MindFull Magazine
Issue 1 - Winter 2021
A quarterly magazine published by POETRY FOR MENTAL HEALTH www.poetryformentalhealth.org
www.MindFull-magazine.com
Supporting people with mental health challenges by motivating and inspiring them to write poetry.
"I channel my emotions into poetry, releasing each one individually as it presents itself, allowing it to be fully appreciated and exorcized."
"Writing poems was therapeutic, and expressing the pain of others was an experience that enabled me to see beyond myself."
Kathy Sherban- CANADA
Jyotirmaya Thakur - INDIA
"Poetry is a lifeline to so many when they feel there is nowhere to turn, or no one understands them."
"When I was dealing with anxiety and depression, I turned to poetry and let it feel the empty spaces in my soul."
Maxine Rose Munro - SCOTLAND
Ehi Ogwiji - NIGERIA
Find out more at ...
www.PoetryForMentalHealth.org 2
IN THIS ISSUE POETRY BY: PAGE:
7. Maxine Rose Munro - SCOTLAND 5. Aleksandra Vujisić - MONTENEGRO 5. Laraib Ashraf - PAKISTAN 6. Pamela Brothers Denyes - USA 7. Judy DeCroce - USA 7. Antoni Ooto - USA 8. Maria Nemy Lou Rocio - HONG KONG 9. Gary Shulman - USA 10. Ann Privateer - USA 10. Stephen Kingsnorth - WALES 11/12. Jason Kirk Bartley - USA 12/13. Nila Bartley - USA 14. Anthony Ward – ENGLAND 15. Joan McNerney - USA 15. Bhuwan Thapaliya - NEPAL 16. Finola Scott - SCOTLAND 17. Marti Johnson - USA 18. Michael H. Brownstein - USA 19. Patrick O'Shea - NETHERLANDS 19. Josh Farumbo - REPUBLIC OF IRELAND 20. Kate Meyer-Currey - ENGLAND 21. Carolyn Dumas-Simons - CANADA 22. Sbusiso Manqa - SOUTH AFRICA 23/24. Lisa Molina - USA 24. Kelly Madden - CANADA 25. Kevin Geoffrey - ENGLAND 25. Norbert Góra - POLAND 25. Hanh Chau - USA
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 by Robin Barratt (www.RobinBarratt.co.uk) and POETRY FOR MENTAL HEALTH . 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: Info@MindFull-magazine.com Websites: www.MindFull-magazine.com / www.PoetryForMentalHealth.org / www.ThePoetMagazine.org FB: @Mindfullmagazine / FB:@PoetryandMentalHealth
4
STRONG AS A
GREY LADY
SURVIVOR IS STRONG
Maxine Rose Munro
Maxine Rose Munro
What was done painted her in shades of grey, mopes of maudlin. Rendered
I am that Strong, the one that comes
her without taste. She was tasteless.
after many, many breakings.
All plain flat and pointless. No sharp
It's the strong of a soldier
peaks of joy, troughs of despair.
watching the blood of a friend
Only low paths without direction,
mingle with foe, and it is the same red.
with no signs of end, either
The same red.
forwards or back. Volume switch clicked always too loud. Or too quiet.
I am that Strong. The strong of a doctor,
Never just right. Meaning stolen
a nurse, for whom the workplace
from what was heard, and joke of touch
smells of illness and death and misery
would be funny, if humour were possible
of family, and all that can be done
(which it was not). What was done
is done, and all that is left is
was cruel beyond all measure and,
carrying on.
worse, done without thought.
I am that Strong. The strong of mother
First published Between These Shores Literary and Arts Annual, BTS Books 2017 issue 1
father sister brother son daughter, anyone who suffers and discovers the world simply will not halt for there's no hop off, hop on option. Only stay, or leave the ride. I am that Strong, the one that watches limits recede from the wrong side and finds life continues regardless; that builds a shell and several decoy shells, for destruction will happen and happen again. I am Strong as a Survivor is Strong: fragile and fissured, put and re-put together, but I won’t stop. I can’t stop. Because always I must remember that inside every Survivor is a Victim.
"POETRY IS A LIFELINE TO SO MANY WHEN THEY FEEL THERE IS NOWHERE TO TURN, OR NO ONE UNDERSTANDS THEM" MAXINE ROSE MUNRO
4
VOICE
EXCRUCIATED SOUL
Aleksandra Vujisić
Laraib Ashraf
They said:
The lesions of the soul are invisible.
you should be
They carry pain, anguish, and the cycle of suffering is around,
like the sea -
With every breath there is a melancholy, with every sight
when you find a rock
there is a mourn
try again to conquer the space
A state of nothingness ... !
(but they didn’t know that tears were
The burdens of the soul are heavier,
running just like that down my face).
They carry lots of unsaid words, untold stories and unasked questions, The invisible tears with long smiles,
They said:
The unheard pleads with longer laughter, having a throng
don’t trust
around ... !
your feelings
But no one to share with,
because they
The deep silence carries a storm inside, with thousands of
are tricky and like colours
unspoken words, feeling of pessimism around,
from untouched paintings they fade
Unseen dreams carry thousands of unfulfilled wishes,
(but they didn’t know that
The imprisoned thoughts want to be freed,
trust is just another sharp blade).
The unheard confession of love! Wants to hear love songs,
They said:
The holding on, for something beautiful, to be happened in
move along
life,
don’t break the orders
The unending wait for a miracle ...
and be punctual and good and neat (but they didn’t hear the storm that was rioting beneath).
