MindFull Magazine
Issue 3 - Summer 2022
A quarterly magazine published by POETRY FOR MENTAL HEALTH
www.poetryformentalhealth.org
Supporting people with mental health challenges by motivating and inspiring them to write poetry.
Support us by joining our new POETRY FOR MENTAL HEALTH membership organisation. Just £20.00 / $30.00 a year. Benefits and details on the website: www.PoetryForMentalHealth.org
IN THIS ISSUE POETRY BY: PAGE:
04/05. Todd Matson - USA 06. John F. Zurn - USA 07. Bobby 'Z' - USA 08. Amy Garner - SCOTLAND 09. Nivedita Karthik - INDIA 09/10. Tom Mallouk - USA 10. Gabriela Docan - ENGLAND / ROMANIA 11. Antoni Ooto - USA 12. Judy DeCroce - USA 13. Lizzie Jones - ENGLAND 14. Angie Mack -USA 15. Ashley Foresi - CANADA 15. Jennifer L. Alukonis - USA 16. Mladenka Perroton-Brekalo - SWITZERLAND 17. Til Kumari Sharma - NEPAL 18. Steven Jakobi - USA 18/19. Maia Maria - ENGLAND 20. Martyn Hesford - ENGLAND 21. Hafsah Dauda - NIGERIA 21. Nila Bartley - USA 22. Jason Kirk Bartley - USA 23. Gary Shulman - USA 23. Jonathan Ukah - ENGLAND 24. Anthony Ward - ENGLAND 24. Tracy Davidson - ENGLAND 25. Stephen Ferrett - SCOTLAND 26. Patrick O’Shea - NETHERLANDS
SPONSORSHIP: Please contact us to sponsor MindFull magazine and POETRY FOR MENATL HEALTH.
PUBLISHER & COPYRIGHT: MINDFULL © Robin Barratt, POETRY FOR MENTAL HEALTH, and all the authors herein. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the publisher at the address below. MINDFULL is published four times a year as a pdf emagazine, paperback and Kindle by Robin Barratt (www.RobinBarratt.co.uk) and POETRY FOR MENTAL HEALTH (www.PoetryForMentalHealth.org). Address: 14 Alysham Road, Norwich, Norfolk, NR3 3HG, England. T: +44 (0) 161 818 2364 (Skype) / M: +44 (0) 7508 833 433 / WhatsApp: +44 (0) 7508 833 433 E-mail: Robin@PoetryForMentalHealth.org Website: www.PoetryForMentalHealth.org
3
LIGHT Todd Matson
Light is a stalker.
Cries “olly olly oxen free!”
Pursues us relentlessly.
Befriends our vulnerability.
Gently breaks through
Melts ice enshrouding hearts
every barrier of darkness
frozen in time from years
we erect against it.
of abuse and betrayal.
Turns our dusk to dawn,
Disinfects our wounds.
transforms our night to day,
Warms that which has been
chases away every shadow,
neglected, unwanted, orphaned.
illuminates all the hiding places,
Heals everything within us
reveals everything within us
held hostage to the night.
for too long hidden
Allows us to see
in plain sight –
ourselves
inside fortresses of fear,
as we truly are,
under burdens of guilt,
always have been,
behind walls of shame.
always will be,
Shines pure love into the
as always beautiful.
darkest nooks and crannies
Light, love and hope
of our nocturnal souls.
are the same.
ABOUT THE POEM: 'Light' was written to convey how it is that so much of what we keep hidden from ourselves, or others, is based on the false premise that deep down inside we are simply not good enough to make ourselves vulnerable to be seen as we truly are. We are in reality all of infinite worth, but perhaps have never experienced the light of day penetrating deep into our inner being such that we can experience that to be true. Unconditional love, acceptance, positive regard are truly the most healing ingredients in our world; in relationships; even in mental health treatment. All it takes for us to discover this is the courage to take the risk to be seen as we truly are by another caring human being. This is ultimately what sets us free to be as we are, unencumbered by the psychological defences which would otherwise keep us in hiding.
"AS A LICENSED PSYCHOTHERAPIST, I HAVE BEEN ON BOTH SIDES OF DEALING WITH ISSUES OF MENTAL AND EMOTIONAL HEALTH, AS WELL AS FUNCTIONAL AND DYSFUNCTIONAL RELATIONSHIPS, AND I HOPE TO CONTRIBUTE BEYOND THE THERAPY ROOM TO AN UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT MENTAL AND EMOTIONAL HEALTH LOOKS LIKE, HOW MENTAL HEALTH TREATMENT CAN BENEFIT OUR LIVES AND RELATIONSHIPS, AND HOW IGNORING MENTAL HEALTH TREATMENT CAN RESULT IN SO MUCH UNNECESSARY SUFFERING, ALONG WITH DYSFUNCTIONAL AND HURTFUL PATTERNS OF INTERACTION THAT CAN BE TRANSMITTED FROM ONE GENERATION TO THE NEXT IN AN INTERGENERATIONAL PATTERN OF DYSFUNCTION, ABUSE OR NEGLECT." TODD MATSON
4
AVATARS Todd Matson Video game hero,
“Wake up!” “Get moving!”
a gamer’s gamer screams
“Pick it up!” “No mercy!” “Suck it up!”
at his computer incessantly –
“Walk it off!” “Faster!” “Harder!” “Smarter!”
every field a battlefield.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Whatever the game,
Toxic masculinity
whatever the competition,
obsessively driven. A
it’s always war – a zero-sum game,
scorched earth policy
winners and losers.
where nothing is forgiven. Vengeance is all there is.
He makes his avatars in his own image to be winners,
The anger, the rage,
to be champions – lives vicariously
disappointment, disapproval,
through them.
contempt, condemnation, shame, sense of worthlessness lingers long
The deeper the psychic
after the game.
wounds from humiliating losses past, the bloodier the grudge
And this is how
match, the more decisive the victory
he makes avatars of his
battle-scarred avatars must deliver.
children and loses the zero-sum game his father played by making an avatar of him.
