Long Therapists Poems
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The Accidental Poet
I have come to terms with language,
dyslexia jailed then freed me
a framed sky for instance,
or the open nature of oceans for instance,
one denies the other.
He had a brain injury
a perfectly constructed man
until the fatal blow of his Muse.
Now he speaks only in poetry,
a language unbounded.
Some thought him touched
by a language that had no beginning nor end.
The man spoke direct from the Fountain,
the Wellspring.
Out God poured,
out poured the bedeviled and the saintly,
the lost and found,
seers so blinded by love
they must vocalize each sound.
An idiom that passed all understanding
yet could be grasped on the wing
an ephemeral thing, a single Mayfly
in an endless array of May blossoming.
It was a beautiful seamless moving hem
of apperception, a cloth made whole.
It was beautiful even when it was ugly.
It was the poetry of words set free.
I wondered if my own trivial dyslexic mind
could ever hope to match his artistry
and knew it never would.
You would have to take out the brain
find that breach in its convolutions
through which God speaks.
I knew this, the way a child knows
the uncharted face of its birth mother,
yet I still try to drive a wildness
through a picket fence.
Old words won’t do anymore,
the scaffolding is too overworked, it won’t hold,
the used-up must go the way of all dead things,
to the soil
where roots know the birth-pains of green.
The man talks on, the therapists shrug,
try to force his tongue into neat, prepackaged boxes
but it will not fit,
he smiles as they wipe spit from his lips,
keeps explaining God to them
but they have no understanding of poetry;
they keep begging him too slow down
but he is way ahead of them
and always will be.
Can you hear me? Are we connected?
As people born with the penetrating organ
What was growing up like for you?
What did it mean to be a "man?"
For me, my models were bullies
Testosterone masses who swung at any slight
"Quit your crying, men don't do that"
As another path was closed to a clenched fist
Fist to face, fist to chest
Bone on skin and repeat again
The endless scraps those boys desired
As I retreated as far as I could
Hounded down to Earth's end
A victim himself rained blows upon me
To "fix" what was perceived as feminine within me
And merely building resentment that never cured
So here we are, so many decades later
Having achieved just as much in life
Yet we sing to therapists
About how masculinity harmed us
What, to you, does it mean to be a man?
I couldn't wait to shed that shell
No matter how buff, burly and bearded my body made me
I'd never be what your father wanted for us
So what has it done for you?
Rich, but alone
Wandering with only a predator's praise in your ear
Praise you've long learned is just bait
So what does it mean to be a man?
What did being born with balls do for us
Beyond be victims to a keyboardist's vile machinations?
Why did I have to bleed for your struggles?
As I look back with tears in my eyes,
I know what it feels like to be paralyzed.
When you are vulnerable and unable,
To do just the simple things in life.
You have no car,
No job,
No independence,
And no freedom.
Your in a room alone,
With a T.V. who is your babysitter.
I have no visitors,
Only nurses and therapists,
They talk I listen.
Yes I do remember .....everything.
Now my muscles are waking up,
And all I want is to get better,
So that I can take everything back,
That is mine-everything she stole from me.
Two (2) years seems like a lifetime,
When the road has been long and bumpy.
I started out in a 2 wheel Cadillac,
Then a 2 wheel sedan and,
Finally a snazzy walking cane.
So I am walking walking,
To that finish line.
My race is almost finished.
I walk alittle slower these days,
But at least I can walk now.
I see the finish line.
The people I recognize have,
Been with me since the beginning.
Doctor's, nurse's, therapist's,
And my true friends.
I see no family-nor do I want to.
They destroyed my life and,
Took everything from me.
So when I cross that finish line,
I will need no help walking because,
I know that I AM FINALLY FREE!!!!
In current times, breaking up is often referred to as a slow-motion breakup, or as the new generation might say, "pulling back." The lyrics of songs reflect the sentiment that breaking up is challenging, though it is approached differently today.
