The Call - a poem on Water

This was also written on the 25th April 2014, we were given the choice of subjects, Earth, Air, Fire and Water. the option was there to pick one at random but I felt that I wanted to follow my inspiration. after a moment of though I settled on "water" and wrote this somewhat spiritual piece. And it occurs to me that in a spiritual sense Water is the element of emotion and feeling, a fitting subject for my recovery and for poetry itself.

The call

 

I call to you.

Can you hear me

From this blue womb?

Too deep for light to live

I sleep and wait amid

The monsters lost from sight.

I keep.

 

I call to you.

Can you hear me?

Currents contract and break,

And ripped from dark and silence

I wake.

My armour pulled away,

The whirlpool flays my skin.

I begin

To surface.

 

I call to you.

Can you hear me?

Through pressure crushing,

I push,

Push,

Push!

From the depth I rise

With screams and cries

I break free and see

The world arise

From blue and green,

Cleansed and clean.

A Queen.

 

I call to you.

Can you hear me?

From the roar of my chariot

Of foam and gore,

I cut the cord,

And race the waves

To golden shores.

 

I call to you.

Can you hear me?

I am born.

 

Lost Treasure - a poem on Lost treasure

this was written on the 25th April 2014 on the subject of "Lost treasure". as you can see I have been very uncreative with the title but I decided to go for a more light hearted approach and I enjoyed writing something with a comic edge.

Lost Treasure

 

The candle burns.

Each drop of wax a penny

Up in smoke.

Windows sealed tight,

Curtains drawn against the light

Of the frigid winter moon.

And in the gloom I sit,

Bedecked in flannel fleece and wool,

Breath flecked with crystal cold

And the scold of acid slowly gnawing,

Drawing a picture of feasts unhad.

 

 I sit.

But like the princes with her pea

I squirm and wriggle

As something niggles

Underneath of me.

 

A pound!

The round and smooth salvation.

Water in the dunes.

Shelter in the storm.

 

A pound!

I stand,

I pace

And race my mind

With thoughts of cakes and sweets and pies,

And medium fried,

With fizzy drinks besides.

 

A pound!

An hours’ heat,

A royal treat,

To warm my heart and hands and feet.

An hours’ light,

The pure delight

Of dragons, swords and sages.

Just a few pages,

A chapter maybe

In a world that’s far from here.

 

I shed my shroud

And laugh out loud.

The joy within my veins.

With cold I shiver

But inside I quiver

For ink and sugar coated dreams.

 

A pound!

 

I had it here.

I had it just a moment ago.

I would know,

I would have heard

If I had dropped it.

A storm of blankets, cushions and hopes

Swirl like snow.

Where did it go?

Where did it go?

I had it just a moment ago.

 

I had a pound.

With despair beyond measure,

In a soul bereft of pleasure

I admit defeat.

I resign myself to the bittersweet memory,

The ghost of my lost treasure.

The Runner - a poem on Loving Yourself

This poem was also written on the 12th April 2014 on the subject of "Loving yourself"

The Runner

 

All my life I’ve been running.

Running from the mirror,

Running from reflection

Held up by hands of friends,

By media boards

And hooks of introspection.

 

I run from the monster.

I run from the beast

That pulls itself like a fish from a silver lake.

Growing legs,

Growing claws,

Growing,

Evolving,

Dragging,

Crawling,

Leaping,

Sprawling and spreading dark dripping wings,

Woven from old skins,

Shed skins,

Each wearing my face,

The mask I placed

Before me for the world to see.

I run.

 

I run in fear and fright and terror.

The beast takes flight

And comes.

The tearing wind races me,

Catches me.

The sound of screams and cries,

Of spoken lies,

Of breathless sighs

Holds me fast,

Freezes my feet.

I am coming for myself.

The beast approaches.

I run.

 

I fall.

 

I fail.

 

When life returns I stand on shaky legs

That feel like someone elses.

I see the mirror before me.

I see the beast.

 

Shed faces scream in fear and pain

As they’re torn away.

Shredded wings fall

Like feathers,

Like petals.

I tear and pull.

I wrench and rip.

I strip the layers down,

Down,

Down.

Through tears and blood

I see myself,

Naked,

New born.

I run.

Slow and wobbly,

The first steps of a colt.

I stumble and trip

And stagger and slip

And find my pace.

My new legs fly

And this is why

I run.

White-collar blues - a poem on Colour

This poem was written on the theme of "colour" on the 12th April 2014

White-collar blues

 

Today is blue.

How true

A simple phrase of code

To bode the state

Of calling figures for the day.

 

Today is blue.

They knew

By some grand and cryptic plan

The state of play,

The rate at which the hue subdues

To wash the world

To flat line grey.

 

Today is blue.

Too few

Are left within the glass,

Where pigments fall

Like grains of sand

Marking life gone past.

 

Today is blue.

We do

The endless grind of souls

To find a scrap of food for life.

No,

Not life,

For pain and strife

Drawn out like ingrown hairs

When no one cares

Is not life,

Just existence.

Just merely being there.

 

Today is blue.

Our due

Is slowly pulled away.

A carrot on a string

So bright

We do not see the colours fade

So that everywhere our gaze is not

Will crumble into haze.

                              

Today is blue.

We knew.

The ink of contract signed and sealed.

The blue of hypothermic cold,

Of bruises new

Of pains of old.

We were told.

We all were told,

But none of us would listen.

 

Today is blue

 

When I am old - a poem on Age

this is a poem based on "age" written on the 21st of March 2014, my first session with the group.

When I am old

 

When I am old I will live on a mountain,

In a dwelling made of earth and sky.

My hands will be hard from building walls,

My back will be bent from lugging hauls,

My skin will be brittle from braving squalls,

And my knees will be battered from breaking my falls.

 

When I am old I will live in the woods,

With kin of fur and feather and scale.

The Owl to watch and guar from guise,

The Fox to comfort and dry my eyes,

The Bat to hear my calls and cries,

 And the silent Salmon to tell me no lies.

 

When I am old I will live in a tree,

With only the stars as a mirror.

I will be Orion, righter of wrongs,

I will be the Great Bear, be solid and strong,

I will be Pegasus and fly through the throng,

I will be gentle Venus with love warmth and song.

 

When I am old I will live and be free.

When I am old I will live and be me.

Welcome!

I have decided to set up this blog to keep a record of my progress on the road to good mental health.

Having recently moved from Preston, England to Dundee, Scotland I was eager to find help for my depression, and it was in doing so that I found Art Angels.
this wonderful facility provides the space and materials for people with mental health problems to heal themselves through creative arts. they have art groups as well as drama, photography, drawing and creative writing, which has been the inspiration for this blog. the amazing people at Art Angels provide all this free of charge and I truly could never have imagined a place like it existing. I am so glad that it does.

I will be posting weekly, sharing the writings that I do in the creative writing group in the hopes that it will provide a picture of my journey and my healing.

I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.

Aiden