ABOUT THE POEM: 'Avatars' was written to convey the tragedy of how an unexamined life can simply replicate toxic and abusive patterns from one generation to the next, as parents essentially parent their own children in the same ways that they were parented as children. Each generation has an ethical and moral responsibility to say "the buck stops here, now, with me. Regardless of how hurtful my parents may have been to me when I was a child, there is nothing that justifies me serving as a vessel through which my own children will be hurt." We are all called to examine our lives, our practices, to break cycles of abuse and dysfunction, to create healthy and functional patterns of behaviour which pass on a legacy of unconditional love, personal worth, dignity and trust.
5
FAREWELL MY
MANIC TRAIN
COMPANIONS
John F. Zurn
John F. Zurn
My manic train of thought and sound raced down a magic mountain.
When horses stampeded within my sick mind,
Providence bounced up and down,
You held my hand tightly and helped me unwind.
and signs were pure emotions.
When monsters possessed me and anger took hold,
As my train lurched to a stop,
You knew how I felt without being told.
I felt the throttle stall.
When life was oppressive with dark thoughts of death,
When I wrestled with the cops,
You asked me to linger and helped me find rest.
they saw no train at all.
When experts gave up and left me alone, You shouldered my burden and made it your own.
Previously published by Serotonin Poetry.
My words can't express my feelings inside;
ABOUT
Without your affection I might well have died.
THE
experience
Although I have left you, I still hear you call.
POEM:
'Manic
Train':
the
different
describes
This in
Farewell my companions. Good-bye to you all.
perception between my delusional states
Remember I love you and feel you within,
and the perception of the ordinary world. It
Farewell my companions. My new life begins.
helped me to learn to be creative through writing instead of acting out my thoughts
ABOUT THE POEM: 'Farewell My Companions':
and feelings. “Manic Train” also gave me
The people in this poem represent individuals
some closure that I could express to others.
that I wish to remember. They helped me to overcome my loneliness and isolation, and I
HOMELESSNESS
fear some of them will never experience a
John F. Zurn
more fulfilling life. Remembering them helped me experience a deep sense of gratitude
She shoulders her burden
because they were my supporters and friends.
alone in her pain. While others more certain
SHADOW
pass by every day. Her feelings are scattered
John F. Zurn
with no place to go.
A secret shadow troubles me
She seems to need shelter,
and overwhelms my spirit.
but she also needs love.
At times this shadow follows me
ABOUT
but no one else can hear it.
THE
POEM:
'Homelessness':
Homeless individuals are kindred spirits
It robs me of all self-respect,
who haven’t found their way home, so they
so joy and peace are gone.
are still on their subjective journey.
Then happiness becomes an act,
I
sometimes write about people who are
and I must play along.
symptomatic
because
I
have
had
a
ABOUT THE POEM: 'Shadow': Mental illness
somewhat similar experience, and I feel a
often appears like a shadow that no one else
genuine sense of compassion for them.
sees or even believes. The illness creates a sense "TO HELP MANAGE THE SYMPTOMS OF MY
of alienation that must be managed in society, even if happiness must be sacrificed.
MENTAL ILLNESS AND IMPROVE MY SELF-
Writing
ESTEEM, I WRITE POETRY AND STORIES
poems like these create concrete examples of
THAT ALLOW ME TO EXPRESS MY IDEAS AND
what mental illness feel like, and how it affects
EMOTIONS IN CREATIVE WAYS."
social situation.
JOHN F. ZURN
6
WILL IT EVER END
LET NO MAN WRITE
Bobby 'Z'
MY EPITAPH
Will it ever end, that burning desire.
Bobby 'Z'
To seek revenge, and slowly extinguish the fire.
What has happened to the fire, that once did exist,
Will it ever end, will I ever be at peace.
has now all but expired,
Lost in the past, will the pain ever cease.
the passion has been dismissed.
Will it ever end, he anger and rage. I lost my childhood, at a very early age.
Once there was fame and glory,
Will it ever end, the memories of hate.
no time for defeat.
always wheeling and dealing,
Abused as a child, will I ever know my fate.
you were very appealing.
Will it ever end, I Paid a terrible price.
Constantly fighting the demons, quit the booze after 43 years,
The extra burden, placed on me for life.
always kept everyone safe behind the gate, never ever caring about any of your peers.
Will it ever end, the constant yearning inside. To achieve what he didn’t, yet put all my anger aside.
Old age now moving in,
Will it ever end, will I ever finally be allowed to be free.
losing a step or two,
To possibly return, to whoever is me.
slowly missing a beat, time to meet your Waterloo.
MENTAL CONSTIPATION
Memories of victory's,
Bobby 'Z'
and memories of defeats, will always remain,
Seeking the meaning, for a senseless mental
but will never again repeat.
constipation, controlled by the thoughts of a forbidden intoxication.
Just a kid from the streets,
Lost in a void, experiencing a total spiritual
always fighting the system & wanting to be free,
contamination,
never playing by the rules,
standing at the altar, awaiting a complete revelation. Obsessed by your desire,to fulfill your intention of a secret temptation, unable to perform, can't complete a simple fornication. Condemned by your past, in need of a emotional
always thinking that laws were meant for people like me. No regrets for what or where I have been, just created my own path,
resuscitation,
hope to be remembered as a Stand Up Guy,
looking for relief,searching for constant medication.
'LET NO MAN WRITE MY EPITAPH"
Morally bankrupt, uncontrollable procrastination, attempting to prevent, a premature emotional ejaculation. Total remorse, consumed by a illicit infatuation, searching for relief, considering complete isolation. Confined to your mind, in need of spiritual inspiration, attempting to prevent, your total annihilation. To seek a sanctuary, that is void of exploitation, attempting to resolve, your Mental Constipation.
