Long Bedridden Poems
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I remove my glasses to blur my view,
of my disgraceful face, that’s painted a strange hue.
Reality peers back at me, from the bottomless
shallow mirror,
My self peers back at me,
with disbelief, regret and horror.
I remove my glasses so that I cannot see,
that which I’m not and that which I’ve wanted to be.
I close my eyes, so I’m now in a trance,
of an alternate universe, a new theme,
a new life, a new romance.
I remove my glasses and put them aside,
and think back to better times, waiting
for my pain to subside.
But as I shuffle through my memories, relief -
I cannot seem to get,
because the past is filled with insurmountable regret.
I remove my glasses and put them in their case
and reminiscence about my beliefs, the dreams I used to chase.
But all this sorting reveals only mistakes,
mistakes, mistakes, mistakes
Oh, so many mistakes…
I remove my glasses because it’s time to sleep,
I wrench today’s goals from the thought bubble,
and discard them into the unachieved heap.
As I sink to the bottom of the bed at the end of the day I've fought,
I plummet into the depths of my innermost thought,
that preaches ‘useless’, ‘ worthless’, ‘hate’
that preaches ‘loser', ‘ugly’, ‘ late’
that dictates my action and my inaction,
that dictates my speech and my silence.
And as I lose myself to the seduction of rest,
I try to revive in me, an anticipation for the morrow -
a dying and hopeless, bedridden zest.
The sun will bring with it, a new day,
the day will begin coffee, sticky notes,
in the same old unaccomplishing way.
I will remove my glasses to blur my view,
I will remove my glasses to disillusion myself,
I will remove my glasses to remove myself
to a new fantasy, a new retreat, a new game.
I will remove my glasses to feed my escapism,
and let the footsteps of my desires lead me into a new daydream,
of wonder, success and fame.
But still,
I can hope.
And still,
I will hope,
that the morrow is not barren of new opportunities.
But still,
I can pray.
And still,
I will pray,
that the morning air instils a new confidence,
in me, as, from my lucid dreams, I wake,
in me, who limps behind the forerunners of the race.
For there is life to be loved, and life to be lived,
and mine is a future in the making,
a future to face.
I don’t think I have ever written another poem of such emotional intensity! I was bedridden for almost four months. It was at such a desperate moment that I thought of scribbling down my feelings of despair and I found words coming out like a sudden spurt! It was a new awakening! I wrote nearly 34 poems in a period of nearly two and a half months, all in bed which I included in my first collection entitled BEATS. I still believe it was something providential...! Never had I written a single poem before!!
Left alone in a dull and dreary mood,
With none to lean on and look for,
I tethered my soul to sordid gloom,
And chained my fancy, never letting it soar.
Dull were the days and sore were the nights,
Time slouched on in mechanical beats.
Mind devoid of all buoyant thoughts,
Senses shut to every cheery throb of life,
I lay awake, staring on the ceiling above,
My eyes, so lost in a fixed stare,
Never a smile lighted up my stony face,
Nor a gleam of hope brightened up my brain.
Inertia crept over from head to foot.
I had long lost my zest for life,
With life saps drained out like an empty well,
I felt nothing but the heat of scorching drought.
Nothing could move my grief laden soul,
None could lift the weight off my back,
Embers of fire sparked from the anvil of my heart,
Heaves of sighs escaped from parched mouth,
I wriggled and writhed in unspeakable pain,
My spirits sank deeper into a slithery marsh,
I saw around only a thick pall of gloom,
Or was it a projection of my own self?
Anguish gnawed my nerves and sinews,
Flames of pain danced within my spine,
I felt my head so heavy and beginning to reel,
And the heavy weight of lead all around my neck.
I felt being pushed down to abysmal depths,
And the octopus tightening its tentacles all around
Who on earth will set me free?
What on earth can lift me up?
With thundering force, the question shook my weary self.
I sprang to my feet and broke loose my chains,
I found I was but in self – exile,
A captive entrapped within boundless space.
I saw the door opening to infinite lengths,
And the arched horizon looming larger than life,
I spread my wings and propelled up,
And darted through the clouds to distant shores,
Never to come down, where I thought I could dwell forever.
His voice soft and cracking,
Wanting desperately to start conversation. . .
Discomfort only letting out a few words from my trembling mouth. . .
The center of the audience,
Still alone in the embarrassment of my own silent, screaming ponders. . .
His laughing. . .
Laughing again to help me notice that he’s laughing for me—
That he wants me to join in too. . .
He reminds me I am overthinking again. . .
Sadly, in this sickened mind,
I oblige . . . a curl of a smile from my lips…
Noise coming out. . . JUST NOISE. . .
