when the seeds of doubt start sprouting
they become weeds that overwhelm my garden
and bleed into the soil.
it’s hard, all this toiling, it takes its toll,
i’m sure you know,
but i’ve got too much fertile anxious shit i don’t understand,
i’m just a man, pale and bland with broken bits,
all i want to do is stand but i keep on falling, (internally)
my mind is full of fire and sometimes it burns too hot.
i’m grateful for what i’ve got, i am,
i try to smile,
but i wouldn’t mind dying
every once in a while.
just to rest, i don’t covet death, i’m scared to death of death,
if truth be known, the great unknown frightens me,
when i die,
i’d like to rise like Jesus.
Jesus Christ what a guy, by all accounts, right?
quite a legend has arisen about this humble chap from Galilee.
i guess the words are my attempt to leave behind something permanent
but christ the mind is such a fickle thing. i can’t sing, so i scribe,
i don’t know much, i just suppose, i go off vibe, don’t do details,
they just get in the way.
maybe that’s where i’m failing.
in this world of absolutes and extremes
i’m a middler who can’t decide
if my cup is half full or half empty.
don’t tempt me.
i am not exempt from punishment, i have sinned, was born into it,
this cross i have to bear.
but i am not unique, we’re all in this together, fucked and fed
a bunch of lies, nothing now comes as surprise,
we’ve heard it all before.
we go to war in the name of peace,
we rob the poor, greed over need,
the market place will bleed you dry if you let it.
i don’t want to cark it full of debt.
regrets, i’ve had my share, most of them are linked to beer,
used to love a drink, still do, low key
but now i think i’d rather be
fit and fighting come Sunday morning.
hangovers are a warning:
don’t you get too high
coz it’ll hurt when you come down from there.
it’s a queer thing this quest i’m on, i don’t quite know what its
all about, i doubt i ever will, but it seems to keep on drawing
me in, the urge, the will, still, despite the drugs that
placate me and make me want to eat and watch TV
but i’m out here in the cold, beholden to these words, ideas,
that only seem to find deaf ears
i have to keep on SHOUTING with my pen,
and paint and books and dreams,
poetry and what it means, these things,
they are everything to me, they are life,
that and the kids and wife.
i love them all, more than can be said, family and friends,
you know, think of yours.
the most precious things are the people behind those doors
we call home, and i hope they know that,
i try to tell them every day.
but sometimes there’s a disconnect when i’m stressed or overloaded,
it all explodes, no implodes and i fall again. it kind of hurts,
the tears and the ringing in my ears
my head feels like it wants to burst.
just like my heart with pride at times, but this,
it is the opposite of that.
i can’t even look myself in the eyes.
let alone love anyone else.
everything disappears from the world.
it’s like a vacuum, a black hole,
…words fail me.
can i share a thought?
this universe we find ourselves in, on this ball that is spinning
around the sun, is vast.
bigger than anything we can comprehend. we have no idea.
but say we could travel through the enormity of space until
we find ourselves looking at the edge. we found it.
that’s the end, the border, the farthest flung corner,
nothing left to do but turn around and go back.
what’s on the other side of that?
Time. Love. Money.
i will cultivate my garden
but goddamn it those weeds
are gonna kill me
in the end.
try not to break, i’ll bend instead.
i just need time to stop and write,
the balance is out of whack.
my anxiety is born from the fact,
when i think too deep,
i know i can’t turn back.
and death, fate and fatal,
i guess, no i know
will have the final word.
that’s too negative.
that can’t be the end,
keep pushing through it, friend.
i’m trying to conquer my childish insecurities
by embracing them.
i’ve forgotten a lot of things from my childhood,
and remember other things that no one else seems to recall.
i don’t know what the point of this poem is.
i am just a peon, propped up by both the poverty
and prosperity of my situation, my station
in life, is here, in the cold, harsh, dim light,
hard at work, everything balanced on the edge
of a knife.
can’t cut and run, too many ties, tied in knots,
the haves and the rest, lest we forget, remember the dead
as you might just need them one day.
i’m trying to finish on a positive note, but i’m dying here,
like a comedian dying on stage, i’m a chameleon,
changing colour on page, i’m bright as the sun
when the sun is shining but black as the night
when the darkness envelops my light-headed heart.
i like to laugh but crying is also release.
hunger is hard to appease for too long,
it always keeps asking for more.
like lust. and trust.
unfortunately, the world i want to live in
here’s the twist.
this place, its close, so damn close i can believe, one day,
maybe it could be real and i could feel that bliss,
like the bliss you feel from a kiss,
that bliss that comes from relief,
that relief that comes from the absence of fear,
the belief that the wear and tear,
the toil and pain,
the sunshine and rain
could have led to this,
a cornucopia of love,
a little utopia that i could float in amongst.
i’ll leave it at that.
except to say
the horrors subside and the memories are back
to the places and people i hold closest, revere,
and the dreams and the hopes that i hold dear,
so for now i relent. i give over and go,
with the immutable, indisputable, immeasurable flow,
take me away, to where?
my future, i hope.
i’m tired of losing my mind.