7
INSOMNIA
REACTIONS
Amy Garner
Amy Garner
There’s a storm in my teacup,
The clock struck nine on Tuesday night.
I’ve left it there to brew.
Time to stop the scroll and avoid blue light.
Now it has become too steeped,
Just one more minute, said the voice inside.
I’m unsure what to do.
So I scrolled some more to find out who died.
I’ve taken out the teabag,
The clock struck ten on Tuesday night.
Added a splash of cold.
Time to wind down and do things right.
Maybe I’ll just pour it out,
I brushed my teeth, sprayed lavender mist.
I’m really far too old.
And I read my book, smugly ticked my list.
ABOUT THE POEM: I wrote this piece when
The clock struck eleven on Tuesday night.
thinking about anxiety and the worries that
Time for nodding off, I hope with all my might. That my brain dials down, and I drift away.
I let myself react to – through CBT and
My thoughts go “nice try, let’s run through your day…”
talking to people, I’ve found that these things become much smaller when they’re talked through properly.
The clock struck twelve on Tuesday night, Mind is leaping, reaching whole new heights.
OFF GRID
Remember that thing you did, and said? Bet you feel dumb now, lying in this bed.
Amy Garner
The clock struck one on Tuesday night.
It’s been 10 years, I need some space,
In four hours’, time it will be getting bright.
You need to get out of my face.
My thoughts move on to my future days.
I leave on Friday, for a week,
And I think tomorrow: I will change my ways.
I think it’s best that we don’t speak.
The clock struck two on Tuesday night.
“You’ll need me for your boarding pass,
How can this be, this can’t be right?
You smirk at me through your black glass.
Just go to sleep! I whisper scream.
I’m your map and camera.
So, I think some more about what to dream.
So much for so-called stamina. Nice try pal, it just won’t last,
The clock struck four on Tuesday night.
What about all those podcasts?
And I slowly drift, giving up the fight.
How will you get around with ease,
I’m floating now, blissfully asleep.
Without me and my expertise?”
Them am jolted up by a heinous beep.
“FINE!” I shout, I will admit,
As the clock struck six on the brand-new day.
I’ll use you but I won’t submit.
Bags below my eyes are a cloudy grey.
I need a break or I’ll implode.
“There’s no time for tired!”, my thoughts say to me.
I’m shoving you on Airplane Mode.
“Let’s do this then, pass me my CBD”. "I HAVE STRUGGLED WITH ANXIETY SINCE BEING
ABOUT THE POEM: I wrote this piece while
A TEENAGER AND IT HAS TAKEN ME UNTIL MY
feeling overwhelmed by notifications and
EARLY THIRTIES TO REALLY DO SOMETHING
online social media so decided to take a
ABOUT IT, SO MEDICATION, CBT, REGULAR
digital detox on holiday. I quickly realised
EXERCISE, AND WRITING HAVE BECOME
how hard it would be when I use my phone
WONDERFUL TOOLS TO HELP ME COPE IN THIS
for so many aspects of daily life.
TURBULENT WORLD." AMY GARNER
8
ADVERSITY IS ... Nivedita Karthik Adversity is the ‘gigantic’ hill
Adversity is the deep and narrow vale
with jagged rocks and slippery slopes.
with the peaks of hope far above.
Yet, climb it we must till
Yet, navigate it we must on our own trail
we reach the peak and feel the miracle of
carved out with determination and love.
hope. Adversity is the deep ‘black’ sea where no light shines through. Yet, swim we must till we see the glints of gold shining through the blue.
PUTTING DOWN THE
ADVICE TO SELF
SHIELD
Tom Mallouk
Tom Mallouk
Engage in intimate discourse! The sky is listening
Tired of the warrior life
and the dense forest is good
he puts down his shield
at keeping secrets.
and is astonished to find an ache in his heart.
Listen!
Bewildered, he cannot tell
Perhaps you will hear the underground
whether the pain comes from
spring speak your name in a language
outside or within, from the lance
only you can understand.
of his enemy or loved one.
Look up!
Confused, too, by this unexpected strength as of a giant oak
Who is gazing at you with favour,
that withstands the gale
glad you have finally arrived, knowing
shedding acorns and deadfall.
it could not have been a moment sooner?
ABOUT THE POEM: 'Putting Down the Shield'
ABOUT THE POEM: 'Advice to the Self' speaks
references my adaptation to the abuse and
to the fact that simple awareness is a healing
how letting down my defenses opened me to
experience. By that I mean whenever we pay
the possibility of healing. In the face of trauma,
close attention and allow what is right in front
adaptations can be divided into two basic
of
categories: numbing and activation. I tended Ready
to
fight
at
the
into
something
towards activation and became very angry and defensive.
us
awareness restorative
without takes
judgment,
place.
That
awareness acts as a benign consciousness, a
least
kind of third eye, that says you are good and
provocation, I put up a shield that protected
deserving of love just the way you are. What
my vulnerable self. The pain I reference in the
could be more healing!
poem is both the internal pain of the trapped self and the external pain of threat of attack.
9
A GOOD DAY TO DAY Tom Mallouk
On a distant day
Unchanging
in a different body
as was the world.
I wanted to die, believed
Earth continued to rotate
I had sinned badly
on its axis
deserved to die
revolve around the sun
and there was nothing important for me to do
till slowly light and a little more light
nothing I could do.
and even warmth and more still came outside to in and finally inside to out.
That was a September to May day and each day within
Today is not a good day to die.
one thick dark day
The walk needs shovelling and the coming
and I did not.
storm would restrict travel to the viewing.
Then the next darker,
Then, there is the niece’s wedding,
thicker and again after that,
the day we plant seedlings in the spring,
I did not!
opening of trout season and bridge with the neighbours on Wednesday night.
