a poem i wrote

[lmarie23]

this is a poem i wrote about my relationship with my counselor, maybe you can relate. it was inspired in part by a poem the poet Anne Sexton wrote.

What has it come to, Jim, my needing you?
We dance in words in your office.
You advance, with a penetrating question; I retreat.
I advance, with an unanswerable question; you retreat.
No answer quite satisfies.

I want to do the right thing.
I want to be helped.
I don’t know what I am supposed to say
for this to happen.

Sometimes I complain that the things we speak of are too difficult.
I don’t want to talk about this, I say.
So you say, what do you want to talk about?
But I don’t know about that either.

I like talking about easy breezy things like art and school,
telling my anecdotes like I enjoy.
But how does that help anything?
Don’t I need help?
Isn’t that why I am here?

You have helped me a lot, in the past weeks.
Now, somehow, I falter, not knowing
what I’m supposed to say anymore.

 

[AWorkInProgress]

this is a poem i wrote about my relationship with my counselor, maybe you can relate. it was inspired in part by a poem the poet Anne Sexton wrote.

What has it come to, Jim, my needing you?
We dance in words in your office.
You advance, with a penetrating question; I retreat.
I advance, with an unanswerable question; you retreat.
No answer quite satisfies.

I want to do the right thing.
I want to be helped.
I don’t know what I am supposed to say
for this to happen.

Sometimes I complain that the things we speak of are too difficult.
I don’t want to talk about this, I say.
So you say, what do you want to talk about?
But I don’t know about that either.

I like talking about easy breezy things like art and school,
telling my anecdotes like I enjoy.
But how does that help anything?
Don’t I need help?
Isn’t that why I am here?

You have helped me a lot, in the past weeks.
Now, somehow, I falter, not knowing
what I’m supposed to say anymore.

Truth thru expression. I like it Marie(hope that's your name lol). Still trying to grasp the last part thou.

I don't want to go into a huge essay. My mind is forming whole line of thought. I'll just tell you this, God loves humility. He knows the truth.

 

[Jeshu]

I wrote this poem soon after my third psychosis. I was still busy with the wicked voices in my head and Jesus showed me the victory of the cross was true for all that as well.

Liberation.
The Spirit wind whispers His presence inside of me.
Do not fear the claws of evil misery.
Christ's blood has set you free.
Come walk with Me into eternity.
Though the evil slash their hate in envy.
You walk the highway of God's love decree.
So once more you shall see.
Your enemies final destiny.
As that is your Saviour's victory.

(my response.)
I tremble and I shake.
My lips quiver and I quake.
What can I say to Him my Lord?
The wicked shall die by His sword.
For what can I do but kneel in awe.
All evil gone -- is what I saw.


Gerry

 

[goldenviolet]

poetry is a wonderful exspression of our inner passions.
even 'dark' poetry is a deep well that is nice to peer inside. the many sides of reality. i hope you share your poems with your therepist. i'm sure he would appreciate insight into your thoughts. ~ love dee

 

[Soulwings]

That was amazing, Lynne (I think?). What poem inspired it? because I've got Anne Sexton's whole anthology and am working my way through it now - I love her work (have you ever read "Music Swims Back to Me"? if not, you must!). Anyway, the poem you wrote... so very true. I've been exactly - well, almost exactly - where you are. *hugs*

And yes, I agree with Dee - writing poetry is a wonderful way of expressing ourselves when simple prose would not do our emotions, feelings, and statements justice. So do keep writing, and I hope that you keep sharing! ♥

 

[HisArrow]

I like both poems! Thanks for sharing!

 

[lmarie23]

Thanks for the compliments, everyone! Dee, I agree that poetry is a wonderful way to express "inner passions." I have shared that poem with my therapist, though he didn't comment on it. I email him a lot, lol.

Gerry, I like your poem as well.

Soulwings, the poem that inspired it is from a book of Anne Sexton's called "Letters to Dr. Y." (Dr. Y was her psychiatrist). It was a journal she kept in the mental hospital, I think. It doesn't have a name, but here is how the poem begins:

"What has it come to, Dr. Y.
my needing you?
I work days,
stuffed in a pine-paneled box.
You work days
with your air conditioner gasping
like a tube-fed woman.
I move my thin legs into your office
and we work over the cadaver of my soul.
We make a stage set out of my past
and stuff painted puppets into it.
We make a bridge toward my future
and I cry to you: I will be steel!
I will build a steel bridge over my need!
I will build a bomb shelter over my heart!
But my future is a secret.
It is shy as a mole."

