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ryn Feb 2015
The new day still saw the man
Whose livelihood was rubber.
He had worked really hard; earning his darkened tan,
He was the plantation's tapper.

The evening sun had long set
Leaving the plantation in a shroud of darkness.
Relying on what little light the moon would let.
He treaded carefully; sidestepping potholes and jutting buttress.

His sack slung over one shoulder,
He found his way to his trusty ride.
Nightly routine he would execute over and over
Mounted his bicycle and rode off with the moon as guide.

All day long, he had been thinking of the night before.
He had then learnt that he was the target of a ghostly trick.
As he cycled, he got worked up, more and more...
He cursed the spirit who had made him the fool so quick!

As he looked ahead, straining his eyes to discern the sandy track.
His eyes caught something that came within sight.
Standing by the side against a background of black.
There she was again...all garbed in white...
To be continued...

Based on a story I heard
Seanathon Aug 2018
To the cutest girl
   Amongst all the lunks

Purple, white and black as the sky
   (As you know)

Hard work and a trusty Honda
   Such things will get you anywhere in life
   Be it an outcome which requires this
   Such slender *****

Enjoy your night!
Gotta love *****.

HondaGirlSeries
It was exactly one minute
After midnight when I fell
Madly for a shadow, a weak
Spot in that whole space/time
As if anyone would believe
In that old thing
Is love is love is love
Is not is not is not
No matter
I enjoy licking my wounds
My wounded heart, my
Syncopated madness
A march up the back of
A not so trusty ladder
A gift from a carpenter
Who fancies himself
Some sort of Jesus
Who ran out of nails
2,000 or so years ago
His mother bleats
YOU NEVER WRITE
YOU NEVER CALL
You and your fancy
Friends and all
AD Mullin Oct 2014
The first time I truly stepped into the mystic
For a suspended period
Those close to me watched with amused
Concern

Later on I would find out that this place was called hypo-mania
A lower energy level than mania
Recognized by the p-doc's as a creative place
But also a place of warning

Cause what comes next?
Mania
For me it was spiritual; I was playing in the aether
I was living the Tao; I instinctively called it Source

I was studying to be a scientist at the time
So this didn't make a lot of sense
The data didn't support the hypothesis
Had I just eaten one to many mushrooms as a teenager?

I already had a psychiatrist
I was being treated for ADHD
He had prescribed something called Concerta
An amphetamine; a ******-stimulant

At many points along the journey
I cursed the day I ever heard of psychiatry
I'm sure that the neuro-chemical pathways opened up by Concerta
Had something to do with my awakening

Those first days near Source made me realize I needed some guidelines
Mine were informed by my indigenous heritage
Only take what you need (i.e. sip, don't gulp from the River Tao)
Find your foundation: my rock was integrity, eventually leading to authenticity

Even with these guidelines, I couldn't maintain the healthy place they were calling hypo-mania
I had too much toxicity in the relationships around me
I couldn't fully elucidate what I was seeing and feeling
And my 7 kettles were on a full rolling boil

I was draining myself
I drove myself into madness
I was trying to sip from source and live my truth
But I wasn't honouring the nature of the Tao

It was Helter Skelter:
'So you go back to the top of the slide
And you turn and you go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again'

Over the next 3 years
I would lay down what I now think of as my
4 pillars; four hospitalizations
Well over one hundred days in the Cuckoo's Nest

The first hospitalization I went happily
I was going to teach and inspire the sickies
It's hard to get healthy in a place of illness, though
I came out still a little hypo-manic but went into a deep, dark depression
After finding out what those around me really thought

The second hospitalization, I went against my will
The doctor's were inconsistent, I found flaws in their logic
They looked at me like I was a flaw
They tried to prescribe health at me; I told them to *******

At that point I was not happy with the Canadian health care system
Health, first and foremost, was a public good
This ******* the individual's rights
I wasn't a danger to myself or others but I was a risk so there goes 70 days of my life

I was fortunate to have the support of some important people
They made sure my finances, among other things, were maintained as I tried to make it back to the ordinary
After my second hospitalization I really began to delve into the idea of holistic healthcare

It was after my second hospitalization that I made my first Hero's Journey
I was playing the role of a white blood cell for Gaia
I had my first three sweats within a month of each other
I met many shaman and I'm pretty sure I began my own residency

I put 10,000 km on my trusty steed
Chasing windmills
Sancho Panza by my side
< --- -- - Vancouver, NYC, Los Angeles, 'da bridge - -- --- >

My third hospitalization was the third act of this Hero's Journey
I was pushing it, reckless; I stopped taking my prescribed medicine
I ended up in the City of Angels of all places
Straight outta Compton!