ABOUT THE POEM: 'A Good Day to Die' is an attempt to bring the reader into the experience of slogging through relentless depression that was subsequent to my hospitalization after the psychosis. The abuse and the psychosis were awful experiences but what was most challenging was the feeling that I had somehow done something wrong. That I was at least an accomplice to the abuse and likely responsible for the psychosis. A better behaved child would have not elicited the treatment I received, and a more responsible early adult would not have been as reckless as I was with the gift of sanity. The shame I felt was worse than either the abuse or the psychosis, and infected me so deeply during my depression that I believed I deserved to die.
AFTER DARK Gabriela Docan
The door closes behind,
I then get restless in my mind,
The hours get dark and blind,
tired feet leap out of shoes,
as there is an invasion of thoughts,
disoriented by sleepless nights,
like grasshoppers
like locusts
like insects
in lush green meadows.
swarming and devouring crops.
drawn to bright flames.
The bath is warm and kind,
I struggle to sleep and unwind,
ABOUT
body parts emerge from clothes,
body twists, turns and spins
dark' is about not
like prisoners
like cotton candies
to
escaping incarcerating cells.
before being eaten from sticks.
overthinking.
Hot tea ends the daily grind,
Anguish is suffocating, unkind,
the bed envelops me with vows
bulldozes the night with sneaky
severely
like enamoured lovers
tactics,
promising heavenly dreams.
like troops
fractured
THE
sleep
at
POEM:
'After
being able
night,
due
to
Despite having
good and pleasant bedtime
marching in preyed on lands.
10
routines,
sleep
can
disturbed by
a
mind
struggles to switch off.
be and that
THE WHEEL OF DOGS
A QUIET MIND
Antoni Ooto
Antoni Ooto
On a day when the fear of dying is vivid,
Is there such a thing?
it is with him that my point of view changes. Feelings float, dip, or bump around Scout my dog, guards the area around us.
echoing and important in their hiding.
He echoes an ever-circling primal kit of dogs marking the way back to wolf.
like unrestricted water energies of thought
When the feeling of insecurity
spill across a ceremony of doubt
hits fast and hard like a wave who protects us…who?
with its prayers and crows never considering need or distance
At least I have my wheel of dogs, guarding—safety longed for since childhood.
with time comes a choice to study barriers and gates if only to remember symbolism
Sometimes with resignation, we all share this…
ERSTWHILE
a world unfair to the weak.
Antoni Ooto
Yet, if we picture an army of dogs,
He sits talking to himself about himself
a wheel that encircles,
while the mirror considers what is left.
giving protection on every side, dogs sitting patient— strong
He’s never alone in his head,
watching for others— not family.
crowded even,
WILD STRAWBERRIES
voices, old haunts, games in vacant lots;
Antoni Ooto
all those loves…so much gone.
Beijing nights, breezes and bells,
“I’m in the middle of everything…
dark sky’s bliss, and the small things;
with no time left.”
I ask for everything
A day finds its way as he ticks down.
Sometimes I dare to feel empty Published previously by Poetica Review, Winter / 2019.
Like the wild strawberry’s last sweet taste Sugar and sorrow Someday the words will lead The false starts vanish And when that happens Just listen Published previously by Young Ravens Literary Review, January / 2019.
11
STUPID HOPE
THE POSTURE OF
Judy DeCroce
TREES
shocking eminent
Judy DeCroce
while her sense of humor fades unexpectedly, a year has spilled its worn days along the path
a specialist’s edict points to a beginning
breaching a stand where years lay—
she worries about losing but not yet
where colors shuffle
not now autumn tags beneath and above
even when stupid hope like the posture of trees
can’t be found
I stand as straight as I can
in fuzzy confusion
feeling taller
less or too many details
going on
now will be a new
Published previously by Wellington Street Review, June / 2019.
forever
then a friend adjusts her mirror and life continues
OF A TIME Judy DeCroce
when growing up followed rules
WATCHING FOR
youth still resides here
SPACES
the hum of tomorrow
Judy DeCroce
Too late... stuck in this dip where others have scuffed. Light wears away till there’s only the gray. That’s how I begin watching for spaces.
only less visible waits too all new adventures ready waiting to begin now, youth still hides where much builds to a wish like that secret you whispered to a best friend in 4th grade when you both nodded and smiled
Falling... filling in the blanks, falling not with delicate flakes, but misshapen rags of truth. That’s how this begins. an absence of light groping past me questioning the air… then coming back.
12
MY SCARS Lizzie Jones When people see my Scars, a lot of them are too quick to Judge and rudely stare. "oh don't do that" Do you really want to die"? "But look at your arms, they just look a mess" My quick reply "I don't care, I've nobody to impress" I try so hard, but my inner demon's always win the fight, I don't necessarily want to end my life, but I just lose all control and go and grab a knife. As I pull the knife across my wrists, all of a sudden everything seems so calm, so much tension and stress is instantly released, As I clean the wound and bandage my arms, I let off a huge sigh of relief.
"I WAS SEXUALLY ABUSED AS A CHILD
I cut myself for reasons, many people will never Understand,
AND HAVE MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES. I
My Scars tell a story of exactly why I'm like I am All my past history and the abuse I suffered by a horrible man. I'm tired of feeling, sad and over hearing people saying I'm mad. Some people are just to shallow to ever understand.
FOUND WRITING POETRY HAS HELPED ME EXPLAIN IT BETTER TO LOVED ONES."
I can feel myself fading more and more each day.
LIZZIE JONES
THE BEAST
ON THE EDGE
Lizzie Jones
Lizzie Jones
I lived in a world full of isolation and fear,
Every thought is a painful battle, every breath I
I would sit and tremble every time you were near.
take feels like a war, I'm not quite sure I can
I could even smell you creeping up on Me.
take this anymore.
You would never stop and listen to my plea,
My silence is just another way, for showing all
I knew exactly what you were going to do to me.
my worry and pain. I just have a horrible feeling, There's not much left for me to gain.