My mind elsewhere,
Not even laughing at the film in front of us,
Feeling pleasure in the superior feeling that he cannot hear me screaming something else,
Laughing at his evident confidence,
While others beside,
Are in other worlds. . .
All around,
Feeling the superiority of their own thoughts, no doubt. . .
Curiosity like a cheap flashlight,
Flickering on and off,
And then losing battery…
GET A GRIP YOU FOOL!
They are just enjoying a goddamn movie. . .
But we don’t care for a moment. . .
They want us to know that the fiction is far more exciting than our insignificant reality,
Temporary partnership. . .
And I want to give him attention,
Because I want him not to feel what I feel every sad day of my life. . .
I want him because people unwant him. . .
And he knows that they are not looking. . .
But I am. . .
And I always have been looking,
Targeting you from the crowd since day one,
Steering my attention away from the braced teeth,
The doubled chins,
The collateral cussing,
That guy's flexing ass,
The buttered crab in false paradise…
His elbow stabbing into my world.....
And I feel awful knowing the thoughts will never reach his own,
Just for a second. . .
And then I thank God that he is not a mind reader,
Otherwise he’d be reading his life away,
In the sticky pages of my thoughtless, void existence. . .
I realize it is just him and me in the room now. . .
As you pour your glass of rum,
We ignore your existence,
Looking in each other’s eyes in that fraction of a millisecond. . .
Nobody knows us.
Our minds are bedridden in disease and frictional bewilderment. . .
No one can ever truly see it. . .
No one, not even I,
Understands these thoughts. . .
And it is sickening to realize . .
But. . .
That is the perfection I have come to know.
Decades of a formula that only he knew about it and drew,
Cascades of his artwork came to a head in his last years,
Glissades of a swan in a lake that only a handful had seen,
Tirades made its mark on him, distant from fellow peers.
~~[Van Gogh]~~
Impressed of his art garnered some interest in his style,
Oppressed, a constant companion only he can befriend,
Obsessed by what he drew insanely violent he withdrew,
Distressed he found salvation in asylums to not descend.
~~[Wheatfield With Crows]~~
Crows, black gawking, feed in a meadow ache for harvest,
Know that art needs to be made, scheme food for thought,
Those sinister birds, a murder of crows festering the grain,
Throes a fit mocking 'em, flys, pained him more than aught.
~~[Starry Night]~~
Bleak sky of blues, stars gave rise to a miracle been made,
Streak of a sprawl unfurls his heavens tethered madness,
Speak not lest he loses his concentration, maintains focus,
Meek town his groundwork, lofty jewel amidst the sadness.
~~[Bedroom At Arles]~~
Red, that laid on a bed, table, chairs, paintings on the wall,
Said was where he severed his ear, water bowl mirror hung,
Head bandaged where he bled, he does a self-portrait of it,
Deadman walking, Gauguin part ways, no song to be sung.
~~[Self-Portrait Bandage Ear And Pipe]~~
Drew closer, when they were both young, be such friends,
Few friends Van Gogh had, Gauguin was at that moment,
Grew apart after Vince shaving Paul, Vince wanted to hurt,
Knew time together was getting just a bit grave and potent.
~~[House At Auvers]~~
Return to Arles made Van Gogh happy for good times there,
Upturn spirits was a rarity, too few and far in the middle,
Discern with him was questionable because he's unstable,
Concern for his good, art kept him busy, else is second fiddle.
~~[Doctor Gachet]~~
Fields back of the house, a pistol, he plans to shoot himself,
Wields his pistol, shoots, nobody hears, years gun lays hidden,
Yields his brother Theo to his side as doctor aides him little,
Shields truth futile, his art was world-renown, dies bedridden.
Musing Lately
Let’s just say
with my husband now having heart troubles and my
being old (& bedridden while waiting for my new prosthetic-leg) makes for on-going thinking, remembering, observing, reflecting, tentatively concluding, believing
how the ineffable ultimately rules…and one’s
language (for all its commanding need to be used with a true Love ) finds w
o
r
d
s
to be less than their expressive task f
a
i
l
(despite even some i
divine inspiration)
n
g
to cast some light brighter
than the humble votive’s flame flickering in the heart —
Or more than the one tear — felt but unseen' — in the corner of the eye, bringing along its cathartic story …ready to fall down over the cheek…
Or to realize (especially after 40 years togerther) that devotion lives well beyond a 3-word statement in heights carried there by a tried, spiritual touching of our auras in the room: lives aligned for better or worse in the profound music that our closeness creates. The poems are born in being or feeling before the written.