My fourth hospitalization (and final pillar) was last summer
This time I ended up in Billings, Montana
The American model places the onus of health on the individual
I could have stepped out of that hospital at any point but I now had the wisdom to know what I did and did not need

Even though I speak of four pillars
There is always a fifth element
Her; the one
She woke me up to my soul's purpose

We met shortly before my fourth hospitalization
(You've got to use the fourth, Aaron)
She was a stranger in many ways
Still is but why does she feel so familiar?

She walked me through Dante's Inferno
She had spent time in her own non-ordinary reality
She left behind a map and published it
Through her bravery, I was able to find my way out of the inferno

And through her bravery, I was able to publish my map
http://www.bipolarorwakingup.com/
Chris Slade Apr 1
What do you reckon? I know what you’ve been thinking…
We’re on a ship that looks unsteady, like it’s sinking…
We’ve made shaky plans to be gung-** and to go it all alone…
But we’re beginning to wonder… are we heading for some kind of danger zone?…
At first we were just floating along - enjoying the passing view
And 2 years off it looked a lot easier …leaving the EU!
But there’s a waterfall downstream…and it looks like a helluva drop.
And once we get too near the edge, well, we won’t be able to stop.

The simplicity of Cameron’s ‘in - out’ referendum question dawned…
Cos, divorce is complicated.  Those who voted leave were scorned,
branded racist, or at least suffering some kind of mental disorder.
“Didn’t you stop to think about the about the Northern Irish border?” (best read in a 'silly', sneery voice).
But - back then there were 2 million Syrians, Afghans, Iraqis all walking toward Calais.
Some thought serious overcrowding problems could come our way.
Single Market,? Sovereignty? Customs Union? What the hell’s all that?
It means you’ll need a visa to go to Benidorm you ****!

Meanwhile Merkel diffused things by taking the refugees in.
But only served to rattle the bars of the **** leaning right wing.
The Spanish got all Oity Toity about us having Gibraltar.
And some of those previously unforeseen problems made Brexiteers falter.
This is David effing Cameron!… Farage embarrassed him into calling for a vote.
And, when the Remainers lost, Dave saw his chance to produce his sick note.
“I’ve done my bit”, he said “so… I’m standing down…  so who do you think should take my dodgy crown.
The Buffoon, the Backstabber, the Right Honourable Lady Home Sec?”
She, the author of  Windrush, Repatriation, food-banks, lower benefits? She got it! ****** heck!…

Hoodwinked by a government you maybe invested your life in, in all the earlier polls
Now we’ve all been tricked by a bunch of, navel gazing, self serving arseholes!
So it’s the blind leading the blind… Well, no.! Misinformed…and maybe just a bit short sighted.
And, you know, Theresa… she’ll most likely still get knighted.
But I doubt this episode will score with generations yet to come,
Deserted by this Parliamentary shambles - sitting on their hands, their collective ***.
The proletariat are cut adrift, and heading for the falls…
So we’re looking for a new saviour - someone with charisma…big *****!