I was forced to do things, never to be talked about, I was a little girl, being forced into adulthood too
Every night I lie wide awake, feeling almost
soon.
dead, for once I'd like to fall asleep, before it's
You took away everything that one day could've
too late and I totally fall apart.
been special to me,
Most days it feels my life was just a big mistake,
you even had the cheek to pretend you cared about
most of it unhappy, and having to act fake,
me.
both inside and outside I feel totally broken, another day, I wish I hadn't woken.
Now you will never have the chance to physically hurt me again,
People will never know what's going on in my
I know my life will never be, how I imagined it to be,
head, why would they, when everything I do is
my memory is full of the horrible you used to do to
wrong, I try my best to stay strong, all I really
me.
want to do is find a high ledge, because I am
But all these years of living in fear,
sick of this life, I am so close to the Edge.
have finally give me the strength and courage to talk to someone about everything you done to me. 13
BEATS ON MY DRUM Angie Mack I need to compose
and thinking and walking
about a sad sad tale
and drumming.
of a planet
Yes.
grown so hard
I beat to the beat of my own drum.
and so cold.
My. Own. Damn. Drum.
About tragedies untold.
No more waltz.
Abuses as evil as the grave.
No more baroque.
Injustice everywhere.
No more country.
Greed.
From here on out,
Sorrow.
it's jazz.
Greed.
Do you hear me?
Sorrow.
It's. Jazz.
I shall abandon myself to the wind
Improvisational jazz.
like a dandelion seed
So, no.
and blow
You cannot fathom
where the wind shall call.
to even understand
There she blows!
the beats that I play.
There she goes!
For they are mine.
Wildflower.
MY drum beats.
Can't be anything but a wildflower.
Not classical.
I tried to be what everyone wanted me to be
Not metal.
and the result was that I denied the very essence
Smooth and luscious
of who I am.
and completely unpredictable
I have been ashamed my entire life
often unexplainable ... jazz.
I I have been ashamed my entire life
That's what beats on my drum.
for being creative
ADDICTION Angie Mack Giftedness.
The pill.
Hope.
Brilliance.
To shut down the mind.
Love.
Thoughts.
The thoughts.
Belief.
Many thoughts.
The emotions.
Surrender.
Ideas.
The pain.
It's all that we have.
Many ideas.
The worry.
Memories.
The fear.
Many memories.
Can’t talk it out.
Swirling around
The words are too many.
in the head
The feelings, too intense.
causing negative
The agony.
manifestations
The memories.
in the body
Wondering.
and the relief
What is life really about?
is the bottle.
Faith.
14
RANDOM NIGHT Ashley Foresi The voices start of soft
I believe in love I never knew
Whispers of all my past hopelessness
Like a missile withdrew
The depths of my empty depression
What’s left of the missing pieces
Like a weight on my chest
To the puzzle
Heavy, breathing, inhale count exhale
Police attacks I brace myself back
Trying to stay grounded from a world so
Just like a double cross
Broken the utter shame I face
Quit my job like a boss
Every day the pain elapses
Still, I’m built strong willed
My world collapse in the palm
Like a panther I flea away from night
Of my hands the
Pray to the gods above
voices grow louder
For love I choose
Sexual encounter with a stranger
I would never make a thug
That looks familiar the stagnant
Battle my enemies
Air of chain smoking my blues away
I’m writing life down
The thumping of my head
Tell the jury
Hitting the pillow
Who plays the clown?
The enormous pain I feel
Poetry my purpose
When all my shallow breathes
The meaning of resolution
Ignite a war inside my head
Express myself respectfully
reach for balance
Represent my pain
Strive for the stars
For love is broken
I live to come this far
My wounded soul remains
Yet in the stolen night I belong to a gang
"WITH MY OWN MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES BEING
Of most wanted
PRESENT I FIGURE THE BEST AND MOST
Fronted off the few What’s old is something new
EFFECTIVE WAY TO SEEK OUT MATURITY IS IN TAKING RESPONSIBILITY FOR MY ACTIONS." ASHELY FORESI
DREAD Jennifer L. Alukonis My appointments today I must give a report that everything’s been fine up till this past time My head I laid on my bed It turned bright red It was a dread Today I must give a report on a dime Feel like it’s a crime To report that I’m fine ABOUT THE POEM: I wrote this poem because I was dreading my doctor’s appointment. I have epilepsy which is well managed but does impact my life just the same. Any chronic health condition, I believe, affects mental health.
15
I DO NOT CRY Mladenka Perroton-Brekalo I do not cry,
I do not cry,
I do not cry,
I rinse.
I am emptying:
I evaporate
I clean with a high-pressure washer
Secrets, brands,
Another I is coming.
Things,
Memories and traces
The visible and the invisible,
Pearls of bliss.
A certificate to follow,
I do not cry, I water.
A promise of a miracle
I do not cry,
A seed.
Of a sound, a reflection,
I'm closing.
A Phoenix's wing.
From this something that makes
I submit the balance sheet,
It reappears,
the background noise.
Credits and debits,
At my expense.
Discounts and bonuses I do not cry,
Because
I yield.
I do not cry,
I tell you
I concede,
I cleanse the scale,
I do not cry.
To the rain,
Nothing to put on it.
I'm coming back.
It does it better. I do not cry. I do not cry,
Not anymore.
There is a pump in here,
What's the point?
A valve that is letting go,
To whom to cry?
It's the maintenance,
I just buried God.
The maintenance of life,
And his apostles too.
It's disinfection
I elicit a tear to a note
It's to clean
Or maybe a note to a tear,
To adjust, to label,
That's all.
To put in binders.
HERO’S JOURNEY Mladenka Perroton-Brekalo Don’t give up!
Pay attention!
And there you will distinguish
Even if you feel your knees dodging
On its stormy passageway,
The unique call,
Don’t give up!
The wind from the North
Your heart understood,
Even if your heart has no other food
Will open a corridor
It’s getting impatient.
Than hope, uncertainty and fear.
