I spent the early part of my life
Giving little to no thought of my
Father and what he meant to me.
I later discovered by self analysis
That I'd subconsciously shut him out,
Thinking of nothing positive about him.
But there came a day when I was 54,
At a family reunion, a younger sister
Shed some light on our dad. On that
Summer day in Oklahoma, my entire
Attitude toward my father was forever
Changed.
He was no longer just an angry man
Who smoked and drank heavily; who
Verbally abused any who stood aversed
To him; who seldom smiled and was hard
To please.
He died when I was 13, and I reconsidered
That had he lived longer than 58 years, we
Would have gotten to know each other better
In spite of there being 11 minor children.
I tell you, I rethought a host of things and
Began to write about him and the treasure
of his brief life.
Today, please allow me to say in a few words
One item from daddy's treasure chest. Daddy
Provided a modest livelihood for mother and
Us, NEVER LEAVING US UNTIL THE DAY OF
HIS DEMISE.
ABIDING INTEREST
intense
scrutiny
in
self-analysis
of
imagined
profiles
fundamental
feelings
customary
expectations
preoccupations
precursor
in
paletted
expressive
pictorial
formulae
of
aesthetic
pleasure
Internal Paralysis
self analysis
constant questioning
sadness festering
setting goals
yet, letting them go
wanting to live again
but questioning when
grief is overwhelming
but hope is telling
seeing the beauty
performing my duty
transforming my life
putting aside the strife
The animal part is the best in me
The human part isn’t the worst
But it’s of suspicious pedigree
Always strives to come out first
So I keep the human part on the leash
Which means I’m the cultural one
While the animal part looks out for its dish
The human part might have fun
But as stated above, human isn’t the worst
The worst in me is the stone
It’s a solid fossil covered in moss
That never does anything wrong.
Self Analysis
Miracle man
1/31/2025
I’m like an old book that sits on a shelf,
Dog eared pages reveal things about myself.
my pages are yellowed and worn from my years,
some chapters introduce laughter, some tears.
But just like the book, time’s taken its toll,
life, like the book, has accomplished its goal?
Today few care what either has to say,
you may rest yourself, on some shelf one day.
WHO WE ARE AT OUR CORE
Are we who we think we are
Or more likely what others think
Perhaps multifaceted, we may be
Or neither, always a mystery
Taking self-analysis to the brink
But in the end, just raise the bar
At our core, whatever that may be
Some sort of an inherent disposition
Or just acting out our genetic code
Delving deep to find the mother lode
When psychoanalysis is an imposition
Will anyone ever know the real me
A milling crowd (aren't they all),
I call my name
then try my real name
then a made-up name.
The crowd separates reluctantly,
A man with an ever changing face steps forward.
I intently recognize myself,
a self of many ages, some even before birth.
I am emotional, this is a cathartic moment
my eyes are pinballs being flipped
in a lit-up cosmic game.
The person is my personal
imago/, amigo, avatar,
my part-time impersonator.
This is no time for self analysis,
I take him by the hand
lead him into my mind, claim him,
show him as I am now
in the eye of a cracked mirror.
His face has stopped fluttering through time,
his eyes are now moth orbs
as golden as an astronauts visor.
I reflect upon them like the sun.
He tells me that all of his personas,
all of his faceted me-ness
revolves around an inner star,
then walks absent mindlessly
back into the crowd.
I turn to look at the rest of the world,
it is a radiant carousel painted upon
an endlessly nocturnal canvas.
The canvas and the painting
were created by an unknown artist,
one still waiting to be discovered.
Self analysis
& motive
imultiple functions
erupt
tradition
chiselled
in reality
distorted
by self perception
folds of skin
furrowed brows
surround
the anatomy of eyes
indentations &
peculiarities
crystallised forever
by self-awareness
in the existential
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand |
Self-analysis…
a balancing act
on the edge of disaster
(Dreamsleep: June, 2022)
an
essential focus
self-analysis
of the
instinctive urge
a contrast so stark
explicit
invisible
as
explosive
exploits are portrayed
a mantle
of a perogative
whipped
manipulated
yet so delicate
in self-satisfaction
self-irony
to the fore
sensibility
so friable
lacking solidity
as
fluidity surfaces
the immediacy
pauses &contrasts
as formal
tension
is magnified
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Yes, introspection- a soul-searching quest;
deep self-analysis explored throughout.
Sincere reflection, which gets put to test;
discovered, judged- may sometimes offer doubt.
Of virtues found, lamentable or grand,
this self-examination's tough to do;
perhaps because conclusions will demand
we must amend the faults that come to view.
With deep perusal- reckoning may show
inequities of self- down deep inside;
and so, addressed or not- we'll truly know
the weaknesses and strengths that coincide.
But, sweeping out the darkness, lessens strife;
casts light upon more happiness in life.
October 28, 2020
~3rd Place~
Premiere Contest: Inward Reflections
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Life is all about perspective,
To a degree of self-analysis
At least, this is what they say…
Moments of glitch, flaws glare on the surface
An opaque lens which must perceive
If there is an emptiness in that glass
Actually, if there is any.
Life struggles in despair, dismay
Those longing moments get covered
with dust of time; with sorrow and pain
In times of anguish; moments of darkness
A blessed olive is needed, to kindle the magnificent lamp
Inside the soul, the soul is not a property of east or west
But a tremendous allegory, a myth of that blissful light!
Introspection is an “I care I search” quest-
Needed self-analysis from inside out,
Towards clear reflection of what makes me whole.
Rumination of a deep and thoughtful kind,
Of those feelings that serve well or not.
Self-examination- difficult to do,
Perhaps because the scrutiny brings pain
Especially when I am not aware or
Can't address those things that I must change.
Through contemplation, deeper thoughts will show
Internal weaknesses and strengths that flow.
Observation of myself from deep inside
Nourishes my heart and soul for better life.
...a self analysis
So this is all there will be from now on,
since I've made up my mind to depart;
no more TV, no talking, no people, no fun,
no more girlfriends who play with my heart.
I'm a timid and tremulous creature,
always wearing my soul on my sleeve;
I can't for the life of me step on a bug
but I simply don't know how to leave;
how to leave things behind when they're done,
how to let go a friendship that's dead,
not to disinter love when it's all in my mind,
and take charge of my own life instead.
It's all just a question of balance,
why must I suffer such pain?
if I see life as good judgment, good sense,
then I'll get my control back again!
Passing up the sunny days.
Wallowing around in the gray.
Banking that a change will come.
And fortune will finally let me have some.
There, that's it, it's all been said.
Just hoping for a little heaven before I'm dead.
Cause I'm afraid I'm gonna drown in my sorrow.
Lost here in today,waiting for tomorrow.
I used to believe in the common man's dream.
But hope and reality aren't all that they seem.
Some hearts don't heal and the sun doesn't shine.
And now someone else has what used to be mine.
Self analysis is the only friend I've got.
I'm tired of the lies and my nerves are just shot.
Pretty maidens see a different view.
They look straight at ya,but they don't see you.
Like a mirror, I see myself in my mothers eyes.
When I feel pain, she's the one who cries.
My truest joy, is to make her dreams come true.
Because for me,there's nothing she wouldn't do.
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