Let’s look forward to this time next year… When some trusty politician re-writes our little story.
When we may be out - but far from down… Well I somehow can’t see it being a Tory…
And if isn’t Jezzer - who HAS got his eye on the prize…
McDonnel, Starmer, Benn, Tom (call me Slim) Watson? Who should THEY try for size?
And, just supposing, by chance, the Conservatives actually crack it
who, amongst the front runners there, could get the job and hack it?
Lord Snooty, Gove, Hammond…Hunt the err… Foreign Secretary,  Javid, Liam Fox (surely not!). Bojo?
With this current stay of Brexicution, for just a couple of weeks… the petition, the march, the chaos, could it still be NO-GO?…
Whatdya reckon?
The complexion of this subject - Brexit (if I hear the word one more time on TV I think I'll unplug the thing and throw it out of the window) changes by the minute so it's hard to pin it down - Here is where we're at up to this point.
Joan Doe Jan 7
When you were little you would be read stories about prince charming, and dream about your happily ever after. You'd see his silhouette vaguely in your dreams as he'd take you to far off lands to escape the harsh realities you didn't want to face. Growing up you and your friends would admire many princes from afar, waiting for the day all of you would find one you could call your own.

One day he does come for you. He takes you to places you've never been and it feels like it's everything you could ever want.

But there comes a time when he takes off the helmet and the armor, and his sword and his trusty steed begin to dissolve. Everything around you looks familiar and you figure out you've been going in circles.

And it's then when you realize prince charming isn't real. He's just a boy in a costume with his own problems, and he can't save you.
Years had gone by since the boys eyes were open,
All around him his life lay useless and broken.
He clung to distractions and hated the silence when it came near.
The boys absence had suddenly descended into utter fear.

Wherever he went the boy couldn't escape the terror he felt,
And things that never bothered him now made him stop and melt.
The confusion that followed the fear he felt began to enrage him.
Liquid hatred started to quickly fill his tiny cup to the rim.

He took his anger out on himself knowing everyone was in enough pain.
The only times he felt normal was when he walked alone through the rain.
The boy forgot how to take care and love himself truly,
Though he acted and carried himself like he desired this cruelty.

Anger became his main defense mechanism and shield,
Alone and broken he found his only solace in desolate fields.
Sorrow became his trusty companion and loyal friend.
Letting tears fall quietly was the only message he'd ever send.

No one seemed to realize the pain the boy was in anymore.
Spending any time with him just felt like a chore.
The boy felt like he was getting away with ****** these days.
Not realizing he was the only victim here in oh so many ways.
Just GS Jun 8
Write me off, that's fine - if I'm honest, your eyes are not why I've bled blue on loose leaf for all these years.
I gave away a rough draft of my life and skipped the polish - yeah, I get that I'll never be published, and to you, my words likely look like incoherent ******* because I'd surely be full on illiterate if it wasn't for spellcheck & this stupid heart of mine.
My goal wasn't to be relatable (it was always for me so I could go back if and when I needed a reason to breathe I'd reread to see how far I've come) and so (I have no grand delusions of "success" or even dreams of recognition) I know I will never be a great writer -
A lonely man's truth has never been a valuable commodity.
I just wanted to let you know that I've seen your poetry & it's simply beautiful in all it's intricate complexities -
and mine is what it's always been (and bare with me now, as I attempt a metaphor) my ol' trusty lifejacket.
It just helps keep me from sinking all the way down to rockbottom.

Thank you all for sharing, I like to think I have a good idea what your words mean to you - and for some of us they might just mean everything.

And for now, I'll leave you with this


Dear Poet,
If you ever feel the urge to give up, just remember that if you do, everything you went through will have been for another man's (or woman's) kindling.
Madison Aug 2018
I'm going to go ahead and get this out of the way.

I'm telling you now

A warning, before you drive over the tracks

Into racing-pulse-risktaking land

That you will never be the heart

Thud-thud-thudding in my chest

Pumping my blood and keeping me chugging along

That vessel of a cliche.

I'm not so easy

Predictable

Malleable

Boring

Dumb

Naive

To entrust you with keeping it going

Leaving something so vital

In hands that could stop tick-tick-ticking

At any moment

Like a dead clock.

I'm sorry, my dear

But that particular piece of tissue

Is one that is mine and only mine

Never to be cradled by another.

But before you turn away from the crossing

I'd like to offer another disclaimer.

There are other parts of me

That can be shared

Budding blooms growing every-which-way

Perhaps requiring two sets of hands

In order to be adequately nurtured.

If you truly find it crucial

You might push your way into my being

Become a mark branded onto my existence

Fading at a snail's pace

If I'm ever so lucky

To have it fade at all.