In its lead vault.
Walk with your head up,
Time has come for you to start
It will grow flowers
It is through this crevice
In the cracks of your dried soul.
In the shape of the rainbow That you will discern
Do not be fooled!
The laughter of gods,
Rest reassured,
Songs of the travellers.
Loneliness has a lot of friends. Many are those Who had begun This path.
16
Your hero’s journey.
POETRY AS
MEDICINE
Til Kumari Sharma The surgery of words within anxiety, Peaceful and clean the mind becomes. Imaginative therapy heals the mind. The words are from healthy mind only, Poetry itself is doctor to treat the mind with good air.
NO FEAR FROM DEPRESSION Til Kumari Sharma Healthy mind is by huge care of words to me. Words are parents to remove depressive feelings. Higher the mind than common man, Huge capacity to lead own self with peace and hope. Losing the concept of absurdity, Losing the passionate thinking to build the health clean.
HEALING POWER WITHIN WORDS Til Kumari Sharma The huge mind only creates the imaginative bottle of words. The drops of words heal the mind and body. The healthy words make us philosopher, thinker and doctor too. The tools of health are imaginary words. Words are with really intimate surgery. Then healthy mind emerges.
SURGERY BY WRITING Til Kumari Sharma Poetic creation as careful mental surgery to remove pain, The dutiful images to rub the dirt of criticism, Healing power of words to remove the dirt of thinking, The shining hospital of writing and flight of imagination, Within the building of words with crafty thinking.
"AS A FEMALE POET, I HAVE FACED MANY DIFFICULTIES AND CHALLENGES; MANY PEOPLE THINK POETS AS MAD AND USELESS. BUT WHAT I FEEL IN WORDS AND CREATION ARE THE EXTREMES OF JOY AND SPIRITUAL BIRTH, AND THE SOUND OF UNIVERSAL CHANGE WITHIN THE BRILLIANCE OF THE MIND." TIL KUMARI SHARMA
17
SITTIN' ON THE STEPS Steven Jakobi When you came home
I could give you.
from the city
And sat with you
scared
on the front porch
confused
steps and held
crying,
your hand
I offered you
in silence.
the only thing
RECOVERY Maia Maria
A year ago, recovery seemed non-existent.
It’s showing me that I’m not worthless.
Unthinkable.
Or bad.
Inconceivable.
Or wrong.
Wrong.
Or a problem to be fixed.
Bad.
Recovery is showing me that I can.
Never would I have thought that I would experience it, All the pain it would bring.
To anyone who is struggling (or not),
I never imagined that I’d survive.
I just want to say that you’re one of a kind, With one life.
But I have.
Don’t throw it away.
I am here.
Do what you love.
I am alive.
Not what someone else loves.
I am thriving, more than ever.
Not what an illness loves.
Although I’m not yet fully recovered, I know that this is achievable.
Whether you want my love or not,
Not only is it achievable:
I’m sending it to you.
It is right.
Because we all need and deserve to love and be
It is good.
loved.
It’s what I deserve.
We are as one, regardless of age, background,
It’s the most validating, humbling and enlightening
gender, lifestyle, race or sexuality.
thing I’ve ever gone through – and probably will ever
You are loved.
go through – despite what this girl called Ana tells me.
You are valid.
Yes, there have been tears.
Don’t measure how valuable you are by the way
Yes, I’ve felt out of control and like I was losing
you are treated.
everything. Yes, I’ve wanted to give up.
Be kind to yourself. It’s never wrong.
But yes, these moments have been temporary, Unlike the permanent misery felt before.
All my love,
Recovery is giving me back my smile, my love, my energy and me.
~A Friend~
18
RECOVERY IS HARD Maia Maria It is losing something that has been your life and
Whenever Negativity is screaming in your face,
that you have come to rely upon.
Remember that Positivity will always be by your
It is finding something, someone else, to replace
side, no matter what.
it. Finding it in a dark, endless chamber,
Recovery is hard.
While traps and weapons jump out at you.
But so is living with an eating disorder, OCD,
But recovery is gaining back a life.
Self-harm,
Gaining emotion, feeling, hope, strength,
Depression,
opportunity and courage.
Anxiety.
It is a fight that can be won,
And only one of the hardships will be worth it in
However distant that may seem.
the end.
You do not have to sabotage your piece just
Everything will be ok.
because chaos is familiar. You cannot keep dancing with the devil and
I promise.
wondering why you are still in hell.
UNTITLED Maia Maria She opened her eyes. It made no difference.
A hand – her hand – ascended, purple-black,
She was still blind and unresponsive
Old;
Like before. Sights and Light sliced
Fifteen years old.
Through her; the wound they left was invisible
It touched the face of the
But bled freely. She remained silent, for she didn’t
Corpse and skin flaked off and away, acting like
know.
Tears, had any existed inside her.
Everything felt like nothing, including nothing.
She slowly turned away.
‘The eyes were the windows to the soul’ they said.
She sat and saw things come and go.
She had forgotten who; she had forgotten what it
The moon replaced the sun, the tide
meant.
Soon withdrew. But what could she do?
She was no longer real – she was
She’d lost connection and couldn’t move her body.
Depression’s next meal. The words echoed, as they
She sat and stared.
do in Vast, empty spaces.
Days, weeks, months ... they were all the same.
Thin and hollow.
They didn’t exist.
Void…of things.
She shut her dark, sunken, ‘windows’.
She slowly turned to the mirror. It was the first time
Just before she fell asleep, she saw a girl.
She’d done so in this life.
A girl laughing.
Hair: separated, kind of.
Laughing and fading. She
Eyes: like glass, except they didn’t reflect light –
Faded before her Laughter did.
Maybe not like glass.
Laughter,
Lips: thin and cracked.
From the girl I used to be.