(c) sally young eslinger 7/13/24**
In my youth, i was a devotee of James Joyce and Samuel Beckett. (Beckett even sent me a hand-written letter in response to one i sent him.). I pretty much memorized “Waiting for Godot.” Joyce and Beckett both saw words dissolving — into the ineffable. Some powerful poems lead us there, but that there, I’ve found is in the unspeakable.
That Vow, To Yet Again Walk Forested Trails
In forest deep, wondrous gems lay hidden
yet lay he there, in great pain bedridden.
Through his window he could see forest edge
hopes he had, soon became a solemn pledge.
Some day, some sweet day he would again walk
visit that forested world, with Nature talk.
Stroll among gnarled trees, roots firmly planted
vow he made, to never be recanted.
Each day he would wiggle that his big toe
sure little by little feeling would grow.
One year and he achieved use of both feet
proud of all that work done under bed-sheet.
Six months more, he could feel up to his knee
he watched that forest cheer its helpful plea.
Winter came and he could sit up in bed
sadness gone, cobwebs were cleared from his head.
Spring flew in and to kitchen he could stroll
man was he happy, he was on a roll.
June saw his first joyful step on outside
his heart filling with rapture and deep pride.
By Summer's end, he threw away his cane
with determined voice swore that oath again.
As gold leaves fell, date was set for his trek
he vowed to never look back at his wreck.
This time of year his car had struck a tree
bed confined, he thought to never be free.
That dawn came, into the forest he ran
God gave blessed hope in his Nature plan.
Walking in deep, gems everywhere he saw
all about critter tracks with little paws.
Overhead, songbirds fluttered all about
sweet bird-songs came like water from a spout.
Now in tune with life, forest vow complete
he walked home, on those new dancing feet!
R.J. Lindley
November 25th, 1979
Note. This poem was written about the car wreck and later the amazing recovery
my friend had, and the vow he made, after looking out that window and thinking of me out in the woods hunting as I once did so often.
He being a Nature lover same as I and so very at home in the woods.
We once hunted together and had great times, but life sent us down separate and far distant paths.
Now I hear from friends that he is in a bad way and has not much more time left on this earth.
Today, I searched old boxes in storage, until I found this old poem to present.
Hope you may enjoy...
Edited today only to make a uniform syllable count....
We have been friends ever since I was born,
mother even dedicated me at your altar in joy,
Fear of you and your love make my heart peaceful; for I know with you I need no conveyour.
But the water is gradually filling the vacuum
Like the rain in August that shatters things,
What has gone wrong, father?
My life has been shattered away by sickness,
My soul is not ignorance of the fact that you
Watches the tears dropping from my eyes and is
Not invisible to you-
When you says I should seek your face, lord,
I said to myself your face shall I seek, God.
But here I am broken like an egg
Thrown to the wall in a rather careless manner.
Shall my life be hidden in confusion and pains?
Shall I be clouded with sorrow when I have you?
Unto you do I write under the coven of my frustration, my father is gone through this deadly cancer, and mother has left me to die "cause she is tired.
Here I am bedridden with cancer and pains,
When would you visit me?
When would the cock crow on my behave?
My teeth now forsake my innocent tongue,
My tongue on a journey to a faraway land
Where the dungs of my being dwell in doom.
Father! Father!! Why have thou forsaken me?
Can a father give his son stone when he ask of bread?
To your words, you said above all you wish I prosper
And remain in good health with my soul in joy.
Thou art my father, heal me now! Heal me now!!
I don not deserve to be in this condition,
There are many people whose destinies are
Connected to me to redefine their future.
Why have I been conditioned in this place?
I am an instrument of blessing to many;
God, look at my deeds in your house,
I built houses for you, I saved many souls,
I helped the poor and the needy, even at my sick bed,
I have done so many for you, if my life is lost now;
Many soul shall ruin in the pit of hell.
I supposed to be heal now, oh God!
The sins of the father shouldn't be pass down to his son, help me in this critcal condition of lack and want
At last only will take all the glory.
Williams tears speaks volumes and its weigh more thana tonnes.
WILLIAMS
Ouch.... Forgot to enter the contest.... This has happened many a time.... a sure sign of advancing age :( :(
Riding down on the wheels of Time,
Through the bends and curves of weary life,
Pleasure it was to halt awhile,
At the start of life as a little kid,
Much we enjoyed those carefree days,
With fun and frolic all around,
Nothing to bother and none to nag,
Far removed from staring gaze
Great it was to ‘dwell’ inside,
The house we built with twigs and leaves.
We donned the guise of ‘Dad and Mom’,
And ate the dish, we cooked instant.
