#1971
She ran the razor blade
along the side of her wrist,
slowly, determinedly,
tongue in the corner
of her mouth, focused,
no one else was in
the adjoining toilet cubicles
on the locked ward.
Blood came
and she became relaxed,
and held the razor blade
away from the skin.
It was sticky with blood.
She sat there gazing
disinterestedly at the scene.
All else, all other things,
and voices, and far away
music from the ward radio,
were like echoes in a dream,
and she didn't talk
or laugh or scream.
Jun 27, 2025
Jun 27, 2025 at 3:43 AM UTC
Come over
and have a coffee and such
she said
and I was caught by the such
and it intrigue me.
So after my morning shift
I went to her apartment.
She opened the door
after locking her mutt
in another room.
She smiled.
Didn't think you’d come
she said.
She let me in
and closed the door behind her.
Don’t mind the mutt
she said
he’s always unsocial.
She took me into her lounge.
Sit down
she said
and I’ll get those coffees.
I sat on the sofa
and looked around the room
there was a few paintings
on the walls
and couple of photographs
on a shelf of her and her husband
who I met with her in a local bar.
Want some music?
she said.
Sure what you got?
I asked.
Beatles?
she said.
Sure
I said.
She put on a Beatles’ record
on her Hi-fi
and she sat on
the sofa beside me.
So how are we doing?
she said.
Ok
I said
it's been a busy morning
at the Lodge
I guess it is
she said.
We sipped our coffees
after a while with small talk
she said.
Do you fancy me?
I wasn’t sure
how to answer
I guess so
I replied.
My husband is away
on a long haul
and won't be back
until late tonight.
I sipped the coffee.
You aren’t shy are you?
She said.
I was going to reply
when I woke up.
I guessed I said yes
or maybe no
I’ll never know.
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 4:00 AM UTC
You were afraid of the dark,
Afraid of what it might bring
What bogey man may appear
From the shadows, or perhaps
A spider creep across your bed
And enter your long hair or
Enter your over tired head.
Black Dog came upon you
In later years, brought a new
Deeper darkness, a quick sand
Type of darkness and drag you
down to a kind of terrible hell.
Cheer up, your mother said,
Cheer up my child, my sweet girl.
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 8:34 AM UTC
The morning was bright and the sun came out despite the snow still covering the grounds and fields outside the locked ward. I stood by the lounge window and peered out at it. I could see the traffic going past on the road beyond the fields. I was given a cigarette by Eastman the nurse on duty, a thin **** of a man with that look of a monk about him. Bridget got into a row with the Asian nurse about her medication and whether she had taken it or hidden it. I stuffed it up my bahookie, Bridget said, want tae hae a keek? The nurse walked off and Bridget smiled and lit herself a cigarette. After our crap dinner I had an appointment to see the quack. It was the foreign one, our usual was sunning himself some place so i assumed. The quack asked the usual questions and I sat there gazing at his black hair and brown eyes like **** holes, replying now and then, watching Vincent standing by the window moving his finger along the glass, drawing invisible marks. The nurse who sat beside me urged me to reply to the question. How are you feeling now on the new medication? he asked again. Vincent turned and made faces at the quack that made me smile. No different, I said, trying to contain the smile that watching Vincent brought on. The quack looked towards the widow, but couldn’t see Van Gogh standing there. The afternoon dragged like a man pulling a dead elephant through mud. Teatime we had cheese and ham sandwiches and that mud-like cocoa. Lucy sat beside me on the battered brown sofa in the lounge, gazing the the TV, and some boring programme about politics. Bridget said loudly that politicians were a crowd of ******
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 4:07 AM UTC
I awoke
and I was there someplace
in some bed
being attended to
by some male nurse
who had brought breakfast
on a tray
it had been a drugged sleep
and I recalled vague images
of the night before
some sort of descent
to a darker hell
and police officers came
and a struggle
and an ambulance
and medication
and off to some hospital
to be soothed
to a deep sleep
Where am I?
