Dare me to diagnose my condition?
I'm diagnosed with depression
Or rather does depression have me
Even the sad rain cries for me
Or do I cry because of rain
I’m bipolar type one
Or so I’ve been diagnosed
My depression tells me I’m two
Or is my mind a torrent of rain
I’m an addict to dopamine
Or does scarcity seek fullness
I’ll nosh on forbidden fruits till I’m sick
Or is giving up Eden so easy
I’m a disgruntled loner
Or does the loner keep others away
Unable to invite patient guests in
Or am I none of these labels
I’m a crazy worker bee
Or does the hive have me
To the gulags this soldier goes
Or has Solzhenitsyn lost his queen
I am loved by a few someones
Or does someone feed my love
The unlovable embraced by a few
Or does depression dismiss them
I feel the sadness in every rain
I sense earth’s mad polarity
I am a hungry beast to a feast
I’m a lone tiger in a company of wolves
I’m loved even in my lonely Siberia
I’m a question more than definition
Or am I the answer unfulfilled?
Or will I let love go unanswered?
Spin the bottle, hoping it's not me
I dare me to diagnose myself
Categories:
solzhenitsyn, addiction, depression, father, identity,
Form: Free verse
Within the heart of everyone
There lurks an evil mystery.
Undermining good intentions,
Spurring on to malefaction.
God declares, our hearts are wicked,
defiled by sin and selfishness.
Yet in our sight we are upright
With a modicum of malice.
Sinning for the sake of sinning
Not just occasional misdeeds,
But delight in sin and evil,
was Augustine’s apt conclusion.
Solzhenitsyn clearly saw it
As he lay in Russian gulag.
The line between good and evil
runs right through every human heart.
Even gangster Mickey Cohen
thought he was a decent fellow.
With no need for transformation,
Or God’s gift of soul salvation.
Deny not the evil within
Treat it as a venomous beast.
Plead like Paul for God to free you,
Give you grace, to eschew evil.
Categories:
solzhenitsyn, corruption, evil, sin,
Form: Free verse
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
Imprisoned under the communist dictatorship
Of Joseph Stalin,
Survived the horrific conditions
Of the Gulag Archipelago,
And believed that all these
Terrible atrocities happened,
Because "Men have forgotten God."
W.A CHOLT. Copyright Fergal O Reilly. 2020.
30/10/20
Note: Solzhenitsyn was one of the great prophetic voices of the 20th century,
Warning the West against the dangers of Communism and Socialism,
And of the totalitarian nature of such ideologies. We need to heed his warnings
Now more than ever.
Categories:
solzhenitsyn, courage, discrimination, hate, political,
Form: Free verse
Power of Journeys
New horizons speak in hope and pull me to Pablo Neruda’s country
‘Twenty poems of love’ inspired by Santiago Robinson Crusoe Island
Serene landscapes volcanoes Andean mountains are outspokenly funky
I seek the space vibes vastness Chilean seduction loudly and silent
Few books opened my voice more than ‘The Gulag Archipelago’ scripted
by Alesandr Solzhenitsyn and thus my eyes have to explore the Siberian Plain
Despite all that ice a melting pot of souls minds and cultures encrypted
I need to welcome silence once more and Lake Baikal into my inner terrain
‘The Paradise of the Blind’ with heart blooded ink by Duong Thu Huong
wants exploration quiet reflection uncontaminated comprehension
Nature wrapped in philosophy the Mekong Delta is where I belong
Peace solitude reclusion at times require my full travelling attention
On this voyage Pinochet Stalin and Ho Chi Min can stay in their grave
Blending and mixing with beauty wise words Mother Earth is what I crave
Categories:
solzhenitsyn, love, travel,
Form: Rhyme
I
Moby Dick is a classic, so I've been told
tried to read when was younger, tried to read when more old
chastised my own self severely each time
for not having interest in words so sublime.
II
Billy Budd caught attention
and Kafka might mention
Ayn Rand, Solzhenitsyn
rebellist penchant.
III
Don't care much for jewelry or bright shiny things
phone's likely to voice-mail when it ever rings
keepin' up with the Joneses unappetizing
introversion my given from generating.
Norms cramp my style more often than not
I don't watch tv thus have no clue what's hot
making up words when I need them is fun
inside I try fiercely to douse smoking gun.
IV
A gift this life given
sheer mystery resplendent
with wisdom, compassion and love
From whence came the spark
that lent life to dark?
Within without all the same heartbeat.
Categories:
solzhenitsyn, introspection, thank you, words,
Form: Ode
I see you there,
painting a literary facade,
thumbing through Cervantes
as though it has usurped your very being.
Your unenthused stance reveals your ruse
as do your constant glances in my direction.
In my quixotic state, I wonder if you
fancy me your Dulcinea
or if you merely question why
I scribble so wildly upon the page.
You, Sir, are my current inspiration
and I shall not tire until our story ends.
Peripherally I register how slowly you move
toward the books behind my chair.
I want to turn to you and recommend Solzhenitsyn,
third shelf down on the right;
but hesitate to be so revelatory
about my interests.
Now I feel your eyes discreetly moving
up and down my page,
ingesting my words.
Realization hits.
Our eyes meet.
Yours ablaze with the knowledge
of immortalization in my poetry,
mine wickedly feigning innocence.
You turn on your heels and stalk off,
undoubtedly in search of a windmill to best
for your lady fair.
Categories:
solzhenitsyn, imagination, life, on writing
Form: Free verse
In a stolen moment
of solitude I sit
at the base of my
bookshelf and
surrender to swirling
synaptic symphonies of
Solzhenitsyn
In yet another
purloined pause
I pensively peruse
Poe’s pedantically
petrifying ponderings
I desperately desire
a day to dutifully
devour Dickinson’s
dreamy dirges
Alas
my children call
and I must leave
my literary wonderland
all is not lost
for bedtime is near
and Dr. Seuss awaits
Categories:
solzhenitsyn, life, mother, on writing
Form: Free verse