19
WORDS CAN HURT YOU Martyn Hesford from bell to bell
every day
from corridor to corridor
the bullying
and I never saw them again.
the halls of fear
it was a different time.
you crept
for all those years
you crept away
“he talks like a girl”
a different age long from their laughter
and nothing was done.
long ago. I forgive
their pushes
I did not feel the skin
I forgive them.
growing the pulling of
around
your fairy boy
my heart
today there is love.
wings
only love. or the
and turning
drowning
let others
in thick
I hope
you into a joke with no punchline
hard you were made
cement
say
into a grotesque parody
the same.
of what they
all
called
became locked away
a QUEER.
my soul
even a teacher
this hurt
joined in wrapped up in tissue paper “give us a kiss.“ then buried the older boys the action men
the little boy.
touching your zip
ashamed.
and saying forgotten. “has he got one down here” Until one day and
I left them all.
every evening the worry of tomorrow
at sixteen I walked away
schools mournings
20
THIS HALO OF PAIN Hafsah Dauda This halo of pain
I want them to go away
Makes my Angel uncomfortable
So when they open a door in my mind to print an
How do I pray in my mind's temple
advice
When it throbs in revulsion?
I always sling out through the window
How do I reach God when my praying mat Is rolled to a side of my head
I am not to isolate I am to attend all the meetings
This Trojan horse of despair
Held in my brain
Pulls me in Through the sockets of my soul
I am the host of the meetings But of what use is attendance
My head is lifting
When you are never truly present?
A hot air balloon filled with weed My head wants to float away from the voices
How do you stop the shivers?
All I wish is to fly with it
The shudders?
Leave this body aimlessly wondering behind
The frights?
With its shivering limbs and fingers
When their sources never truly existed
That fail to remember what to pick How do you explain the sweats? The advices flow in
Breathlessness
The tips on surviving a depressive wave
Palpitations
And they all sound like anarchy
When the monster is yours alone
And my soul, the holocaust How do you move past I have to keep calm and shut myself
Corpses of emotions
I have to be oppressed and be brave
Grabbing your legs to the grave
I have to express and stay away
And barricading the light
I want to listen to what they say,
Your soul seeks to seep in.
WHAT WILL YOU DO? Nila Bartley What will you do when things seem bleak? Will you react? Is it help that you will seek? A person should not feel this when seeking help ... shame! For there is no blame. During a person's lifetime everyone of us will need help at one time or another. Underneath the skin, we are all either a sister or a brother. Do not just seek help, but embrace it. With support anyone can have an attitude of I am not going to quit! According to the CDC, more than 50% of all Americans will experience a mental illness in their lifetime. What is the percentage in your country and what will you do in the meantime? Will you be that support or will you add to the stigma? Again, I ask: what will you do? What if it were someone you knew?
21
THAT DAY
CRAZY JOHN
Jason Kirk Bartley
Jason Kirk Bartley
I remember that day so good
They call him "Crazy John".
and so clear.
Look at John go.
The day you left us,
The silly things he does.
your body still here,
He's so stupid, and lazy, acting like he's in a haze.
the day paranoia gripped you
He smells to high heaven,
In fear.
hasn't bathed in many days.
I tried my best to listen,
No one can understand him,
but my car I had to steer.
he's lost in his stupor.
You said the FBI was
He's always saying Crazy things.
following you near,
Why doesn't he just stop it,
through televisions and secret
he wanders around,
cameras,
seeking attention,
were you thinking very clear?
and none can be found.
You thought they were broadcasting
"Crazy John" over here.
your life,
But to no avail.
as you worried in anguish and contemplated with
They mock and tease him,
strife.
place him in his living hell.
You said they were following you, but
Cannot anyone understand?
nothing was there.
He's human as we.
I should've been more of a comfort
He cries when he's sad,
while you Wallowed in despair.
and, if cut, he will bleed.
How I could've showed you more
What will it take for John to be normal again.
that I care.
He'll never be the same.
What's done is done,
He's hurt over and over again.
your destiny gone.
No one wants to love him,
I'll still be that shoulder that
or make him their friend.
you can lean on,
It's just John acting out again.
as you mutter under your breath.
Must be a carnal sin,
I try to decipher,
No one wants to be a John,
life is so cruel.
nor be like him.
It overwhelms and challenges,
"Crazy John" to stay.
sometimes making us the fool.
Words cut like a knife,
It teaches us lessons that cannot be learned in
but we seldom watch what we say.
school.
It's just John.
When you think your at your wit's end and all has been lost, Remember I'm here and to hang on no matter the cost.
"BASED ON MANY PERSONAL EXPERIENCES, AS WELL AS THE THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED TO OTHERS, WITH THIS POEM I WANT TO BRING AWARENESS TO THE SITUATIONS OF PEOPLE WHO ARE MENTALLY ILL." JASON KIRK BARTLEY
22
THIS TOO SHALL
WHAT GOES
PASS
AROUND
Gary Shulman
Gary Shulman
As sure as the sun will rise once more
What goes around comes around
and Ella will always have class
Or so they say and so we pray
as sure as the moon
That those who choose to spread their evil
Will kiss the night
Will soon get theirs in one great upheaval
You know
But is that really always true?
This too shall pass
Will that happen in the red, white and blue? Ideally yes, but sadly we see
As sure as the joys of life persist
Evil is powerful and filled with glee
and continue to amass
For light can only shine so great
and daily miracles
When heroes are willing to step up to the plate
bring tears and smiles
And knock injustice right on its head
Be assured this too shall pass
And crush the venom until it’s dead What goes around comes around
To say any more
Well maybe yes and maybe no
would be too much
It’s up to us to make it so!
To dwell would be unkind So go and grab that ring of brass Be assured this too shall pass
A PLACE OF MY OWN Jonathan Ukah
I have a place of my own
It's where no man can reach
Where I retire at the end of my day,
With a boat, a car or an aeroplane;
A quiet place, where no sudden noise
Taken from the world and made unseen
Erupts to disrupt my silent rest.