I asked the nurse
he said the name
of the place
some psychiatric hospital
and left the room
later I wandered the ward
and adjoining corridor
and spoke to none
and none spoke to me
except some quack
with letters after his name
later I tried to top myself
not wanting to play the game
but others came
and cut me down
and transferred me
to the locked ward
behind double doors
with other broken minds
and green linoleum
on cold floors.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 3:12 AM UTC
His head
no longer tonsured
but cropped close
like a zec
in a Stalinist prison,
he passed me in the cloister
in his loose fitting robes,
head down,
deep in thought
or prayer.
Another monk
who walked with a limp,
weeded the beds
by the cloister wall,
a black patch
over one eye
like a pirate
from Treasure Island
which I read as a boy.
I swept the refectory
in the mid morning work,
watching the sunlight
make patterns
on the wooden floor,
colours from
the coloured-glass windows.
The tall lean monk
planed the wood smooth
for the cross,
to mark the place
of the monk
who died in the week,
peaceful in his bed.
Who of these is holy,
I wouldn't know,
none looks into
their inner self or soul
and pleads as such
to themselves or others
if they dare;
holiness or saint-hood
is for God to declare.
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 8:39 AM UTC
Confiteor Deo omnipotenti.
The old monk black robed
moved side to side down
the cloister a wrecked ship
in the high seas of his age
as the bell tolled for Lauds.
Et vobis fratres and come
she said bring me your soft
spoils bring me to my highest
heaven so I did. Without free
will there can be no sin or
virtue without free will you
are free of all responsibilities
Dom Thomas said to us. Quia
peccavi nimis the young monk
confessed. Belltower seen
above trees from the roadside
and heard further afield than that.
George and I pulling the bells
as we shown the day before.
Cogitatione verbo et opere
et omissione I said in my inner
darkness. Dom Charles twisted
the apple just so and said that
is how it is done.Mea culpa mea
culpa mea maxima culpa having
free will is to be culpable from the
beginning and having free will is
necessary factor for any sinning.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC
The bell rang for Matins.
The tall thin monk seemed
to glide past me to the church.
The cloister had captured and
held the cold morning. I gazed
into the cloister garth on my
right and saw the flower beds
spread like a carpet. I entered
the church and dipped my finger
in the stoup and made a sign
of the cross and took my place
in the choir stalls. Opposite
monks had gathered in the
5.30am dawn and stood or sat
turning pages of their books
of prayer. Beside and behind
other monks gathered about
me likewise ********* books
for Matins. The abbot knocked
on wood and the chanting
began. The morning sun shone
through high windows and laid
a splash of light on the flagstone
floor. I followed and chanted the
Latin words to mix and blend
with the others. I watched the
sunlight flicker on the floor. I
smelt the incense from Mass
the day before and each day
would come and go and be the
same like an echo down the wind.
I wondered would I stand with
saints or those who sinned.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 3:54 AM UTC
From the window
I see snow falling
and that old friend
darkness calling.
Darkness embracing
with its chilling arms
and cold breath
on my neck
and in my dreams.
The snow drifts heavy
and clings to branches
of the tall trees
and white caps
like old maids
or dying giants aged.
I stare and stare
as the whiteness
drifts and falls
and beyond the trees
the darkness
ever the darkness
beckoning to lie
like old soldiers
in Russian winter
just to lie and die
blanketed by snow.
I smoke and watch
the silent drift
splitting the darkness
with a sprinkle of white
to brighten the night.
Some days I want
to drift white and pale
drawn by darkness
into that abyss
and sense on my lips
and brow
that cold cold kiss.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
The taxi dropped me off
at the end of the drive.
I wanted to walk up
the avenue of trees
to the monastery
and leave the outer world
by a slow walk.
It was September
and the August
warmth remained
and birds flew overhead.
Half way up the drive,
I saw three black robed monks
walking towards me.
I knew them all
from my previous visits.
This time it was to stay
and take my place
amidst them all.
Words of welcome
and enquiries of my health
and state of mind
and humour to relax me
as we entered
the porter's lodge
of the abbey.
A sense
of nervousness
entered me.