"COVID-19 HAD GIVEN ME A CHANCE TO SEIZE ALL THE SCATTERED
I always had a problem to listen to the voices
THOUGHTS AND MISERIES THAT BEING A SENSITIVE SOUL, I HAVE
who kept reading manuals for life,
SUFFERED."
and that is why, my dear,
LARAIB ASHRAF
my voice is sharper than a knife.
"THIS POEM SIMPLY CAME OUT OF NOWHERE. LATER I UNDERSTOOD IT WAS MY WAY OF FIGHTING THE WORLD'S EXPECTATIONS." ALEKSANDRA VUJISIĆ
5
CARRY YOU
JUST THIS ONCE
WITH ME
Pamela Brothers Denyes
Pamela Brothers Denyes
Just this once, I promise. I will not look at it all
I will not carry the astounding
so closely again.
grief of your illness, your sad passing from our life together.
Eight years gone and just now
It is released, vanquished
I can look up how your precious
from the storehouse of my
brain was compromised by cancer.
humble hopeful heart.
Frontal lobes are social and sexual
As you have passed beyond
behavior, initiation, impulse control,
the veil and I have not,
spontaneity, problem solving,
so every together-thought, the travel plans, family dreams
motor control — that explains so much.
yet have life to go forward,
It must be why I could not get you out
if I will cease to grieve you.
the door for your last-chance treatments
Yes, I will wish you were here,
near the end. Complex chains
name your name in love always,
of your thoughts and movement
remember you to family,
disappeared, sometimes in a sad
to friends who treasured you in your one magnificent life,
cluster of effects. Almost no
and forever carry you with me.
facial expression, combined confusingly with aphasia
READY
and I had no way to understand
For Pat
you, no matter how hard I tried,
Pamela Brothers Denyes
and I tried untiringly.
Don’t wait to stretch out into the life you still have.
You, the hearty quintessential creative
Time flies; opportunity fades.
type, disappeared one brain-cell at a time, until neither you nor I
It won’t wait for you to catch up when you think
knew who you were. A vanishing
you’re ready.
brain robbed your decision-making, precious memories, reasonable responses,
You may move away or stay right where you are,
until your last hard-drawn breaths
but home will never be the same.
closed out your remarkable life’s loving days.
Sleep or not, you will have dreams, good and bad, and you will
I choose to remember the vibrant thinker,
see your beloved again there.
planner, lover, father, husband, brother you were in your sixty-three years.
You made a fine life before; you can do it again. Don’t wait to be ready. 6
CHECKING ON WANDA
I HAD A ROPE
Judy DeCroce
Judy DeCroce
from a face clouded with boredom;
for climbing true,
a voice seeks joy
tied to a soul and times to come
a sickness; this uselessness,
reaching for peace
worse than being alone
relentless fire through
yesterday there was a store
taking a risk
to manage, open up, keep vigilant books—
in a pull of luck
then… after the closing,
back to that star I knew before,
her dependable schedule became pointless,
wishing to never let it go
no reason to get on the bus
DROPPING OFF
going became staying
THOUGHTS
staying became permanent
Antoni Ooto
and solace came from a bottle
in 1 out 2 …
But, sweetie, it’s funny,
Choosing a path to nothing
I remember you clearly, visiting...
offers no edges
and almost nothing else.
People unbidden, visit the opening,
(for a beloved aunt)
and places postcard through
DEPRESSION’S TUNNEL
I’m never alone in my head even crowded at times—playing host
Antoni Ooto The cold begins to wrap in sweat,
in 3 out 4 …
the heavy heart hammers,
Tree-dropped pears of summer
trying to push past ledges,
the attar of pine
frozen and isolated.
Aunt Wanda’s smile
Resting against time,
and all those hiding places
the nights become days, and the days become one,
in 1 out 2 …
so again, apathy plays its notes
Gone for now — breathe —
with the first steps dark so black
in 1 out 2 …
staring left, staring right,
Then, a loosening,
following these long-worn tracks.
an opening, a light beckoning so far off.
which way? which way?
Just move … move …
Commit.
I’ve tried. 7
SUICIDAL
DANCING WITH DEATH
Maria Nemy Lou Rocio
Maria Nemy Lou Rocio
I am in my solitude
An anguished cry escaped from me
Embraced by stillness
Visions blur inspite of the light around
Engulfed by the darkness
A familiar voice within me speaks
Drowned by my tears
Sending shivers to my whole body
I am in my solitude
I started to move away, away, away ...
My heart is aching
I found myself repeating the rhythms
My soul is searching
Stepping in, stepping out
My mind is wanting
Into the dark and into the light
I am in my solitude
My mind is blown while my heart is torn
At the edge of a cliff
Silence is the only noise I heard
Heart shakened, mind rattled
Even the wind refused to make a sound
Knees shaking, losing grip
Leaving me alone in the claws of deafness
I am in my solitude
Tears pulsating, heartbeats racing
Counting my last hours
An exorcism is about to begin
Grasping my minutes
A battle I'm taunted to win, I should, I wish
Holding on to my last seconds
For if the last straw of sanity gives up, it is my end
If my sun will never rise And if my heart will never beat
Helplessly, I crawl back into the light
Please let me leave in peace and be,
Gripping tightly to every faith I can hold
In my solitude
I closed my eyes and screamed I rebuke, rebuke, rebuke!....
BE STILL
And I cheated death again.
Maria Nemy Lou Rocio Shimmering stars from the sky
Still me, don't let me steal
Sprinkle stardust on a solitary soul
Sacred body with spiteful mind
Seeking solace on solitude
Saintly prayers but sinful wishes
Screaming silent sorrows
Stars oh stars and moon connive
Scarcely healing scars
Sneak a light, spare my sanity
Saying starlight, starbright
Show a glow be my knightly sparrow
Shine oh shine for me tonight!