Whenever I approached two to three years into a relationship,
I recall sensing the gradual shift or withdrawal occurring,
Their tone of voice intensified,
Their smiles became less genuine,
And those familiar words, "I will call you later,"
Many therapists today observe that individuals often overlook warning signs in relationships. As a therapist, it is essential to recognize that love can cloud judgment, and emotions can distort rational thinking.
Luckily for some of us, we got out, and we rose again,
We became stronger loveless women, guarding our hearts with everything we got
Who was to say that it was Eve's fault, the serpent the manipulator?
No wonder in a world like our men are only loving each other’s
Two-of-a-kind stick to their own.
In current times, breaking up is often referred to as a slow-motion breakup, or as the new generation might say, "pulling back." The lyrics of songs reflect the sentiment that breaking up is challenging, though it is approached differently today.
In conclusion, be mindful when deciding whom to trust with your emotions.
Her luxurious penthouse
is like a cocoon with plenty of pretty distractions,
so she keeps her door firmly closed,
because she prefers fantasy
over the handicap of reality.
Afraid of light,
her malingering mind,
keeps her hidden inside.
To shield her from the sun,
she won't open the curtains,
as she thinks it's certain,
her mechanisms may melt.
Shyness is her veiled excuse
to separate her from society,
But it's the anxiety, anxiety, anxiety!
Preferring to be an option,
rather than a priority
her caution from socialising,
breeds from the alarm bells,
set from abandonment,
betrayal and manipulation.
Trust is her terrorist.
People hunt like packs of wolves,
devouring her mind like a candy snack.
Fears of her heart are like an aeroplane,
shaking from a turbulent storm,
with her hopes forever crashing.
Trying to forget in a flash of courage,
she takes one step towards the door,
but the noises in her head become louder,
and Louder and LOUDER!!!!
repeating, Repeating, REPEATING!
Violent vibrations induce vertigo,
silent screams screw with her sanity,
struggling to breathe, feeling like
air is being sucked out of her lungs,
she vomits, collapsing to the floor.
Nothing can take off the 'edge',
the therapists do not work.
There she remains in her internal prison,
away from her eternal nightmares.
Safe in her sanctuary,
from engagement with stranger's eyes.
Like a chocolate bar
in her shiny wrapper,
that looks so sweet
but feels so darkly bitter.
When younger, less afraid of dying.
Even now, less afraid of dying
than fearful I am already too dead for fully functional
resuscitation
Reviving reconnecting
inter-religious panentheism
Maybe it’s just another monotheistic Sunday 9 PM,
last dregs of responsible weekend parenting,
trying to remember, then forget,
why I thought parenting would be good for my spiritual life,
unlike eremitic vows
or even celibacy.
No, not for me
such traditional eco-mythologies,
our reconnecting regeneration
will become egomind/eco-body therapists
of polycultural healthy
re-ligious cooperativity!
What an exhausting anthrosupremacist ideation!
swollen with polyvagal win/lose mediocrity,
sad happiness of merry pathogens,
ungreeting alien unmet teenagers,
shape-shifting into truly terrifying young adults,
halfway between my eternally wise ZenZero
full-peak/empty-valley bicameral
budding wokeness
and neuro-sexsensory wildness,
their unreformed perfect creepiness
stretching my boundaries of reasonable
love-life expectations.
I’m far less afraid of dying
than I fear indigenous EarthTribes fading away
without me
attending to over-spiritualized worship services
to reconnect us each
and preverbal panentheistic all
with how utterly exhausting we are
untogether communicating
in siloed sanctuaries of LeftBrain silence
sincerity
religioning EarthTribe's win/win potential integrity.
Another Sunday 9 PM
re-membering to not forget
my spirited-natural
indigenous love
wise panentheistic life
if only drifting RightBrain prominent
feelings of ego-mindhealth
and safe eco-bodywealth
until a win/lose traumatic
disturbing
BusinessAsUsual 6 AM
alone
older
still surrounded by unsafe
homophobic
straight monotheistic
anthrosupremacist hypocrisy
To think that a secularized human nature
could ever be as beautiful
as lilies in the field
or as wise
as an indigenous
panentheistically nurturing
LeftCrown dominant
RightRoot recessive
MotherTree.