The world and its works
left behind and the inner world
of this desert would
shape me and prepare me.
After the introduction
and cheer, a brother took me
to my room or cell
as it was called
and watched and talked
as I unpacked my things.
He studied the books
I unpacked: Story of a Soul,
Confessions of St Augustine,
one Bible and poems of Hopkins.
He left me and said
he would return later for me
for the Office of None;
two others came
so I wasn't alone.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
The monk stands
in the shadow
of the cloisters,
said Benedict,
his arms folded
beneath his black habit,
his features unsmiling,
his stare out at the garth
and the clock tower
over the way.
I watch him,
feeling the sun's warmth
where the shadows aren't;
the flowers in the flower beds
are in full bloom,
the afternoon air
throws birds into the sky
to set free and fly.
Other monks
gather in the garth
after the office of None;
Patrick wheels out the trolley
with tea, coffee and cake;
we stand and talk
in the brief recreational break;
white clouds drift by,
birds take wing above
in the afternoon sky.
One talks to me of his book
on the abbey, the history
from its origins in France
until exiled here.
There is the bell
for the end of the break
and on we go
to our occupations
in our rooms or church;
I attend the Latin class
with George and Gareth,
our novice master aids us
in our studies, we learn
the holy sounds
of the Latin phrase and chants.
I love the office of Compline:
the chanting in the half-dark,
the evening light
through high windows,
the utter separation
from the outer world
and our communion with God
in prayer and chant and song,
and our hymn to Sancta Maria,
and the final bell,
and the prayers on wing and air,
and I stand momentarily
silent there.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
Looking out
beyond dark
the night sky
reflects you
beside me
in the glass
of the large
windowpane.
Others selves
beyond us
you and I
the bright light
of the lounge
in this house
and locked ward
for the mad
or so seemed.
Radio
playing Jazz
smooth light stuff.
We light up
cigarettes
staring out
at darkness
and pale moon.
You depressed
feeling low
out there death
stares at us
you utter
beyond this
another
world turns and
turns and turns
behind us
the other
kind of mad
just like us.
I listen
to that sad
poetry
recalling
us last night
in that side
room off the
ward on that
bed. Behind
us a nurse
passes in
a rush and
others pass
in a crowd
and a light
buzzing bright
blares out loud.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
You slid a finger
down the inside
of your left arm
in imitation
of a knife blade.
Nurses passed by
back and forth
busy making beds
in the locked ward.
I sat on the sofa
looking at you
standing there.
Your slim finger
left a feint line
of pinkness.
The Scottish woman
stood by the doorway
smoking and moaning
about the Indian woman
who she said
stunk tha place
ta hell.
Music from the radio
pushed out pop
or DJ crap.
You walked past
the Scottish moaner
into the other part
of the ward.
I watched you
walk away
how the short
dressing gown
held you close.
You beckoned me
to follow
with a curved finger.
I stood up
and walked past
the Scottish woman.
Cannae ya smell
tha stinking betch?
She said.
I said no
although I had
but not wanting
to say.
She moaned on
but I walked away.
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
They left you sitting
in the large room.
You remember sunlight
entering in
and the echo of voices
down the hall.
They had sat you
in the chair
and left you there.
They had performed
performances on you
using electric shock
as you lay
tied to a bed
and attached things
to your head.
You wondered where
the far door led
and where
the door behind
led off to
and why
they left you.
You passed through a ward
with a nurse either side
and the patients
gazed at you
as you walked past
and they became silent
as you passed
as if someone
had turned off the sound.
They have left you
with your thoughts
and feelings
and doubts and dark
and just the echo
of the electric spark.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 3:19 AM UTC
Yiska ran her finger
down the windowpane.
Outside snow drifted
in large flakes.
She lit a cigarette
and blew smoke
at the pane.
I moved beside her
and watched
the falling snow.
"I want to be out there
not stuck in here
in this madhouse"
she said.
She took my hand in hers
and squeezed it.
"You are the only
element of sanity
in this hole"
she added.
"We are both stuck here
with other broken minds"
I said.