Sheer light, shift my strings
Sitting stiffly at an edge
Set me free to safer ground
Save me from suicidal sea
Standing stances and be still, again.
"POETRY HAS ALWAYS BEEN MY COMFORT IN TIMES OF MY STRUGGLES. IT ALLOWS ME TO EXPRESS ALL MY EMOTIONS, AND IT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER AFTER I'VE WRITTEN THEM." MARIA NEMY LOU ROCIO
8
WOULD YOU DO IT
TAKE HEED OF THE
ALL AGAIN?
WORDS THAT CUT
Gary Shulman
Gary Shulman
If you had your life to live over again
As a chubby misfit Brooklyn boy,
If given another chance
crew cut hair with slick butch wax
Would you choose to revel in petty things
Never quite melding with the other boys
Or would you just let go and dance?
Just giving you the facts
Would anger rule your mental state
With belly rotund with cream filled treats
For things you could not control?
He couldn’t buy regular children’s pants
Or would you quickly brush them off
So “husky” pants he had to buy
So stress couldn’t take its toll?
Regardless of his protests and rants
Would you still hold fast to the wrath you feel
So one day he rebelled
Toward those who don’t fit your mold?
To his mom he loudly yelled
Or would you take a full deep breath
Not me, no not these grown-up jeans!
And support others to peacefully grow old
To his young undeveloped fragile mind
Would you live your life in a genuine way
It all just seemed quite obscene
And be who you needed to be?
His mom’s seemingly cold and potent reply
Leaving this world a better place
That haunts him to this very day
Adding pride to Earth’s family tree
Dear mommy said just matter of factly,
Well sad to say you’ve only one chance
“Who looks at you anyway?”
You’ve only got today
That knife cut deep like a well sharpened dagger
Always choose to take the kind pathway
His very heart and soul to crush
For Mother Earth’s sake please don’t delay
His self-confidence was to forever stagger Coming from one he loved so much Take careful note of what you say
CHANGES
To vulnerable children each and every day
Gary Shulman
The adult grows up to always see In that mirror a reflection of what used to be
Changes come from joy or grief
That little chubby boy in so much pain
From things gone bad
Always hearing those words like a repeated refrain
And you yearn for relief
Who looks at you anyway?
From miraculous news
Who really is going to care?
That blesses your soul
About pants hanging from your body
That nurtures your heart
Or that butch wax on your hair?
Fills that gaping hole
Not saying on purpose
Some will tell you change is good
Those words were cruelly flung
A brand new job
But when they come from those you love
A new neighbourhood
The adult is forever stung
The one you love
Words have super powers
Bids a fond farewell
They can set a course for life
It seems like forever
A course of supreme confidence
A living hell
Or self-loathing constant strife
Then one day you live again
To all the moms and dads out there
So in your hand you hold a pen
Grandparents, brothers, sisters too
You expose your story for all to see
Heed those words to the vulnerable children
Life just goes on
Their very future is up to you!
You’ll see … trust me.
9
PAUSE TO REMEMBER
AT THE PARADE
Ann Privateer
Ann Privateer
Jagged cliffs
Butterflies gather
Against a darkening sky
Near a solitary tree
Sharp shards
Where a parade
Defined by
Unfurls below
A blue porcelain sea
With an explosion of colour An anthem sings
Remember parting waves
Of glory, metaphors
Opening for fog
To behold.
To percolate An almost revere
"I HAVE BEEN
Nature pauses, takes a stand
PARTICIPATING WITH A
Holding out, being grand
POETRY GROUP MEETING ON
While weighing in, wondering
ZOOM FOR WELL OVER A
Winsomely as I pause
YEAR DURING LOCKDOWN.
In a tiny skiff canoe
EACH WEEK WE ARE GIVEN
Transfixed by beauty.
A PROMPT, AND THAT'S HOW THESE POEMS CAME INTO BEING."
THE WELL
ANN PRIVATEER
Stephen Kingsnorth When others are seen as touched, moved, the stinging brim or brimming sting uninvite, consequential comes. Why does so much sadness surround,
FURTIVE
why kindness strangers overcome?
Stephen Kingsnorth
When loneliness, soul-mate required, waves driving, breaching lidded eyes,
Furtive, creeping up,
they crest the lash, invade the cheek.
without the courtesy of shoulder tap, grief and sadness, dare not name,
Where, depths of being, lies the source,
a welling, smarting globe of shame.
springs, sympathetic, well that flows?
10
THE WOOD CARVER
SCHIZO
Jason Kirk Bartley
Jason Kirk Bartley
The wood carver sat on his
They call me 'schizo',
Front porch one day.
a debilitating disease.
A storm was rolling in.
I try to make others like me,
He rocked away.
but many I cannot please.
A piece of chestnut in hand,
I meander through life,
he examined the wood.
trying to give it my all.
Turning it gently around,
On God's name I often call.
Corner to corner,
'Cause life can be cruel,
As he sat silently and made not a sound.
with pitfalls and stuff.
Then he sniffed the aroma,
It's also a school that is
With a deep breath he breathed in.
sometimes rough.
He began to draw a picture with his ink pen,
We're in the school of life walking side by side.
of this vision he saw in this old block of wood.
Why don't you welcome
He began to chisel the corners away,
me with arms open wide?
As he jumped to his feet and stood.
'Cause you see differences.
Lightning began to light up the sky
I don't compare.
like the fourth of July.
I often am judged everywhere.
Raindrops began to burst on the ground all around.
Don't judge me,
Nothing destroyed his focus,
I'm not on trial.
he heard not a sound.
