I have been accepting
that I lost my courage to be vulnerable,
and I hovered over words that would not flow,
For my emotional tsunami hides in the insufferable,
I was just afraid to let this ache inside me go.
My stygian soul then scheduled my mental breakdown
And the photosynthesizes of my overwhelming pain,
I have established that in this
psychological baptism I drown,
But to grow is to immerse
in my sacrifice and appertain,
Should I allow myself to break into small pieces,
then composition myself with love
and become a Kintsugi soul?
My fearless spirit encapsulates a warrior
in the world of Ulysses,
So I unboxed my Worth and discovered my Hope,
To understand my veracity is to feel it in my core,
That running only tires the internal child
who is weeping,
Those tears power my garden of humanity
while being restored,
Unearthed healing from truth
in the eternal spring of the reaping.
Asclepius, one cannot build from sand,
Such light and shifting grains as mortals be.
The wind and tide shall warp what e’er is planned,
Foundations fade before the pounding sea.
And yet, when grains of sand flow through my hand,
I smile at warmth and richness I know not.
Through falling columns have the sea I scanned,
As through a fog, and this the vision brought.
Once, weary, weary, weary on the sea,
One weary, wandering sailor, long away.
‘Tis torpor, tempest, tedium, weary he,
When wind-whipped waves whisk words on salty spray.
“Rain-hardened sailor, welcome now,
The ocean storms here mend their ways.
No lonesome mists embrace the prow,
Here glegful otters tend their bays.
This oaken isle, this Avalon,
O’er the futile, beating sea;
This dream-cast realm, this jewel at dawn,
Where thought is regal, talent free.
And here beyond the reach of might,
Where ancient tribal flaws decay,
With cobbled streets and spires alight,
New thought, new form, new love, hold sway.”
When whence these words surveyed had he,
Before his eyes a visage be.
‘Twas older than eternity,
That face that sank beneath the sea.
I’ve got a thesaurus and a gun
arming torpor trigger fingers;
Poetry at point blank range,
silver bullet savage;
Deliberate verse
detonated,
you never
felt the
hit.
Dive in deep ! Enjoy
awakening from stupor
surpassing torpor.
Confusion may quarrel.
Consciousness runs parallel.
Dive in deep ! Enjoy
Dormant dreamy desires drowned.
Humble heart is churned,
squeezed, swirled, whirled in ego.
Solemn soul to hesitate.
Dive in deep ! Enjoy
sinking in serenity
on eternity,
beyond contour of self -space
merging in ethereal hymn.
Dive in deep ! Enjoy
to introspect, meditate,
also contemplate
to converge in uniqueness
on cosmic resolution.
Dive in deep ! Enjoy
path on divine magnetism
of supreme power.
Sense self realisation !
Ultimate satisfaction.
Just another long afternoon
Of another long long day
Mind numbing weariness
That just won’t go away.
My eyelids are heavy
I just want to sleep
For once no need
To be counting sheep
The cat is staring at me
In almost hypnotic control
It’s so intense as though
He’s penetrating my soul.
I break his gaze with
A great effort of will
I feel in my mind that
He’s staring at me still
There are so many things
That I really should do
But it’s taking all my effort
Not to sleep the day through.
The stairs loom like mountains
I’ll need to conquer tonight
For maybe three hours sleep
And a mostly broken night.
Fatigue and insomnia seem
Somehow to combine
And the days this week
Seem to be a blur of time.
A cycle of existence that
Some how seems to take
A huge force of will to gather
The mental strength to break.
It may still take days but I know
There’ll come a time when
I’ll break free from this torpor to
Get life back on track again
“Activity makes my life colorful. To be quiescent is relaxing, but when it prolongs, I feel I am dead.” – By Poet
Day after day passes
With rarely a purpose to fulfill
Thoughts after thoughts flit,
With nothing to hold in memory.
I am stuck on the lonely highway of life.
No addendum!
Up the long path of life,
From joy to pain,
And from pain to joy,
I have been oscillating all these years.
Now my mind is empty.
No exhilarating emotions.
No vexing thoughts
No nagging concerns
No convulsing tidal swaying
Like a placid lake with no ripples
Like a sponge with water squeezed out
Like a kite refusing to soar high,
I am now a bough on a sturdy stem,
Resisting to be touched by the wind!
You might think I have learned,
To look at life with a level brow
And enjoy the stillness of my mind,
When the mad scramble in me dies.
Perhaps you are right.
But I detest this mental hiatus,
This numbing languorousness,
This sickening emotional torpor!
Am I becoming a log over the moving currents?
From this quiescent state, I look for a release.
Written: September 07, 2023
______________________________________________________________
I can't sleep at night, so I stay alive.
I am awake, and I search and strive.
