Test to Destruction ~ a poem about pushing to the limits and beyond

 

Test to destruction

My mascara has not run,

But it seems to have gone.

I like to put things

Through their paces:

Test to destruction.

My heart has not broken

But it seems to have cracked.

I like to put things

Through their paces:

Test to destruction.

My faith is not destroyed,

But it’s certainly frayed.

I like to put things

Through their paces:

Test to destruction.

My God is not tarnished,

But he seems to have vanished.

I like to put things

Through their paces:

Test to destruction.

 

Advertisements

Pain Woke Us ~ a triple-part poem for sleepy sheep

What makes a person wake up and start to become aware?

What sends them back to sleep?

I wrote the following poem initially with only one of the stanzas and then played around by changing the voice speaking from first to second then to third person.

Pain woke you

 

 

Pain woke you,

Prodded you from sleep.

From the first aches of discomfort

To the full blown agony of awareness

It stopped your slumber dead.

You tried to mask it

Tried to distract yourself

With whatever came to hand.

Anything to sleep again

Dreaming the soft safe dreams

That fill the sleeping world

With pastels colours and smooth shapes

And are void of any meaning.

So, the pain is gone,

You tell me without words

Life feels good, you say.

Sweet dreams, I say, resigned.

I’ll see you in the morning;

I’ll take the night-shift

And watch over your sleep.

Someone has to guard the sleepers,

It might as well be me.

 

Pain woke me,

Prodded me from sleep.

From the first aches of discomfort

To the full blown agony of awareness

It stopped my slumber dead.

I tried to mask it

Tried to distract myself

With whatever came to hand.

Anything to sleep again

Dreaming the soft safe dreams

That fill the sleeping world

With pastels colours and smooth shapes

And are void of any meaning.

So, the pain is gone,

I tell you without words

Life feels good, I say.

Sweet dreams, you say, resigned.

I’ll see you in the morning;

You take the night-shift

And watch over my sleep.

Someone has to guard the sleepers,

It might as well be you.

 

 

 

Pain woke them,

Prodded them from sleep.

From the first aches of discomfort

To the full blown agony of awareness

It stopped their slumber dead.

They tried to mask it

Tried to distract themselves

With whatever came to hand.

Anything to sleep again

Dreaming the soft safe dreams

That fill the sleeping world

With pastels colours and smooth shapes

And are void of any meaning.

So, the pain is gone,

They tell me without words

Life feels good, they say.

Sweet dreams, I say, resigned.

I’ll see you in the morning;

I’ll take the night-shift

And watch over your sleep.

Someone has to guard the sleepers,

It might as well be me.

 

 

 

If I run

 

If I run

 

If I run, I must run fast

Cut away the weight of fear

Untangle the confused skeins

Strip down to bare and shaking flesh.

Breathe deep, breathe steady

And begin the run towards the void.

And if I leap I must leap far

Leave behind the heavy life

Wind up the ravaged thread

Start afresh with naked bones and soul

Breathe slow, breathe steady

And trust my clippèd wings to soar.

 

Dark Place

 

Dark place, deep place, old place

I am in the dark place;

So dark I cannot see the walls,

Only the light that glimmers

Faintly round the edges of my hands.

Not enough to see by,

Only enough to remind me

That I still exist at all.

I hear distant voices,

Too far off to tell

Whether they mock me,

Encourage me, torment me

Or are simply oblivious

That I am here alone

In the dark place again.

It’s cold, but it always is here,

The steady unchanging chill

Of cellar or deep cave

Untouched by warmth of sun

Or the night-ice of frosts.

I am in the deep place,

So deep I cannot see the sky,

Only hear the birdsong

Far off in the distant world.

Not enough to climb towards,

Only enough to remind me

That the world exists at all.

My own voice rises,

Too indistinct for anyone to tell

Whether I am calling for help,

Or crying or simply singing,

Having forgotten the world out there

And have settled down to wait,

Here in the deep place alone.

It’s damp here, but it always is,

With the constant moisture

Of rivers and the moving spirit

Untouched by the need to conform,

To twist the soul to safe shapes.

I am in the old place,

So old I feel like a child again,

Only the heartbeat of earth

Distantly drumming in my ears,

Not enough to dominate,

Only enough to remind me

That I am not truly alone:

When I lie waiting to be reborn,

I lie surrounded by bright spirits

Whose home is here

In the dark place,

The deep place,

The old place

And who wait to guide me

Back to the healing light.

 

What am I worth?

 

 

What am I worth?
 
What am I worth?
Five K a kidney?
A snip, if you’ll pardon a pun.
Bargain bin good looks,
Reduced due to store damage
And some slight fading.
A cheap sense of humour,
Tending towards blackness
But not quite sick, not yet.
That must be worth a bit.
A Lucky Dip of hidden talents;
Go on, have a gamble.
Even I don’t have a clue
What’s hidden deep inside.
That bland tub of sawdust
May hold mysterious gifts
Awaiting your longer reach.
Go on, I dare you:
Make me an offer.
How much? You’re joking!
No way, no sale, pal!
I’m worth more than that, I think.