You don't know me,
He began to rock again.
my heart is good not vile.
As he whittled away on that piece of wood,
All you can see is illness,
On this darkened day.
not my smile.
The thunder sounded off and he jumped a little.
When You're in trouble,
But his steady hands continued to whittle.
I'll always be there.
A figure began to appear in the midst of the dark.
I'll lift you up,
No longer was there a piece of chestnut,
and say a heartfelt prayer.
Now it had become a bald eagle flying,
I'd hope you'd do the same for me.
Wings outspread with every bit of detail, beak open,
This life is full of hatred,
holding
let us not succumb to it.
our American flag in both talons.
Let us be free.
He whittled his name on one wing
Give me your hand,
In such a manner.
I'll help you along the way.
He could not refrain himself.
Let's make each other
Standing on his front porch he sang,
have a brighter day.
“The Star-Spangled Banner.”
Words sting like a scorpion and
Humming and singing,
hurt like an adder.
Tears streamed down his eyes.
Let me be a stepping stone in
His duty long forgotten.
your life's ladder.
He still holds her up in prayer.
One day you'll look back with
He may have been forgotten,
remembrance and see,
But his love still lingers there.
I wasn't that person you
The storm had passed him over.
made me out to be.
He carved the eagles eyes open wide. Memories that could never be forgotten,
'Woodcutter' first published in Veteran's Affairs.
He had bottled up Inside.
11
WALLS Jason Kirk Bartley I'm building a wall,
Like a valiant castle,
stone by stone.
this wall around me will contain
This wall is mine to call my own.
everything that keeps me from going insane.
How beautiful it will be.
If you want to get to know the real me inside, bust a
I'm building my wall for all
hole in the wall and make it
to see.
wide?
My wall will be big and it will be tall.
As you demolish the wall more and more with
It will circle around me once and for
compassion and respect, it is myself and my illness you
all.
no longer reject.
My wall will keep out unwanted pests.
'Till one day the wall is no longer there.
You know, criticism, name calling, derogatory
Friends we are, and friendship we share.
statements, and bad comments, unwanted guests. AUTHOR'S STORY: "I am a Christian poet with a Master's degree in leadership and ministry. Recently married to Nila Bartley - the love of my life, I have fought paranoid schizophrenia for years. I love to write and express my feelings. Don't give up. There is hope." JASON KIRK BARTLEY.
DELUSIONS Nila Bartley Believe. Why? Because your own mind tells you those things are true. Perception. Reality. Twisted into something that is unrecognizable. No light. No laughter. No happiness. Only darkness, hopelessness and lack of reason for existing. No sense of self. No identity. No sense of wellbeing. Empty. Absolute terror! Your mind never shuts off even in sleep. Beyond response. Beyond reaction. Your humanity is almost gone. Blank. Devoid of any comprehension. This is what a paranoid schizophrenic goes through when that person is in a delusional state. I know because I am one of those people and have lived it. Compassion. Please treat someone who has a mental illness with compassion.
12
LIVING PROOF Nila Bartley Chaos. That is what my mind was everyday. My world was a never ending jumble of fear, confusion, and no hope. The hopelessness led to a deep despair. Which in turn led to death being the answer. It was better than living every moment of my life in fear. Suicide. I just wanted the absolute terror I felt every second to stop. No way out except through suicide. Knife to the chest. Blood spewed. Failed attempt at suicide. No physical death. Inside I had already died. The only thing that gave me hope was planning another suicide. Compassion of people who did not know me was an onslaught on my constant terror. Doubt! Started to doubt the delusions which caused the extreme fear. The compassion put a crack in what had been an impenetrable fortress of fear, confusion, and no hope. Started to see light through the cracks as the cracks become bigger. Chaos that was my mind started to transform into coherent thought. The compassion of people who did not know me did all this. Finally, the fortress of fear, confusion, and no hope fell into a harmless heap of rubble. Compassion was the force that restored my mind. Trust in the force of compassion to reach even through paranoid schizophrenia. I know because I am living proof.
AUTHOR'S STORY: "I am a paranoid schizophrenic and have been for 20 years. I'm A CHRISTIAN POET recently married to my forever love Jason Kirk Bartley. I want to inspire people who read my work to think about the good things in life like love and laughter. I derive a sense of completeness creating this. This feeling comes from using my writing for the betterment of a fellow human being. To take a person even if only for a moment - to a place where he or she reflects on the good things in life, is a reward to me." NILA BARTLEY
13
MADNESS
DISINTEGRATION
Anthony Ward
Anthony Ward
When you’re tired of life it’s time to wake up!
How much of you remains?
Though my neurosis keeps me entombed in myself.
They say you’re not all there.
Working over my mind as I mantle the room
But to me you’re completely the same,
Exercising the black dog against a muffled world.
Just a little different
Far from the maddening crowd that puts me in my place, With my asphyxiating thoughts grasping for air.
Like a broken tv set Where the picture’s out of order,
My days a series of patterns woven into weeks,
Disintegrating into pixels,
Wearing me down to the bear threads of life.
Leaving your eyes static.
Entwined into a cosy existence, Blanketing me from the world outside,
I can see my reflection when close,
Hiding from expressions
But when I’m away,
That come at me like trains of thought
I’m gone.
Where a knock on the door is like a punch to the stomach,
Without memories,
An invitation a custodial sentence,
We’re just beings bouncing off one another,
A smile aggressive towards my self esteem,
Like atoms bobbing in space,
Which causes me to stammer,
Making up our minds
My words lagging with the interference of evasive doubt,
Where memories binds us.