She squeezed
my hand tighter.
A plump nurse
walked past
behind us
like a young hippo.
I saw her reflection
in the windowpane.
"Remember that night
in the ECT room ?"
she said.
"Yes and the night nurse
found you
while I hid under
the recovery bed."
She smiled.
The hippo nurse
came up to us
and said
"Have you had
your medication
yet Yiska?"
Yiska turned
to face the nurse.
"Yes the skinny nurse
gave it to me"
Yiska said.
The nurse walked away
up the locked ward.
"Did she?"
I said.
"She did
but I threw them
down the toilet"
she said
and released
my hand.
I lit a cigarette
and stared out
at the snow
and our promised land.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
The Scottish woman
moaned about the medication
being late and the Asian woman
rocked back and forth
on the armchair
with a bone looking grip
looped in her hair.
You were standing with me
by the large window
gazing out
at the trees and fields
covered in snow.
You touched my hand
with yours
and I sensed
the roughness
of the bandage
around your wrist
where you had cut it
and few days before
and the tubby nurse
found you
sitting on the floor
watching the blood
flow out
and the nurse
screamed at you
something she wasn't
meant to do.
"Wish I was out there"
you said
"lying there
like some lone soldier
deep in snow
waiting for death
and what a way to go."
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
She stood by the window
looking out
at the snow
it was falling
in slow large flakes.
He was on the sofa smoking
studying her figure.
A nurse rushed past
arms holding towels.
The radio was on
playing a Beatles' song.
Her wrist stung
where the stitches
pulled against skin.
The Scottish woman
was moaning
about the weather.
Another nurse walked past
eyeing him sitting there smoking
with his intense stare.
The Indian woman
walked to a fro
across the ward
muttering either
curse or prayer.
He walked over
to the window
where she stood
watching the snow
falling slow
Their hands touched.
Skin on skin.
Her bandaged wrist
touched his bandaged wrist.
They studied the snow
but didn't kiss.
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
Her last breakfast at home
before entering the convent.
Her mother fussed over
breakfast making sure
everything was just right.
Her father was driving her
to the train station. She
hated emotional goodbyes.
She knew that her mother
would cry. Then she would cry.
She sat and ate the breakfast
her mother had prepared.
Like a condemned person's
last meal before execution.
The radio was on playing Elgar.
No more radio in the convent
nor TV. Two others girls wound
be arriving today besides her.
She was nervous. It was the
end of an era. Up at 5am each
morning for the office of Matins.
No breakfast until 6.15am
She sipped her tea. She drank
it slowly. Her mother busied
herself trying not to think of
her daughter's departure.
Her father ate breakfast in
silence reading the newspaper.
End of an era. Beginning of
a new. Her father's hair was
greying and his suit was blue.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
The kid arrives(day patient)
and walks the ward like an
intense panther. I sit on the
sofa waiting for nothing,
and nothing happens, nothing
that interests me to stir
or contend to anything or end.
Yiska comes from the small
medical room; her wrist fresh
bandaged. The kid straight
away pesters her, surrounds
her, sticks out his tongue.
I get up and push him away;
he comes back at me and
Yiska screams. Nurses come
out of the walls, separate us.
He is all large eyed, mouthing
foul language; I want to bust
him one, but a big male nurse
stands between us. The kid
walks off. I watch him go.
The nurse watches us. I sit
next to Yiska. She looks at
her wrist bandaged. She'd
slit her wrist the day before.
We light up our cigarettes
and smoke. The kid walks
about staring at me with
his dark eyes. I gaze at him
cool, releasing smoke.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 6:22 AM UTC
He tried to hang himself
in the toilets
on the locked ward.
She heard and saw
the nurses rushing to a fro
like headless chickens.
She sat on the sofa
smoking.
She'd spoken to him
that morning
before breakfast.
They had watched
the snow falling.
The quacks
won't be pleased.
He'll be watched
more carefully
after that.
She'd not tried that:
hanging wasn't her thing.
Slit wrists or overdose
was more in her line.
