You never quite forget the hell of it,
the smell of it:
charred flesh and cordite;
and the never ending mortar fire
and sometimes you go mad with it.
I body-rock:
rhythmic repetitive
like a ticking clock,
like a ticking clock,
tick-tick-tick, to-and-fro
not side-to-side like a stick insect
and he asks:
how do you feel about this;
and I say I don’t know,
not being arboreal
I've never lived in trees.
I've never lived in trees.
My feelings for you are inchoate
although I’ve known you
longer than a piece of string
and I can’t help wondering
if that time we smoked all night long
and I got paranoid
whether you just might’ve set fire to the bed
as you rocked to-and-fro in candle light
grinning like a Cheshire cat.
My heart
has the monotony of a metronome
and my mind
is bored with its click-click-click-click
and I think I am bored with you
but as said feelings inchoate.
The garden is overrun by weeds
and ivy strangleholds the trees
and sometimes I think you are strangling me
and I wonder if I should cut and run.
I think my mind is running out of time
and I don’t quite know who or what I am.
And I wonder if this coldness in my breath
is death whispering holding out its hand,
and whether it is or not,
either way do I give a damn.
Anna :o]
Gay at dVerse has us writing beat poems and she
writes: Beat
poems have no set form. They are free verse influenced by blues, jazz, post-war
angst, the feeling of being beat down by society (therefore a little
rebellious) inspired by hallucinogenics (surreal) also influenced by
meditation, Zen Buddhism, Native American and other ethnic tribal lore and folk
stories. The challenge for this article is to take some of these elements
and create your own beat poem.
Not
quite sure the above is one, but I chose to write about post-war angst and the
effects of hallucinogenics. The image
sourced at Wiki is itself sourced from the 'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Research Fact Sheet' authored by The National Institute of Mental Health
(NIMH).
Interestingly
(or worryingly?), the fact sheet advocates cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT)
and I wonder about this having personally seen the damage that can be done in taking this 'talking' path, where
the patient becomes stuck on the merry-go-round of constantly reliving a
traumatic event or events.
Of
course the skills of the counsellor are paramount here but sometimes I wonder
if all this ‘talking’ is to meet the needs of the counsellor…
One
of my great mentors (on this subject and via reading his blog) is The Cockroach Catcher and you may be
interested in reading his posts on PTSD here.
He writes:
What
was most surprising was how the group that had counselling generally faired
worse, much worse than those without any counselling. The group that did best
were the ones that drank, and drank a fair amount.
Please visit his blog and read more.
25 comments:
better run as far as possible..was trying this and that when i was a teen...so dangerous...and i know people who never made it back...
a heady mix
I agree with your tutor: bury it and bury it deep.
And when it resurfaces, as it will, bury it again.
I am so grateful.
dang..what a feel on the end there wondering if you even give a damn...def reminds me a bit of my teen years...i escaped luckily....did smile at thinking you might have set the bed on fire...ha...
This is stunning, I wanted to read it out loud.
A strong poem. Loved the ivy image. >KB
"My heart
has the monotony of a metronome
and my mind
is bored with its click-click-click-click
and I think I am bored with you
but as said feelings inchoate."
This passage really captures the boredom of the Beat Generation (whether twenties or fifties). Very nice.
I applaud "known you longer than a piece of string"! if it is not an old saying, it oughtta be.
great poem. I think you covered things well. It's pretty interesting about the counseling, non-counseling and drinking groups.
Great writing here, the troubled, altered mind is powerfully portrayed. Excellent!
"I think my mind is running out of time and I don’t quite know who or what I am." A great line Anna!
You have certainly make us feel what post-war angst and the effects of hallucinogenics might have meant for some.
Absolutely perfect poetry.. I really so many great lines so I can not really pick out any. The angst and confusion so palpable it hurts to read...
This was wonderful. Made me feel a lot of things. I'm with Brian, reminded me of my teenager years as well.
I think this poem succeeds brilliantly. Your notes were interesting but the poem conveyed everything. The language is what is so poignant and reminiscent of the Beats. The language is not elevated but the stream of consciousness style, yet the metaphors are apt, revealing, and profound. I think you pretty much nailed it here. Excellent work.
This is awesome ... I read it twice, thrice ... lovely :-)
Potent and artistically envisioned - I tend to think virtual reality therapy holds the best hope for treatment of PTSD. The merry go round seems torturous.
Really outstanding write.
I wrote that over 5 years ago and I think no one has managed to change my mind.
When money comes into play the best patients are those that did not die and never get better..
Better still if it is tax payer money.
Even in England , CBT is 50% private.
Indeed, a poem with a beat that says volumes about how we beat our heada against either a wall or someone else's sometimes...that period of angst when we wonder about our identity....a crisis you give a great flow to here in this form...
This was read out loud - there was no other choice and my words in time of a metronome. Love when reading out loud brings a new way of looking at what the writer has penned. I escaped my teenage years thankfully unharmed :-) Great write and smiled at what you wrote here -What was most surprising was how the group that had counselling generally faired worse, much worse than those without any counselling. The group that did best were the ones that drank, and drank a fair amount. Reminds me of something :-)
Excellent Anna I love the way you use language wow I wish I'd written it!
Knowing someone longer than a piece of string, can be the best medicine for them - and oneself - in times of trouble.
Nice verse!
ah i saw your comment at bjorn's and thought yours might be up already...smiles.
Anna, thank you for reading my poems and commenting on my blog. I loved this poem although I am intimidated by free verse. It also makes me think I should reconsider taking another drink (lol).
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