There is one word that can be the guide for your life--
it is the word
reciprocity.
Pearl Buck
There are several synonymous words
co-arising feelings
needs
co-gravitating wants
personal and social integrity
political and economic synergy
neurological and psychological
ecological and theological
That can guide life v death,
health v pathology
cooperative wealth v competitive disinvestment
regeneration v degeneration
love v despair
impression v depression.
These include words of passion--
Compassion
co-passion
passion story
impassioned v dispassioned v mispassioned.
E. O. Wilson speaks of biological Consilience
where linguists and political historians
recall co-gravitating Creolization,
peaceful co-enculturation,
rather than patriarchal greedy excesses
of one-power sided colonization.
Neuro-psychologists,
more positive pro-health
than negative anti-pathologists,
recommend Resilient-Resonance.
Ecologists and theologians
prefer sustainably regenerative ego-centers
and eco-systems.
Bicameral neurologists
commune left with right hemisphere
harmonic wants with feelings
for compassionate therapeutic communication.
Communication therapists
and mediators
speak out and listen up
for Enthymematic communication,
curiously and courageously opaque
and dual dark
reflective absence of cognitive-affective
left-right dissonance.
Priests
and Preachers
and Teachers invoke secular/sacred
natural/spiritual communion
communication
community
cooperative economics
and win/win political theology
preparing us to receive mysterious Transubstantiation
regeneration
creolization
resilient compassion,
polyphonic rhapsody,
polypathic reciprocity,
More like co-investing with Buck
than passing the buck.
In our world of healing hearts, there lies
With Michael, Mary Welsh Foundation, a prize,
A haven where souls find solace and rest,
Amidst the storms, they're gently caressed.
Within these walls, a psychological embrace,
A symphony of care, filled with grace,
Guiding troubled minds towards inner peace,
Where anguish and pain find sweet release.
A positive aura, whispers in the air,
Lifting spirits, weaving hope with care,
Laughter dances, mingling with tears,
As wounds mend, erasing darkest fears.
Therapists, with empathetic touch,
Weave tales of triumph, mending hearts' clutch,
With compassion as their sturdy guide,
They empower souls to thrive, not hide.
In this sanctuary, the broken find their way,
With warmth and understanding, shadows sway,
A foundation built on love's sturdy frame,
Bringing healing whispers, banishing shame.
Michael Mary Welsh, a beacon so bright,
Shining forth with love, day and night,
A sanctuary of hope, where souls find rest,
Where healing begins, the foundation's blessed.
In my late 20s having got wed
but in the following year a broken heart
my love passed away to heaven above
a difficult first few months at the start
But someone gave me really great advice
don't feel alone get involved for good
as had a stammer all of my life
start a stammering adult group if I could
In this forget my own troubles
so together with therapists did unite
encourage others along so to speak
so all in unison join to fight
Really felt being able to help others
who had the same struggles just like me
added to my confidence a real boost
in this self-help call, we all did agree
So although my speech didn't improve much
we contributed together with all be there
although that group no longer does exist
for a few short years our cares we did share
(This is written about what advice offered in my life has been the most beneficial.)
My Habit
You say I eat a lot—
But a lot eats me.
I got stress I can’t tame,
Hate that drives me insane.
So many therapists I can't name,
Yet still love you and can't cause you shame.
Before you judge me based on my order,
Saying I have an eating disorder—
Ask:
What the hell in this world is in order?
You don’t see the hate,
The anger,
The envy I swallow with my food.
You just say, “Nah, dude.”
You think I don’t already know
You’re ashamed of my belly?
But I don’t care lately,
'Cause food tells me: “Take it easy.”
It’s not that I can’t control my eating.
It’s just your drama,
Your perfect bodies—
They make me overthink.
And I hate that.
But I can’t scream...
So I overeat.
So next time you say,
"Here’s something small to eat,"
I’ll pass—
Because I overheat.
Look, sugar…
I love you.
But this?
This is better than a trillion tattoos.
'Cause you stress me out with everything you do.
I hope you understand if you love me too.
So what do you say...
A buffet for two?
By Little One and Nova