusion as he grieves
A challenge fought yet lost upon the priest

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Okay, so this was my sorry attempt at iambic pentameter. This concept, which I was introduced to in my highschool english class because apparently Shakespeare was a fan, involves 10 syllables in a line grouped into pairs. In each pair, the second syllable is supposed to have emphasis.

e.g.: "a HAPpenSTANCE so SUREly LEFT beHIND"

I feel like a missed the mark a bit, and it's definitely shorter than I intended, but this exercise was actually quite draining, as it's more of a technical piece than a creative one. As such, it stands as a bit of a departure from my normal style of things. Usually I try to vary the structure of my work to give it a more organic feel, and the way it sounds means much more than the way it's put together. This is the opposite.

Take that as you will.

Poems for a Broken Heart

Hello my faithful reader! I know there's at least one of you out there, because every so often there's a pageview that just shouldn't exist. But it's there. So thanks! Frankly I think it's silly of you to take the time, considering how little effort I put into actually updating this record, but I've disappointed enough people in my life that I'll be damned if I disappoint you too!

In any case, I've decided I'm going to try and get back into the swing of things a bit. I haven't been writing very consistently (at least, nothing that I've managed to finish), but I have a bit of a backlog that can keep you entertained for whatever small amount of time you're willing to waste here that could otherwise be spent on productive things.

For now, I'm going to share with you some poems that I wrote a fairly long time ago, all things considered. Both came out of rejection, but I like to think that from pain comes poetry, and the first of the two I'm about to share I consider to be one of my best. Short, perhaps, but lovely.

So here's to you, my one, lonely reader. Keep on keeping on, and may you find the love that I never could.

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Innocence Lost

Can we just go back I beg, pretending I had never spoken
I messed up; ill-pondered words have left our perfect friendship broken
Caught astride this wayward tide I find I bide my time awoken
Sleep-deprived I sigh with heavy breaths that hide our reverie's token

Forgotten? It will never be, for there was far too much at stake
My heart laid bare, you left it crossed; dismantled, with my soul to take
And so I wonder, agonzing over every sound I make
Would I still be here crying had I kept my mouth shut, stayed a fake?

Love a fickle mistress be to my mind if there ever was
Those three small words a melody resulting in an awkward pause
And so I pick apart my diction, line by line to find the cause
Where I went wrong in my affliction to force such unabashed loss

In the end I wasn't good enough to see these feelings through
I hate myself, and now I see that it's apparent, so do you
I'd hoped there was a chance that we could make our ones a perfect two
But when I die, love's a thing that I'll have dreamed, but never knew

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 Haunted

I'm haunted by your smile

I see it drift across a thousand visions

Waiting free of guile

Upon the endless bank of poor decisions

Once so full of hope

My mind now fights this war of sad attrition

Pushing ever forward

Though with heavy steps and weak ambition

Baited breath awaits me

As I don my sour disposition

Unsure of what's next

Within this labyrinth of heady missions

Life is just a game now

And its mettle tests my definition

Lost within myself

Betwixt the ebb and flow of soft volition

Now dispassionately

Do I hope to seek the shade of diction

Guarded by my words

My tender heart abides the intermission

Emotionally barren

Are the fallow fields of memory's prison

Infinitely tangled

In the tattered sheets of love's religion

I hate it when they say it

That I'll find my peace with other women

Binders of them

Seas of fish just standing by for acquisition

"Plenty of them out there"

But my frank response is snide derision

There was only one

Whose smile had ever changed my heart's position

It's you that I dream of

When my head is filled with apparitions

Though we barely spoke

Each time it felt akin to new editions

Chapters of my life

Unfolding readily for expedition

And now that it's over

I'd give anything for repetition

Thing 37: If you had one week to live...

And once again I've decided to write my new passage at a ridiculously late/early hour. I need some kind of a schedule to produce content regularly and at normal times... Anyway, on with the writing.

Thing 37: If you had one week to live...

Disclaimer: Don't take this too seriously. It's a work of fiction, after all.

So this is it, I've reached the end.
My sordid life is done.
Just one more week to fake; pretend
my life's a decent one.

I've had a lot of struggles here,
And struggles they remain.
When things got tough I'd shed a tear
And wallow in my pain.

Not once did I stand up and shout
Defiantly in rage:
"I've had enough! And I'm about
To make a real change!"

Never have I been the one
Whose courage didn't falter.
Despite the talk I've gone and done
My fate I couldn't alter.

"But you've had friends," you're bound to say,
"Who'll help you with this task!"
I'm sure you're right, but as it may
I didn't even ask.

For mine is but a lonely path;
This is the choice I've made.
As a result life's burning wrath
To rest will soon be laid.

And here a sit, a lowly wretch,
Who's lived a glaring lie.
I've no regrets, here in this stretch
As I begin to die.

So this is it, I've reached the end.
My sordid life is done.
Just one more week to fake; pretend
my life's a decent one.

Thing 13: Pick a small object to be given one day to your great grandchild. Write a letter to the child explaining why you have chosen this object.

Originally posted to Facebook on June 9th, 2013.

Preamble:
"This assumes that I will have a great grandchild someday, so let's skip past the justifcation of that. The point remains that I don't really own anything that would be worth passing on at that point in time... I'm going to have to fudge the restrictions a bit, methinks. To set the scene, imagine a young child rummaging through the attic of their parents' house and coming across a box. With a grin on their face they blow the dust from the lid and gingerly open it, finding nothing but the note below inside."

Thing 13: Pick a small object to be given one day to your great grandchild. Write a letter to the child explaining why you have chosen this object.

To whomsoever reads this note
With wonder sparkling in your eye
Consider now the words I wrote
Before I said my last goodbye

Around this note, an empty box
Or to the untrained it may seem
Not filled with gold or shoes or rocks
But rather it is filled with dreams

A place to store my deepest hopes
This box has been a secret thing
I kept it quiet, hidden, close
Away from life's unyielding sting

And now it sits within your hands
I urge you, friend, to hold it dear
And fill it with those ghostly strands
A touch of magic, there and here

When life is hard and makes you sad
Into the box just place your wish
Rememb'ring all the good it had
When in your mind it dug its ditch

The box will keep it safe from harm
Protecting all its innocence
And giving no cause for alarm
When later you would seek it hence

In short, my friend, this is a place
Where dreams and hope and warmth and love
Shall foster, free of farce or trace
The qualities you're most proud of

Thing 3: A houseplant is dying. Tell it why it needs to live.

Originally posted to Facebook onMay 27th, 2013.

Thing 3: A houseplant is dying. Tell it why it needs to live.

Hey little guy.

I can't help but notice that you're looking quite down.
Your stalk is getting withered and your leaves are all brown.
As the bells resound, reject the sound, ecape the mound,
'Cause you know we still want you around.

Take a look outside, see the sun shine bright,
Giving you energy wth its brilliant light.
And your colours' height, from green to white, will reignite
As photosynthesis fills you with might.

I know it can be hard living life like this,
Where the air is nigh unbreathable, the smog so thick
But just stay stoic, for that's the trick. You'll soon be fixed,
And the change that you see will be drastic.

You can be the one to clear our airy wrongs.
Though you're just a small part of life's rough throng
your heart is long; your soul is strong; you do belong.
And for eternity we'll sing your life's song.

So don't give up my friend, you are incredible.
Every plant matters in this majestic battle.
Life's the only choice, and though it may be a hassle
I can assure you that we all hope your time here is ample.