The Indian woman
sat over the way
rocking back and forth.
All sorts.
Nurses passed by;
the plump nurse
like a young hippo
rushed past.
She'd talk to him
once he was about again.
The snow had stopped.
Now she supposed
would come the rain.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
Yiska slides the razor blade
along her wrist
a line of red erupts
spills
drips into the sink
she stares at the wrist bloodied
she takes the razor blade
with her free hand
and wraps it in tissue
and drops
in the lavatory bowl
and presses the flush
and water rushes
the tissue away
the ****** hand and wrist
become objectified
she studies how red
the palm and wrist and sink
she lifts her hand
and walks out
into the ward
leaving a red trail
a scream
and a nurse runs to her
and takes her
to the medical room
Yiska what have you done?
The nurse washes the wrist
under a tap
the blood runs diluted
into the sink
she holds the wrist gently
until clean
Yiska watches
unpreterbured
detached gazing on
other fingers dab
and bandage
Yiska senses
an inner rage.
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
Yiska stood by the window
of the locked ward. Snow drifted
slowly in large clumps
settling on the window sill
and the trees and on
the lawn below.
I should be out there.
Not stuck in here.
Her bandaged wrist smarted
where she'd slit it days before.
Should have done it better.
Try again if I can.
In a nearby field
a tractor ploughed slowly.
Gulls and rooks followed behind
like small ghosts.
Where's Benedict?
The other patients
roamed the ward.
Nurses passed purposely.
Hands went around her waist.
Benedict kissed her neck.
Warm kiss. Snow? He whispered.
The gulls and rooks
lifted up and away.
Beginning of a new dull day.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
The nurses half walked
half dragged the screaming woman
along the passageway
of the locked ward.
He watched them,
a cacophony of screams
and shouts and banging
of doors, then silence;
that was more disturbing
that silence, and picturing
the patient on the bed
strapped down,
the rubber mouth piece
between teeth, the injection
to oblivion, the electrodes
applied each side of the skull,
the electric shock applied,
the body in motion
as the current rides.
He knows the score
he's been there before,
knows the strapping down,
the rubber piece between teeth,
the injection and the buzz
along the nerves, *******
consciousness out of each pore
and momentarily it seems
you are no more.
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 3:44 PM UTC
Nurses rushed past,
flashes of white and blue,
Benny watched them go;
someone must have slit a wrist
or saved up their pills and ODed,
he didn't know,
just one from the women's
dormitory who'd had enough
and wanted out.
One tried to hang herself
in the lavatory from the water pipe
with a nylon, but they got her
down in time(much to her
annoyance afterwards.
Benny tried on his first day
in the lavatory outside the locked ward,
but someone saw him
and grabbed him down
before he could succeed;
******* soft heart,
Benny yelled at the time.
A flurry of voices
from the passageway.
Maybe it's Yiska again.
Have to get a free ride
out of this place somehow
she had said the day before.
Benny pulled on his cigarette;
inhale he mused, and forget.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 3:54 AM UTC
Pax in te
the young monk said
during Mass
his hands
touched mine
sign of peace,
trees swayed
in the early morning breeze
by the South wall,
Il vento
è il respiro
di Dio
the Italian monk said
as we stood
gazing at the trees,
I cleaned the toilets
after Terce
bucket and mop
and cloths
the smell of disinfectant
in the air,
Dieu est amour
Dom Charles said
l'amour de Dieu
est aussi dans
sa création
we had arranged flowers
by the statue
de la mère de Dieu,
in some cases
silence is dangerous
St Ambrose said
Gareth related
as we sat
on the private beach
of the abbey,
the bells tolled for Vespers
George and I
pulled as we were shown
le campane sono
la voce di Dio,
incense in the church
after Mass
the sound of plainsong
still in the air in echoes,
der Glaube an Gott
ist ein Akt des Willens
the Austrian monk said
I looked at him
but was stumped
by what he said,
faith in God
is an act of will
Gareth said
translating
as he thought best,
peace within
no act of will
just peace
and rest.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 2:18 PM UTC