Preventing me from thinking clearly, Unable to bear the echoing silence, The tintinnabulation clattering my mind.
ALL THE SAME
Far too angry to be sad,
Anthony Ward
Not angry enough to be mad. Jabbing fingers into my ears,
I think people don’t like me
Hearing the sound of the ocean
Because they think I don’t like them.
Toss my thoughts in a squall.
Though I’m just not like them.
While my mind tilts on its axis,
It may seem I’m indifferent
And I find myself sliding off into obliqueness.
When I’m only being different.
This madness is what keeps me sane.
I just prefer to be left alone If it’s all the same to you.
AUTHOR'S STORY: "Having suffered from mental health problems in the distant past, the echoes can still be heard now, after all these years. The selected poems in this instance reflect that I believe some of our mental health issues arise from comparing ourselves to others, and imagining what others think about us." ANTHONY WARD.
14
THE SEARCH
A FABRIC OF HOPE
Joan McNerney
Bhuwan Thapaliya
We are the lost who have
His mother has amnesia
climbed hillsides ... gathering
and his father’s eye sight and hearing
innumerable and unnamed
has been in decline for years.
stumbling over sharp rocks
His brother speaks candidly about suicide
searching for our long shadows.
and roams the streets in gangs, high in drugs. His best friend is suffering from
Tracing darkness with
an obsessive-compulsive disorder.
vagrant fingertips
She is too scared to get out of her room.
tasting the disdain of dust
He doesn’t know when he will see her again.
we are long shadows
He himself feels persistently sad all the time
moaning with open mouths.
and finds himself drawn towards darkness like a plant in a dark room
Eating bitter food grown
towards a wedge of light.
on the wrong side of this moon
And here he is
our hearts caged in fear
sitting in the rickety chair,
fearing we have been cast off
hunched over and visibly shaken,
fearing we have no destination.
hours after nearly dying from an alcohol overdose.
Sands burning our feet
Millions like them are stranded
whipping our unnamed faces
on the other side of the history,
we are long shadows crossing
straddling the line
this dessert longing for
between life and death.
an end to our thirst.
We need to save them. We need to scrutinize
We are losing our shadows
the inner lives of people
entering empty caves
cut off from the world
now listening for echoes
and bring these people
now finding wells of memories
back from total withdrawal
innumerable and unnamed.
and give them all something to look forward to and smile.
ABOUT
THE
POEM: After
the
death of my husband, I fell into
ABOUT THE POEM: "Based on
what
real
was
depression'.
called
'major
There are so many
observations
Covid
pandemic
people who are depressed, and it
neighbours
seems
know."
to
be
afflicting
young
people at an alarming rate. 'The Search'
attempts
to
capture
what it is like.
15
during
and
the
of
the my
people
I
SOOTHE
OBSERVATION
Finola Scott
(Gartnavel Hospital, Glasgow)
Black sweatshirt sleeve slips filigree scars flash silver. Veins pulse hot below fragile flesh . In next room tv chatters, talk is small,
Finola Scott
Goldfish patients stare out, held captive by slippers and wrist bands, by mismatched day-wear - the roulette of hospital laundry. Scowling they try to decode the Zen garden. where landscapers rake possibilities into paths, into bronze bark unravelling from cherry trees. On precisely placed granite, pale sun blinks Morse.
Mum pleased you're home
You are different. Bold and careless.
safe, not out with that crowd.
Plastic tags, scores and scars concealed, you risk the outside. Back turned on calm,
In princess-pink room after school
as ever you fumble-roll fags, and tap-tap tales,
your mind’s curtains slide shut.
tossing your hashtag missiles into clenched phone.
Away from taunts and tripping, in darkness you seek comfort.
Eyes on the glazed ward, you tick off the nurses and the clock. You laugh loud as the files avalanche.
Tender skin sliced, tiny rows scored scarlet.
Published in Slice of the Moon Anthology 2020
Each bright slash screams silent. But it's not all damage - hurt is given voice. This time. Published by The Poetry Shed, part of their Suicide Project, Sept 2015.
IN CHICAGO AT CHRISTMAS Finola Scott
I sob
But I'm here, another city, another country.
alone in skyscraper canyons
As another continent celebrates
wait for the El, as snow layers.
a child born, loved, adored
I'm sub-zero frozen in two hats,
I sob alone.
tartan scarf, fists snowballed tight in sodden coat pockets. Santa jeers
Published in 'Please Hear What I'm Not Saying' Jan '18
from the brooch at my throat. Frost diamond-locks my tears, the plexiglass shelter brazens its lie. I want to fall on the fire burning beside the signals on the platform. I want to be home.
16
NOT ALONE, YOU'RE ALWAYS NEAR Marti Johnson Not alone, you're always near,
Fear you say, I run away,
I’ve come to you, I’ve frightened you,
At times I often hide.
With sadness and despair,
I’ve known you as my enemy,
You’ve looked at me so often,
Ever since I was a child.
As if you didn’t care. Of society I knew little, You’ve run from me,
With caution as my friend,
You’ve come to me,
And then I thought “Hey wait.”
You’ve hardly been aware, Yet every time you hurt,
Knot anymore, knot from you.
I leave a reminder there.
You lie, you steal, you break. I know the truth, I know my worth,
You're lost, you're tossed, so very
Myself I’ll not forsake.
cross, Each time that I appear,
Used to think you're deity,
I’m not your friend, I just stay near,
So big, so strong, so near.
To remind you of your loss. But you are just anxiety, Go away I say, I cannot play,
That I no longer fear.
With knots so tight and painful. Who are you you ask? Go away you
And your old fear won’t come near,
say,
To sadden me again.