I'm no warrior, just a bumbling scrambler.
Restless nights render me a rambler.
I crave a paladin, a light to guide my way.
Yet, gloom reigns, and all hope wanes away.
Into a cloud of tedium and torpor of a tongue.
I long for silence, for optimism to be wrung.
Capsized in an abyss of frustration,
For solace, a catalyst in this desolation.
My gloom clings to such a symbiote spawn.
Snarled metastatic root quotum-dot drawn.
Hush, my tired soul, and let illusions fade.
In this darkness, all that is a masquerade.
Seek not the light, for it is only a gleam.
Rather, apply the recess to deem it a dream.
In the gloom, where shadows dance and play.
It is a quiet oasis where anxiety withers away.
I need faith, resilience, and perseverance.
To explore this squalid earth sans inherence.
Convulsions with consciousness.
Spasm and exaggerated sensitiveness.
Alternate constipation and diarrhoea.
Paralysis after apoplexy,parts cold,numb,
and emaciated.Coldness of whole body
and Cannot get warm in bed at night.
Choking,or spasmodic contraction in throat.
Sharp and shooting pains in thighs,with torpor
and paralytic weakness and tottering of legs.
Tendency of legs to become numb and dead.
Paralysis,coldness,and insensibility of legs.
Cramps in feet and toes.Burning itching in toes.
Spasms which the patient compares to electric shocks.
(Wehm,Nafsiyat,Aqua,Drink,Drugs,Injection,Game Over)
I would like to find something, perhaps
a metaphor or a simile that would surprise
and cut through the torpor, some volt laden
charge of insight to jolt a nerve or to set
a synapse off into a spasm.
I would even settle for the last dying
embers of a vision left smoldering
by a Prophet or a Sharman high on fungi,
to cradle and bring back a spark to light
the dark pit of a numbing indifference.
But the evening washes out almost
to the point of exhaustion as I picture
seaweed endlessly clawing at rocks
like the fingers of a drowning soul,
senseless, disconnected, yet unable to let go.
Then this.
As Rumple in blankets,
I vegetate in unfilled torpor,
Blind enervation adrift among
Extinguished stars, among dark
Torpid galaxies where I am a stranger.
I find only dead planets, windswept and barren,
Where molecules of a distant living past
Are vaguely recalled,
And where conceptions,
Convictions all collapse.
Exhaustion is an avalanche
Making no distinction between
vacuity and repletness.
Sleep believes nothing,
Not even the animated chatter of
My dreams.
southern summertime
a temporary torpor ~
salamander sleeps
soon comes coffee’s steep
morning melody - no cheep
all robins asleep
3:30 - much too early, when i arose, to aeropress the grounds
soon the blessed send
of true wakefulness and blend
if my knees will bend
i will make my way out of torpor unless my eyelids beat me down
catch a dreamy cab
beg a few more zees ~ their fab
go for pillow grab
back under the covers for i’m yawning; not ready for the cockcrow
3/7/2022
Sun's in the sky, birds are on the wing,
wife's gone shopping, doing her thing.
Lawn needs mowing, things need to be fixed,
what to do first? My feelings are mixed.
One day you're a Prince, the next you're a pauper,
I'll just sit here in my afternoon torpor,
and ponder a while on life's vicissitudes,
the course of my life and it's various interludes.
That last glass of wine has made me quite dizzy,
Christ! She's back from the shops, time to look busy.
Soft as gossamer, dew fresh, new,
Primrose painted with life anew,
Regeneration breathes in the earth,
Indications of nature's new birth,
Nascent and fragile, burgeoning life,
Glows and grows like a pregnant wife.
Sultry and sated, feted and frazzled,
Under blue sky the parched earth dazzled,
Midsummer madness and trips to the sea,
Melancholy moments and Devon cream tea,
Evenings of torpor, humid and hot,
Radiant sunsets in foreign hot spot.
As the crow follows the plough,
Umber meadows are fallow now,
Time slows down to Autumn's clock
Upland shepherds move their flock
Mist covered mornings and mellow light
Northern birds prepare for flight
White with frost on crystalline trees,
Ice cold winds enshroud and freeze,
Nature sleeps as the Winter bites,
Tedious days and long, dark nights,
Elemental for nature's cycle,
Rapturous, redolent, raucous, vital.
The female who
inhabited her
that night bare
outside and inside
the truths of the male
that entered without shame ...
She was allowed to walk
to the human wall,
with the tongue
thirsty for love ...
Received the balm
from that other mouth
with torpor ...
Thr lover flowed
all holy sap
that she received with joy
and made him come ... and came ...
Her pleasure so expanded
that her wound has sutured ...
The pleasure so scheduled
finally confirmed ...
If there is joy and pleasure
in love ... never again
She wanted to live away
of this lov
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