My place of rest is free from frivolous eyes.
Sometimes the day is tedious and lengthy,
Neither in the deserts of North Africa,
Filled with stress and painful sighs,
Nor in the pivotal pyramids of Egypt,
Sometimes the hours are an infinite sea,
Where there are no waterfalls and rainbows,
Where a floundering ship seeks an anchor.
My place of rest is an object of promise.
Sometimes love is too fragile a pillow
Flowers bleed out some merciless rays,
To place my tired head and close my eyes,
As though the sun a pitch of sinking grey,
Even flirting birds sometimes need a break
When trees sway, grasses grow in green
From the rigours of disastrous love.
The food of the soil is fresh dew drops.
Birds of the air build their secret nest
Swallowed by life? Screwed by people?
To return when they end their task,
The hapless butt of bitter blizzards?
An aircraft that skirts the quiet sky
Or seems to have a ghost going for your throat?
Lands and taxies to its place of rest.
Then come to the field fit for a calendar.
23
A WALK IN THE
FIGHTING THOUGHTS
PARK
Anthony Ward
Anthony Ward
The imp of my imagination is at it again, Scampering about my mind with intrusive clatter,
Walking my black dog
Cluttering my mind with braying doubts.
Passers-by convey annoyance Or stop for a pat on the head
I want to kick my own head in,
With patronising expressions,
But I’m unable to get my foot high enough
Like Why am I down at heal?
To stamp out the nuisance.
And What have I to be sad about?
I try to push back,
I’m sad because I want to be happy,
Fight against the waves,
I’m not wallowing I’m willing,
That sway me.
But you kick me because I’m low, Keep me down with inconsiderate comments,
Yet the fight fuels it,
As you stroke my black dog,
My arms flay about my face,
Entice it to wag its tail. ABOUT
THE
POEMS:
Striving to stay above, keep on top. I
wrote
'Fighting
Despite myself knowing
Thoughts' in response to a recent article I read
That if I didn’t fight against it,
on intrusive thoughts, and 'A Walk in the Park'
There’d be no trouble at all.
because it is my belief that ignorance towards mental
health
issues
like
depression
So, I try to remain focused,
exacerbates the condition. Physical conditions
Amidst the babel,
arouse sympathy whereas mental conditions
Until the calm can carry me back to shore.
tend to be thought of as attitude problems.
FADE AWAY Tracy Davidson I thought my heart would break that day
And when your skin had turned to grey
when the doctor told us the news.
you begged me feed you pills and booze.
I watched you fade and drift away.
I thought my heart would break that day.
He said the cancerous cells may
We tried to keep your pain at bay,
have spread, there was no time to lose.
a shell made up of bone and bruise.
I thought my heart would break that day.
I watched you fade and drift away.
The dread disease moved in to stay,
At last, no demons left to slay,
few treatment options left to choose.
hundreds of mourners filled the pews,
I watched you fade and drift away.
I thought my heart would break. That day I watched you fade and drift away.
24
THE WELL Stephen Ferrett I wander in my dreams seeking it, I need it to flush away all of my pain and fear, to cleanse me The moss-covered craggy edge, illuminated by the forest light slicing through the trees The musty smell of the alga is overpowering, as is the turmoil inside my mind Ancient stones, cold to the touch, as is my heart that hasn’t warmed since the pain and memories of tragic times My tears erupt into a cascade of salt ladened sadness, falling silently into the abyss. Twinkling light, then darkness, silent, mournful, reminding me of the dreams I hold, and the past darkness that must be banished Fall, fall into the dark, cold, and murky waters, plunged deep, silence, as my soul’s rebirth begins The rope of enlightenment lashes the pail of hope, pulling me back from the depths. The well, forever sealed by a cover of serenity, darkness banished, my soul rescued. I wander my dreams, my future paths drenched in cosmic light before me, I am complete again.
I AM AN EMPTY SHELL Stephen Ferrett II am an empty shell Hold me to your ear Can you hear the soothing sound of waves lapping on a deserted, tropical beach? NO!! All that you can hear is a cry for help, as my soul plummets, screaming towards the black abyss Say a prayer for this one, and all the empty shells in the world
CAGED BEAST Stephen Ferrett Thoughtful and logical mind now becomes primeval, unruly and savage Anger and hatred in every thought come to the fore Life you betrayed me, I don’t need you anymore Don’t enter my domain, don’t stare at me, touch me or utter a word Attack is on my mind, no warning will be given or heard Pain is my mistress and silence my desire My entire body and mind are on fire Psychotic – Anger, red mist Neurotic – Anxious, obsessive, black haze Catatonic – Silent, motionless, colourless and crazed Doctors what do they know They google it, they read it, do they understand it? I have to dam well live it
25
WHAT HAPPENS… Patrick O’Shea
What happens to sanity when you chain it to a wall * A body held in place by chains of drugs and no one to call, Self is taken away from the holder’s body, left just so empty, There is no freedom, no fresh air, there is only fear in plenty, The guards of the society keep you away from the social scene, They claim their aim is just to help and protect, not to be mean, But the strictures are in place, the controls make their life easy, You must take their drugs with no resistance, even if queasy, You’re chained in place, in a world of definitions you never knew, The mind can break if you see no future, only an endless queue. Why are you there must cross the mind, what have I done, why no sun, And the terror begins to creep into the day, until you only want to run, You are there because doctors have decided it is your turn to be there, Even if it is their mistake in creating a psychosis, they do not really care, Observation is their mantra, copious notes to be made, discussed later, You must be so careful, for you do not want to be defined as an agitator, Legal boundaries specified, and in those grey areas you must now abide, They speak of sanity and help, and yet laugh behind hands on the side, You must be so careful and try to do your best to avoid any further fall, And hope that your sanity will survive being chained to an awful wall. *"What happens to sanity when you chain it to a wall”, taken from Strip Jack, by Ian Rankin, 1992.
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