But I am so despiteful. You’ll run from me, you’ll come to You are so sullen, you know I’m near.
me,
Who are you yo be so cruel,
You’ll hardly be aware,
I’m yours I say, I rule your day,
That each time I’ll be waiting,
You know my name is fear.
armoured with a prayer.
AUTHOR'S STORY: ""I suffered from anxiety since I was a very young child - and still do to this very day. Unfortunately I was the product of an extremely dysfunctional family. Pain and fear around every corner. But each day I choose to be happy and to come from a place of love not fear. This is why I wrote this poem." MARTI JOHNSON.
17
AN INFINITY OF
TRANSFORMATION
SOUND
Michael H. Brownstein
Michael H. Brownstein
When I cried my cries bruised the wind--
The lyrics of the throat singer
when I sighed
syphoning the grasp of cloud
my sighs formed crystals in the rain--
away from clammy skin, souled
when I tried
ice, sweetgum and bloodroot.
I discovered mountaintops of glory--
Is it not enough to build a pyramid,
but when I lied,
a kiosk, an inverted dream catcher,
when I had to much pride,
a nightmare of melody and psalm?
ice formed in my stomach
Nothing lasts now or later--
and then I found my spirit guide
nothing is whole at the end of its time
and my cries became cries of joy,
and nothing is nothing where it exists.
my sighs the light within stars,
No, this is not how the prayer song ends,
my tries victories even in failure
it has no ending, the kora playing on,
and each day began as a rainbow.
the shakaree, the great talking drum. A performer gets ready to leave the stage, but he cannot, the applause transfixing, the people standing at attention, his shirt attaches itself to his scars and when he tries to pull away, he remains a statue of what might have been if he had been allowed to enter the stage during a time of different footprints.
CHILDHOOD Michael H. Brownstein
I do not have the teeth meant for me
Still there is a redness to the air, a color
nor do I have the long fingers of the accordion
off blue to a thread of sky, a wall with missing
player.
bone,
Everything damp and saddened, grief spoken,
and at the crock near the broken cemetery,
soft with cotton and fine linen.
a nest of empty fluff and four smashed eggs.
Where do they hide the arm of the strongman,
Within the glow of the eucalyptus tree
the heart within the runt, the whistle
at the furthermost crypt to the north,
within the call of the olive-sided flycatcher,
my five baby teeth and three knuckle fragments
the Australian mammals rant of the phascogale,
stolen by the imp who collects
a year old, dying in the one act orgy of its kind.
painted toe nails from neglecting mothers.
18
THE SOUND Patrick O'Shea The sound slipped into the room, moving lazily across the walls, and then was caught by the waiting And wide-open unsuspecting ears, The loss that the sound brought was not expected, not wanted, but came in like a thief in the night, Bringing with it nothing but tears, The sound of loss unexpectedly shattering the harmony of the day, creating a darkening of the blue of The azure welcomed and beloved color of the sky, The sound changing faces from relaxed and enjoying the day, to the shocked and lost look of faces gone From themselves, alone now and questioning why. Would it have been the wind that blew in some leaves to scutter across the floor, to be heard earnestly Crunching underfoot, there would have been bemused delight, Would it have been the shifting life within another day, as the time ambled along, sometimes like a song That carried the heart from the warmth of the day to the night, Or a silence that accompanied the beauty of a time without any need to be anywhere or do anything, That carries the soul so carefully and lightly with its presence, Or a laughter that has come along unexpectedly and carried one along with a full feeling of forgotten Joy, that gave a reminder that we can still know our heavenly presents. But it was the sound now burrowing deep into the skin, burrowing inside like a ravenous insect, clawing Its way inside, to finally penetrate the beating heart, To then leave the limbs now frozen in place, the body unable to move quite normally, everything quite Disjointed, the body waiting like a puppet show that must start, The sound that carried in the wind that blew across all the deserts full of memories, and their cousins of Lost hopes, carrying the message never before known, The sound that carried the stuttered and slow advisal that there has been an accident, an unexpected Casualty, and the loved one has now left you in tears alone.
THE BELL’S ARE CRACKLING Josh Farumbo The're supposed to wake me up and not come
Writing poems are to ventilate my feelings
heavenly crashing
Not to express to the public how I’m now feeling
Everywhere I go is so loud
People letting on ... saying am I ok?
Dunno where I’ll go but somehow -
It’s a shame cos I say yes even though it’s hardly the
My body’s moving - mind’s not
case
I want to come to a standstill
Never felt a connection with anybody no-more
Where I don’t know the road to cross
Who do I come to - who do I fall for
However my body’s moving - mind’s not
Everyone who says their my friend feels crisp'n'fake
Nowadays I can’t tell the difference -
Whatever they felt in the relationship I never got a sip or
If that’s the world I should cross into or walk
a hollow taste
"THIS POEM REFLECTS ON THE AVERAGE ADOLESCENT STRUGGLING TO KEEP SANITY ABOARD, WITHIN THEIR MIND, WHICH IS ALSO CORRUPTED WITH OTHER PRECARIOUS CONCERNS, STRUGGLES AND NEGATIVE THOUGHTS. I AM AN ADOLESCENT AND I TOO STRUGGLE TO KEEP MY SANITY ABOVE ALL OTHER NON-NECESSARY THINGS IN MY HEAD, AND LIFE." JOSH FARUMBO 19
MUTATION Kate Meyer-Currey Nuclear-level injustice has irradiated me.
My marble face has been frozen by injected lies. A kick in the teeth caused this puffy trout-pout.
No lead lining could deflect its rays when a mushroom cloud blocked my horizon.