Fun it was to play ‘Hide and Seek’,
With friends reversing the roles in turn,
The cop chasing the thief in hide,
And the thief evading the cop in chase
Foolish it was to bury beneath,
Many a coin-shining bright,
With hopes to see them sprout some time,
Yielding thousands for the autumn pick.
As the rain comes tumbling down,
With water filling every pond and well,
We devised far brighter schemes,
To enjoy life in better ways
We caught the ants and lady birds,
And put them inside paper boats,
We watched them being set afloat,
Over the muddy puddles left by rain
With thrill gripping every nerve,
And wonder glistening our curious eyes,
We caught the ‘Minnows’ one by one,
Those trapped within the towel spread
Picking each with careful hands,
We moved them into a tiny pond.
Darting down and coming up,
We watched them, swim all around.
Little things and petty scenes,
Thus filled our hearts with instant joy
Life never seemed dull or drab,
With each day holding its own charm,
Bliss it was that childhood state,
But sad, it remained a brief interlude,
Staying here on this distant shore of life,
The other side seems greener far!
(I started writing poems only from 2007. Before that I never knew I could write poetry. It was a time when I was bedridden for about four months. Overcome by dejection and boredom, I started writing poems to while away my time. Later it became a passion for me. This is one of my earliest writes in 2007)
March .9. 2022
The Throwback Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Natasha L Scragg
For context, I'm almost 22.
I got sick at 18.
It's not like cancer or M.S., I'm not going to die.
But there's no explanation for the reason why I got sick.
Nobody knows, not me, not my doctor, not the specialists.
Mum thinks it's because I left home too young.
Dad thinks I have too much anxiety and I'm sick because of it.
My fianceé thinks maybe I'm reacting to my birth control or to natural hormones.
I think I woke up one day and I was sick.
It went just like that. Waking up one day with my stomach turning inside out.
Shoulders heaving for hours every morning,
Curled up on the floor of the bathroom, protesting the muscle convulsions.
I woke up this way every morning for over a year and no specialist could tell me why.
All I know is I'm sick.
My fianceé didn't sign up to be a caregiver,
Yet somehow he's thrown into the part.
Today, if I travel, I wake up sick. If I stay at a friend's house, I wake up sick. Often, when everything is normal, I still get sick.
I wake up at either midnight, 02:00am, or 05:00am and there is no hope of sleep until at least noon.
There is overwhelming nausea, dizziness, muscles contracting violently and burning.
There are my teeth which seem to be wearing away from my stomach acid.
There is the feeling that if this has to be my life now, i don't want to live it.
It's been 3 years since I had a single day without pain.
I pop ribs out of place as I vomit, so even after the nausea subsides I'm left sore and often bedridden.
My fianceé tries to ask how he can help,
And I'm sent into an emotional spiral.
"You can't help. I can't help me, my doctors can't - i don't want to do this tomorrow morning. I don't wanna wake up tomorrow if it'll be another day of this. I wanna give up."
Today, I want to give up. I want the burning muscles to stop. I want to be able to eat something other than applesauce mixed with water and not throw it up.
This doesn't feel like a life anymore.
I just wanna get better already.
I pray to whatever God listens that I get better.
I cannot do this forever.
" Education paves way for future financial security. By education I mean knowledge of subject matter not just marks" -
Rama Balasubramanian
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was in teens
Father lost his job
Tough times for family
We had an ailing, bedridden grandmother
While father searched for job
Mother told me
You concentrate on your studies
You are my only hope for future
I want you to earn well
Finished schooling with good marks
Topped school, wanted to become doctor
We didn't have money
Took commerce stream
Did CA along with graduation
Would get up early and leave home
First college then CA firm
Come back home late at night
All free time dedicated to education
Was university topper
Rank holder in CA
Job offers came on their own.
When I gave my first salary to my mother she shed tears of joy.
Finally our family problems came to an end.
My hard work bore fruit
Now I am holding a top position in big company
I have house of my own and enough money
I tell my son education is important
Material processions are transient
Knowledge stays forever.
When I see college students not studying
I feel sorry for them
They don't realise the value of education
Education is essential for living
Education should be free for all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Knowledge makes you humble
With knowledge you rarely stumble
Knowledge makes you aware
With knowledge you know what to beware
Knowledge earns you respect
With knowledge many things you don't expect
Knowledge gives you confidence
With knowledge you aren't over confident
Knowledge makes you mature
With knowledge your future is secure
He who knows the most
Will never ever boast
He knows knowledge is vast
Very little he has amassed
Everything else may not stay
Knowledge in mind forever stays.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
15th March 2021
Inspired by:
Graduation Blessings contest by BJ Legros Kelley
Form: