Voices in my head
Never cheer or praise
Laughter only when they mock me
Highlighting all my inadequacies
Making me feel only shame.
Voices in my head
Loudest when my eyes are closed
Never let me rest
Bringing up all my flaws
Making me feel so sad.
Voices in my head
Causing just pain
Screaming I'm not enough
Even when I do my best
Making sure I feel unworthy.
Voices in my head
Picking apart my sanity
Creating false narrative
Questioning my memories
Making me feel insane.
Voices in my head
I wish to silence
I hope they'll go away
Leaving me alone
Making me feel at peace.
Voices in my head
I know is me
Maybe if I went away
They'll finally go too
No more inadequacies, sadness or shame.
The question is,
should I listen to my imagination?
Sometimes it can go very wild,
I look for a lion ready to eat me alive.
There are times it can go romantic,
with hearts and love all over the page.
It has a way of bringing up my old memories,
some happy, maybe sad, or funny as can be.
In Playground of Imagination,
I never know what will show up.
My house is always full of laughter,
Never quiet, only bursting from the noise,
There's not a single day, ever the same,
Bringing up my three, wild, yet wonderful boys.
But when it comes to bedtime,
A never-ending battle to get done,
For once I wish they'd realise,
That it's not the time for fun.
Constantly winding each other up,
Only ending when one of them cries,
When all it is, I really want,
Is them to rest and close their eyes.
I'm sick to death of hearing,
I don't know how you cope,
One night they might do as told,
For this I pray and hope.
I'm bored, thirsty or hungry they say,
Whenever they know bedtime is near,
Rolling my eyes, I give in to their demands,
Longing for the day it's no longer,
"The Last Supper" here.
Is it about time I turned a corner,
And mix with more friends and not be a loner.
Grow with confidence push myself harder,
Nourish my body with trips to the larder.
Walk with my dog who I call Dora,
She's a French bull dog your gonna adore her.
Fill my day with plenty of action,
It's a great motivator and a helpful distraction.
Feel better in myself and people would know,
I'm back to reality with a smile and a glow.
Not to forget a past life on pause,
3years of bad trauma the probable cause.
Bringing up the horrors I saw,
The death of my partner who I miss even more.
The mother of our son and a good one at that,
But it's the time missed with him and where his life's at.
We had so much to do,
And places to see,
Grow old together and cuddle with me.
So hard to forget and realise its no more ,
I love you so much and that love will just grow.
No longer Serves me
Dear Self am I resisting changes?
consistently exploring in this web
of deja vu of what no longer serves
me. Stages in my life have been
heartaches and heartbreaks similar to
a bow and arrow have more drawbacks
then ups now releasing and being carefree.
Hopes and wishful thinking seem like
cousins to disappointments broken
trust and disrespect that I will no longer
entertain no longer serves me, letting go
gibberish chatter, will I ever see changes?
hopeful thinking, will it cons to pass,
difficult to grasp am I avoiding the reality of
questions at hand usually cause of idle talk
bringing up one's past yet now I'm so
unbothered by things that no longer serves
or brings substance and growth I am
stronger than yesterday's things that no
longer serves me.
Scared of my dreams,
Of falling asleep,
All nightmares it seems,
Bottomless pit, too deep,
When you turn off your lights,
Pitch black shrouds,
You lose all your rights,
As the monsters come out, storm clouds,
Your imagination booms,
Hand creeping, teeth snarling, sharp talons,
Fright blooms,
Fear by the gallons,
To fall asleep, an eternity of waiting,
Big monsters, small sounds,
My fear is dictating,
My light shines, as I make my rounds,
Dare not to look under the bed,
Scaley hands and sharp teeth I might find,
So, I just look around the room instead,
My fear is not being kind,
Making up the worst possible things,
Bringing up old memories,
The fear still sings,
Shakey, jelly knees,
As I remember,
The pot of fear,
Every night, give it a stir,
As nightmares leer,
With their scary distorted faces,
And in between the nightmares and dreams,
A long line of spaces,
Filled with hope, the fear redeems.
The day innocence disappeared
As life was created down by the Sleepy Hollow
The days of great sayings
Children bringing up children
We did okay for a time
Sadly, maturity does what it always does
Brings new horizons
Sets new goals
We were okay about it
Others weren’t
Maybe they couldn’t see beyond the hill
Time moved on, and the bond was broken
Years later, you found your soulmate
A second child was born
I found out later, a girl
I was leading my life
So in a way, it wasn’t my business
Just made it more final in a way
I agreed you should take full custody
It was the right thing to do
Upset some
But it was always me and you
I passed by the Sleepy Hollow
Maybe just to understand
It was wild and overgrowing
Pushing further to the road
Someday it would reach beyond the hill
Never looking back
I would be waiting.
Do you feel alone
That a lie from your enemy
He want you to live by your feeling alone
Especially when you are home on you own
You get on the phone
To call a friend
Who have no help for you
You feel alone
Because you call the wrong person
Making you feel like a rolling stone.
All alone you feel
You kneel down in prayer
But the words don’t come out
Alone you still feel
Even in prayer you kneel
All alone you feel.
Can I get through this stress
With the enemy bringing up my mess
Is this just a test
Where can I get some rest
Alone I still feel
Even when I kneel.
Yes, yes it’s not a guess
God is waiting to hear your request
You are not alone
Even when you feel you are on your own
When you dial the right number
With no slumber or cumber
With all the rumble going
You are not alone
When you get the right number
dialing on your phone
you are not alone.
We want to write to inspire:
Our words are chosen and arranged in a certain way
It's with not the assurance of a new tomorrow
It makes me more grateful to be this way.
Writing our experiences, whether good or bad,
Bringing up fears that need to be said
Writing the tears that make us sad
It's okay, though, being they're read.
A small token from my heart to yours,
It all began this morning when I rose
I said to myself, should I write to aspire
I'm almost there, so would it inspire?
Golden Years, 'til the morrow.
I walk this lonely road as it turns
I refuse to let it bring me sorrow
I'll try to write to inspire in return.
I want to start over
With each a clean slate,
Without bringing up the past
Or rehashing mistakes.
I want to get back to “us”
And push the “reset”
I have already forgiven
Now I want to forget
We spend our time fighting
Just assigning the blame
Nothing gets resolved
So our fights are all the same
Can you imagine going back
To where it all began
When we didn’t need to lie
Because we were just friends?
Whinging Willy sure felt silly
Placing a wager on a chestnut filly
Who ran around all willy nilly
Bringing up the rear in the Derby of Dilly
Where drunken elephants go to die
Was my lucky spot when I was a child
Sure others did not believe
But what did they know? It was my world.
Missing links lurk under my gray matter
Bringing up ideas from out of the ether
I run with them gladly
For I am a poet, a cartoonist, and a painter
Gives sway to the wind’s whims,
My imagination, on fire, especially in summer
June is my wild month
When I have four weeks off work
Each breath becomes a project
Each idea becomes a painting
Each ideal becomes a cartoon
I am in my element here.
The only one along this road…
riding shotgun through my mind
Tomorrow waits for someone else,
lost wanderings consigned
Forgetting what the moment augurs,
living in the past
Confirming what I’m most afraid of
—behind whoever’s last
(The New Room: January, 2022)
Books
They've been my trusty friends
During these days of isolation
While the virus preys on humanity
They have offered consolation.
When I venture out for my errands
I always take one with me
Beneath a spreading monkeypod tree
I open the pages and feel free.
Free to roam about and explore
A carefree adventurous world
Where intriguing people and cultures dwell
And an alternate reality has unfurled.
Far better than a YouTube video
Books illumine the imagination
Lightening the heaviness in the heart
Bringing up hope and inspiration.
Molly Moore
Vernal equinox lift, sun rays colorize Spring with its magic wand. Bare branches and cold soil, warms to its touch. Irises, like a net looking for butterflies, catch reds, whites, blues and every green bud unfurling. The cerulean sky brighter, the watercan-rain bringing up earth’s babies. Seasonal rebirth. Laud of robins, coo of wintersnow doves, murmuration of starlings — wings land on olive branch. We shout, “Alive! Alive!” We thrive in the trill of adventure, the hope of eternal resurrection.
butterflies in net
the whole world in kindly hands
irises twinkle
4/3/21
Springtime Haibun
Sponsor: M.L. Kiser
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