If you wish to cross these tracks without looking both ways

You could find yourself

Close to my heart, if not within it

Swimming in my lonely blue veins

A constant reminder that we're both here

Warm

Safe

Guarded.

You could be my sweet tooth

That impassioned affinity for something that may or may not be around

At any given time.

You could be a fold of my painfully enigmatic brain

Find yourself at home amongst all the love and anger and secrets

Push past the useless facts and fly-away ideas

Hold me tight 'til you squeeze me into a headache.

You could even be part of my oh-so-problematic blood

Nourish me

To love and to cherish

In motion and in rest

Know for sure that

Should one of us rip off the dreaded universal Band-Aid

And bid the other adieu

You'll be sure to leave a dark anemic bruise

A reminder for who-knows-how-many days to come

Of who you are

And what we were.

All precautions aside

I'll let you go on your way

With this one condensed admonition:

You, and every other person to whom I'll ever send a silvery come-hither glance

Will never stake claim

On my heart

Filling and releasing

Constantly reminding me of an identity all my own

Never shaped like a Valentine.

It doesn't mean that you aren't important

When you can, in fact

Find your own empty space in anything else

But remember:

At the end of the day

Blue veins go pale

Bruises fade

And I'm in charge of what's in my own lifeblood.

Even the most grueling marks on my skin and soul

Made by malevolence and cruel intent

Will surely heal

With the help of sweet time

And this trusty heart of mine.

If you're fine with this

By all means

Cross these rickety rails.

I'll see what I can do.
audacious Mar 29
How do you write something
when everything's been said?

Do you use dictionaries and a thesaurus
to enhance a knackered vocabulary?

Do you use vivid imagery as
your words are oozing from your bitten
cracked lips?

Do you dip your Zoro brush in
a palette tray choosing your brightest color,
painting the keystrokes trying
to portray the smile that wont escape your memory?

Do you take out your trusty hammer and try
to nail the syllables together hoping they form a
craftsmanship valued by others?

Whatever the process, be diligent,
under the nails, the pages, or the pen
a beautiful beginning comes together then.
Sky Aug 2018
I’m ready for fall.
I’m ready for
My leather jacket,
which I wear like a second skin;
My fingerless gloves,
somehow both practical and not;
My trusty boots, clomping fearlessly through any weather;
Flannel every day, a timeless pattern;
A bitter breeze balanced by a lemon sun to make the perfect temperature.

I’m ready to watch the leaves turn to flames and dance through the neighborhoods,
I’m ready to smell the cider and pumpkin in every store.
I’m ready to start planning a disguise, to hide from the Hallow’s spirits.

I’m ready for fall,
the best season of all.
BLT Jun 8
When I was young, I had an aunt and uncle who visited
and stayed awhile.
They were nice enough but she was quiet and he, odd-
had his own peculiar style.

You see, whether going to the store, out to eat or even for a walk,
he would don a green back pack stuffed with weights.
Of course, I was curious, asked my aunt why.
Told me not to bother him for he was in dire straits.

Years passed and so did he; around the dinner table we would talk.
Why did uncle wear that dusty old back pack,
even for just a walk?

It was then that my aunt revealed that the pack was his only crutch.
Made him feel safe, whole and secure, protecting him and such.

You see, it was like in the Army, his pack was his life's force.
Took a shell straight in the back, big enough to have killed a horse.

And so, from then on, he wore that pack, filled with dumb bells and the like.
Would often don his army boots and set off for a hike.

She said a leopard CAN change his spots, but is always a leopard,
you see.
Still the same on the inside, regardless, of looking different to you and me.

A few years later, at a family reunion, there was a picture of uncle, there.
He had fallen asleep with the pack on, right there in his favorite chair.

Auntie said , he did that often, and would even wear it to bed.
'said was the only thing that kept him safe and stopped the ringing in his head.

We all have a back pack, held tight, that keeps us moving ahead.
It's always there under the surface, no matter how many spots we shed.

BLT
*What's your back pack? Mine is insecurity...and an unhealthy need for acceptance.

— The End —