That's the first stanza of the poem.... don't you love her work? I'll have to check out that music poem. My favorites are "More than Myself" and "Said the Poet to the Analyst." I can't find More than Myself in her complete poems, but you can read it on this site: http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/annesexton/9325

Lynne

 

[Soulwings]

I do love her work. She uses the most amazing similes and metaphors, stuff that you would never really come up with on your own, especially in the first stanza of that poem. Everyone has a different poem-writing style, and hers is wickedly awesome. I feel so close to her, as well, since although I don't know much about her as a person, I do know basically her life story, and a lot of the stuff that she went through is stuff that I've gone through in the past. The same with Sylvia Plath - however, I like Anne Sexton's work better. I suppose Plath's poetry might be more reachable now that I've learnt (through two poetry classes at uni) how to delve deeper, below the surface of most poetry. Anyway, that's enough rambling! I'll check those two poems out - I think I just read "The Poet and the Analyst," but I can't remember. And I've not read "More than Myself." Yet, that is.

♥

 

[Soulwings]

"I tapped my own head;
it was glass, an inverted bowl.
It's small thing
to rage inside your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it was more than myself."

Can I just say..... wow?!?

 

[lmarie23]

"I tapped my own head;
it was glass, an inverted bowl.
It's small thing
to rage inside your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it was more than myself."

Can I just say..... wow?!?

lol, i know. i love it!

 

[lmarie23]

I do love her work. She uses the most amazing similes and metaphors, stuff that you would never really come up with on your own, especially in the first stanza of that poem. Everyone has a different poem-writing style, and hers is wickedly awesome. I feel so close to her, as well, since although I don't know much about her as a person, I do know basically her life story, and a lot of the stuff that she went through is stuff that I've gone through in the past. The same with Sylvia Plath - however, I like Anne Sexton's work better. I suppose Plath's poetry might be more reachable now that I've learnt (through two poetry classes at uni) how to delve deeper, below the surface of most poetry. Anyway, that's enough rambling! I'll check those two poems out - I think I just read "The Poet and the Analyst," but I can't remember. And I've not read "More than Myself." Yet, that is.

♥

yeah, i've never gotten as into plath either, though her story is good. anne sexton is my favorite.

Lynne

 

[HisArrow]

Wow, these are sure neat poems. May I send these poems to some other people?

 

[AWorkInProgress]

haha indeed good poems.

Thought of making a poem makes my head hurt. haha

 

[lmarie23]

Wow, these are sure neat poems. May I send these poems to some other people?

Sure, HisArrow.

 

[Buttermilk]

Great poems, do you have any more?

 

[Jeshu]

Great poems, do you have any more?

I have countless poems all written over the last 10 years of sickness.

The poem below was written after my second psychosis I was still strafing from the damage my madness done to my relationship with my wife. This poem is how I was feeling about that all.


To you.
I long after your spirit so gentle of touch and voice.
Delights of peace and harmony your simplest choice.
The gentle breeze of your presence to make my body tingle.
The loving delights when our spirits in Him become single.
To know you better is my choice of heart.
A cooling moment when you depart.
I feel safe in your judgment.
Hurt in your disappointment.
And joy in the smile of your contentment.
As I'm proud of your every achievement.
I feel frustrated when I can't read You.
Or don't understand why that is what you do.
For I constantly need to know.
What direction your love does blow.
Otherwise how can I get closer to you?
Not knowing when harm I might do?
To our precious love so abused.
As in times past?

Part of yourself denied, is what I vex.
My being causing you inner shipwrecks.
Am I still causing hurt and strife,
Inside my beloved wife?
Because I am to blind to see,
That sometimes I cause you misery,
All because I am me?
It is so hard to bear such responsibility.
When I love you so and want so much more……
To give what has been slain in me so sore
So out of reach for me to give or enjoy.
How this my heart does annoy.
Yet I know that you are waiting there for me.
Seeing me captive seeing me free.
How I can cry for you from out of my inner jail.
When I see all that you do without any fail.
While I'm just an emotional demolition squad.
Watching myself in anguish rot.
After I have blown myself away once more.