Prancing spectators gleefully await my reveal. They hope my recent knock-down will add years
I’ve survived the firestorm but my body is
to my age.
such a toxic waste dump I glow in the dark. But I am remade from the shards and shrapnel Global warming also threatens me and my kind.
of collateral damage.
Atmospheric pollutants have raised my
I wear both blood and gold with avant-garde
temper-level by several degrees.
assurance.
My emotional microclimate has been struck
I still walk the earth: I am a She-Rex; a re-cloned
by flash floods and razed by wildfires.
Jurassic survivor.
So I’ve had to adapt: I’m still standing but my
I smile as my scaly shadow darkens their slandering
roots claw at landslides.
sun.
I’m numb at the core and my feelings are woody
DUTY OF CARE
pulp. My once rising sap has congealed.
Kate Meyer-Currey Life’s acid rain has cankered my leaves: I struggle to branch out or blossom.
Is not worth the paper It’s written on
The mutant fruit of self-protection weighs me
Diversity
down and life has lost its taste.
Stonewalled Protected
Shame coats my tongue with its cloying yeast-
Characteristics
infection, so I dare not open my mouth.
Undefended Neurodiversity?
Gossip has chewed me over like a plaque
Shoot them all;
exposure tablet: I can’t bite back or the stains
They’re trouble.
will show on my gritted teeth.
Look after Number one
Body and brain fixers tried to give me a 360%
Watch your back
makeover but they did a botched job.
It’s cold shoulder time The long winter
My bruised heart has made me thin-skinned:
Of inequality is coming
grafting just disguises disfiguring scar-tissue.
To freeze you out; There’s a trench
I wear a wig of coiled snakes to hide my stress-
In a forest for you
greyed hair. They strike back at the rumours
Waiting on ice.
buzzing in my ears.
20
WARRIOR IN TRAINING Carolyn Dumas-Simons Cheesecloth has a new meaning for me since the pandemic began, It’s not what you think; absolutely nothing to do with gourmet culinary creations, It’s rather like sensuous, flowing, breathable-like skin that clings to my corporeal self, Allowing me constant emotional and physical shifts in direction, and changes in speed. My cheesecloth never leaves me, it’s rather like armour in its function, It protects, supports, comforts, buffers, makes me feel and act like a warrior, UNTIL, I forget to take the pills; And then I am reminded of the true function of cheesecloth; It has the durability and strength to drain and capture solids; a gauze-like prison with a jailer called anxiety.
WHERE OH WHERE HAS MY ... Carolyn Dumas-Simons I see you, but I can’t find my eyes, I hear you, but I can’t find my ears, I think I can understand, but I don’t trust my brain, I know I am here, but I can only grasp fragments of myself. Remember the scripts for all who are in my life, Try not to reveal how hard it is to remember some of their names, I must remember my lines, the plot, when to smile, when to cry! You should never cry, it will reveal your truth, and you can’t afford to lose them; They help to keep your fragments from dissolving into loss. Take them! Keep taking the pills. They will keep the terror at a polite distance; like living with a demon in a 400 square foot condo, Never without each other, but at least you can shower alone, Wait, who is that scrubbing my back?
AUTHOR'S STORY - "I have a diagnosis of General Anxiety Disorder and PTSD. I have a fear of myself and/or loved ones (family and friends) getting ill and suffering and/or dying, and not being able to help them. Covid-19 has basically been a living nightmare for me, and knew soon into the pandemic that I wasn’t emotionally healthy, and that I had take responsibility so I wouldn’t subject my family and friends to my irrational fears. And so I threw myself into treatment including; on-line Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, committing to consistent exercise (walking), and supplementing with vitamins to help counteract stress and support immune, liver and kidneys. I began (reluctantly) medication; Antidepressant, Anxiolytic, Anti-obsessional, and had to fight side-effects that some days still leave me with fatigue, dizziness and brain fog. It has been 14 months with this medication, and I can say that the benefits (not living in constant isolation and fear) are outweighing the times when my physiology has to cope with the side-effects. The bad days are still a challenge - as reflected in my poetry. I know I have some hope, no matter how diminished, I still have some. Taking risks with creativity, reaching out to friends and family to offer and accept support, and trying to embrace mental health as part of my own health is starting to be somewhat of a blessing. Stay with It people, we are all so very worthy." CAROLYN DUMAS-SIMONS
21
TIRING DARKNESS
GIVE ME PERMANENCE
Sbusiso Manqa
Sbusiso Manqa
Sometimes
There's a permanent
When I'm asleep,
Lingering anxiety in me
I don't want to wake up -
Seeking more permanent
And sometimes
Assurance regarding all I have
Even when I'm up, I'm waiting to wake up.
There's a little bit more Than what used to be
The weight of reality
But thats no reason enough
On my tired eyes
To keep me at ease
Is burdening,
As the past has shown me
My fatigue is rising,
All can go away
And it's only proof
In less than a blink
Is in my fading morale. I should be thankful It's said;
Considering my cries
The closer you get
When I had nothing,
The darker it gets,
But now that there's something
And I hope I'm close enough
I want more -
To summon my twilight Because should it get any darker,
It's not greed,
There's no assurance
As you'd find
My eyes will see light again.
Having little More especially part-time Is more stressful
STOCK OF
Than having nothing
SUBSTANCE
TOXINS IN ME
Sbusiso Manqa
Sbusiso Manqa
There's a dark bliss In substance and drugs
My body
That never seems to find one
Is soaking in toxins,
Walking on a sober path
I should be stopping But I'm not.
Its market share
There's always reason,
Seems to always attract
Sometimes ridiculous
Lonely investment
For me
After a peer presentation,
To keep consuming.
Because it's resentment Is always of those
Someday I'll stop.
Who've never seen it's profit
Hopefully It won't be too late,
And there many of them,
And the reason
Pity loss is only seen
Will be a little less
Once you've left its stock.
Than fatal And my organs won't pop.
22
ANXIOUS AUTUMN LEAVES Lisa Molina Anxious autumn leaves
My anxious soul
Wind through trees
That has also blown wildly
Blowing howling
Often becoming untethered
Shrieking tearing
From its branches.
Violently ripped
Falling
From their branches.
Falling Spinning wildly
Falling.
Soaring spiraling
Now, finally,
Up and around
Heeds the voices of the leaves
Until until until
And trees.
Falling
Embracing their wisdom;
Falling
The nourishment of
Falling To their deaths.
A winter’s rest;
The naked trees can only
A gleaming, glistening
Building strength for Rebirth of
Watch.
Spring.
And wait. For the winter rest.
My leaves will grow And give birth
Silence.
Once more To Hope.
Internal strength building for a new Spring.
Originally published in Tiny Seed Literary Journal
EMERGING Lisa Molina How to reach the center?
There is a liminal space;
It brings forth the me-
Holding together this universe,
A gift of ribbon-wrapped presence
I am to be.
that by some law of physics
That I so carefully open.
For myself. For the world.
Is pulling itself apart With no center of gravity.
The gift is Time,
Finally, to my astonishment,
What do the swirling,
Trials
My true soul
Seemingly out of control
and Testimonials
heals, awakens,
Events of life-
Of teachers. Gurus.
and emerges to its glorious rebirth.
The kaleidoscope of People, memories,
Only then do I
Fear of
experience the
future,
Alchemy
And numbness
that transforms golden light
Require
From the cave’s darkness.
Originally published in Trouvaille Review
In order to be Planted, nurtured, grounded? 23
TEA WITH ANXIETY Lisa Molina
Anxiety squeezed my lungs with sharp talons, punching its fists on my heart through my chest. Anxiety clutched my throat and strangled it so that I could not speak or eat.. Anxiety would then release it unexpectedly so I would lash out at those I loved. Anxiety danced and sang its primordial songs while dancing around the fire of my amygdala. Now, Anxiety, I know you’re still here, and I accept that you will always be a part of me. When I dance/laugh/cry/taste/embrace/sing/read/write/make love I realize Anxiety, you and I have finally learned to coexist. When Life brings on the darkness, as it will, I just look at you, Anxiety,
"I’M SO GRATEFUL FOR
smile, breathe, wave, knowing that you will
MINDFULL. I HONESTLY BELIEVE
eventually pass.
THAT SHINING MORE LIGHT ON
So let’s just hang out and have some tea,
MENTAL ILLNESS WILL HELP
shall we?
REDUCE THE STIGMA SO OFTEN
Cream or sugar?
ATTACHED TO IT." LISA MOLINA
Originally published in Trouvaille Review.
BROWN ENVELOPE Kelly Madden Last pebble rattles down,
watching autumn leaves fall,
lands after the landslide
wondering if parts of you were in them
a letter from the coroner,
and still, my hands
your autopsy
fell open like the wings
finally, proof
of a dying bird
of what I’d known all along as a little girl, blinking awake from a deep sleep
24
MYSELF IN THE
MRS. D AND MR. A
MIRROR
Norbert Góra
Kevin Geoffrey
Mrs. D likes to turn off the sun,
Looking at my reflection in the mirror,
to hide the world
I see who I was, and wanted to be.
behind clouds woven of sadness.
Instead I've turned monstrous on people who loved
She will happily
me.
thwart your planes
Publicly I'm kind and nice.
to see the doubt
it's an excuse of mental illness.
in your eyes,
But inside I hate myself.
that’s her goal.
My family is broken as I am too. I care but not enough.
She often comes along
I want to find peace, but I'm ashamed of love.
with Mr. A,
Warrior born is my mark,
the king of your fears, an uninvited guest in a crowd.
Warrior born is my mark,
The modern world knows
fighting my life,
what a terrible couple this is,
because of love lost.
mankind is sore
But it was me who pushed them away,
from the dangerous relationship
I realize that; I'm my father, my brother, in everyway.
of depression and anxiety.
I can't change, I don't know how, so I'll go real and say ... Kevin Geoffrey, I hope you burn in hell.
HOPE
Like a boat that lost its own directions
Hanh Chau
My heart is lost for the give of love But only left for the bitterness and hopelessness
Darkness falls across the shadow’s edge
I am no longer wishing for the blessing of life only
Where I stand when the midnight hour is
for death
approaching
But hope has taken me back to earth and encourage
And it is leading me to the verge of fear
me to wait
Shivering in a cold winter night with echoes of
for the devastating moment to come to with a
cries
rewarding one
Pain reverberates though my heart as tears
Oh! Nature is beside me and I can feel her smiling at
bringing to my eyes
me
And captured with desperation and loneliness
Like a blue violet flower lifting her head up and water
I am submerging in my own feeling
river continue to
As fear shooting through my vein
flow as life shall be carrying on
When needle of guilt attacking to my own
I then discover the light of my dream reach to the
conscious
blue sky
From the midst of my dream
Like a blooming flower with a pink and white streak
Is day or night? Is good or bad?
upon the horizon
I am a song with no melody
Greeting me with a pure joy and pride
I am a poem with no rhyme
I then burst into tears of my victory like prize in triumph bring home
And words with no forms are falling from my lips
Ah! At last I get to drink the sweet wine that I’ve never
My dream is shattered as I am feeling devastated
tasted before
25
www.mindfull-magazine.com