Darling I don't know fully what has gone wrong.
For though my love for you is still so strong.
Lots else inside of me has badly crashed.
Much of me has been completely smashed.
For I gave my love away to gain even more.
Yet I lost so much to Devil's evil harlot.
For see how sweet your smile at me can be
Still out of reach, you can be to me.
Seeing your heart seek my love.
Knowing mine is not enough.
Wondering about the love I feel inside.
Whenever you come into my mind.
Yet I can't seem to give what I ache to impart.
To take you to my dwelling place of heart.
Offering myself so destitute and exposed.
Telling you that I still love you the most. (After Jesus of course.)
For how I long to be simply at your side,
With the inner heartfelt joy for my bride,
Filling my every senses.

Has remorse not been helpful enough to me?
Can broken heartedness not find plenty mercy?
Your love says it all – faithfully each day.
Your love for me – is my Father on display.
Still I can't seem to reach out inside of me.
Emptiness you in my eyes must then see.
I can be so frustrated that I then fail.
So easily I run this way of the rail.
Blindly hurting your love for me.
Even bringing you much misery.
The pit is just so deep from that point of view.
My own self can make me spew.
Yet how can I change who I am in me?
Without the mental strength to obtain victory?
I am but a captive of my own unfaithful life.
Down trodden by my own inner strife.
And utter uselessness when I'm like this..

I seek after stability in which I can fail.
So like you I can stay on the trail.
I love to hurt your deepest pain.
Rejoice together in your smallest gain.
God's peace in you to touch.
When for me it has become to much.
I like to suffer your failures and your downs.
I love your smiles so please give me your frowns.
Your needs my own to be.
So your heart can help to set us free.
The man to take his woman's hand.
So she can help him up to stand.
Walking together in God's grace.
Until the end of this mortal phase
You JUST YOU and ONLY YOU to be.
With me right beside for all to see.
God's grace and favour.


Gerry.

 

[lmarie23]

I wrote this poem while I was in the mental hospital a few years ago, after I was handcuffed and put in there against my will, and probably shouldn't have been in there. -Lynne

I am a butterfly.

My day is now, but I cannot capture it.

For my wings are tattered and broken.

Children, playing in the meadow that is my home, keep spotting me.

The flash of color, the movement, the delicacy of my frame fascinates them.

Before I know it, the flower I am resting on, gaining nourishment from, has vanished from my sight.

Clear walls surround me.

I see the blue sky beyond, beckoning me.

But everywhere I go I hit a wall.

The wall is clear, and it seems only I can see it.

Since it is clear, and the beautiful outdoors seems so close, I crash again and again, longing for my former freedom.

Finally the wall disappears, only to be replaced by a new set of walls.

It doesn't matter; a wall is a wall.

The more walls, the more accidents, the more times I fall.

I love the children's attention but I wish they would let me fly free.

They watch me, fascinated with my hypnotic colors, shapes and form.

But this love, this love they give me, it is suffocating me.

As a person cannot live long in a jail cell and still retain their color and spirit, so I must be let out, so that I can try to fly as I am, tattered and hurt may I be.

By protecting me, they are defeating me.

For I am not a dangerous glass-jar butterfly.

I cannot be. Such a thing does not exist.

Butterflies are not dangerous, as it is contrary to their very nature and spirit to be dangerous.

And I am not a snake disguised as a butterfly.

I am simply a butterfly, and I belong in the garden of life.

 

[Jeshu]

This poem goes about the stuff that goes on in my head when I'm unwell.

Lost!!
Lord Jesus I send You a SOS in my flight.
Please come and show me Your might.
For they dragged me into the jungle once more.
And now Lord Jesus I' m so sore.
For they've beaten the crap out of me.
Surrounded me with utter misery.
Spoken in deceitful and torturous mind.
Seeing what inner weakness they could find.
Scorning me with hate and fear.
These evil animals are still so near….
Beast of brute force and tongue.
Treating me as mere human dung.
Leaving me wondering if I am like they say.
Wrong even when I pray.
So I lose myself once more inside.
Patiently waiting till You come back in sight.
For my own sin I cannot fight.
Only Jesus has such perfect might.
His love can change my mortal passion,
If I give my unfaithfulness in confession.
Trusting that His almighty grace.
Also for me shines from His face.

Gerry