I had somewhat of a mental “funk” day yesterday. I don’t realty know why I felt that way, but I just felt so heavy of heart and thought. It led to something good, though.

The final line of this poem, I saw….somewhere, I’m not sure exactly where I read it now. But it festered as I ruminated all night at work, and voilà! It led to this:


Yesterday, I
succumbed to misery.
Entrapped by turmoil
of unknown vagary,
I escaped into slumber.
But I found only tainted repose,
dreams with torment embroiled.
Awake, I was yet cumbered
by nameless woes
which delighted my joy to defy.
But that was yesterday….


8 responses

  1. yes that last line.. lines. bg, we need to talk about what you write about. a discussion, for those who battle valiantly, at night and alone. open plain talk.

    help me not lose touch k?

    thanks for the call-in to your blog. It’s a beautiful poetic voice you have.


    1. Certainly. I’m quite open about my internal struggles w bipolar and depression. I just try to take each day at a time. Feel free to contact me anytime you need to chat, i know how it is!

      1. 😉 thank you soo much. I’d like to plug in to the poetry scene too. amazing how they go together, art and emotional health.

        thanks again.


      2. They really do. Visual, lyric manifestation of what’s inside. Be it good or bad, it needs to be let out. I write mostly for myself, but i also really hope my words can help or comfort someone else. We’re never alone, even when we are.

      3. well put bg. altho this question of writing for ourselves? o girl. I want to blow wide open on that (but not here 😉 )
        already have when dealing with UofO and duality.i/thou is it that different than love uniting the one and the many?

        blah sorry for my soul splatter. Lets keep up discussion, can we?


      4. Feel free to blow wide open anytime haha. I’m sorry tho, i don’t understand the abbreviations “bg” or “UofO”.

        Ongoing discussions are good, I’d like to encourage anyone and everyone to converse w me and each other here, more so than we do now.

      5. bg is you 😉 UofO is union of opposites, and the topic is open?
        nice. I write for me and you. <—unfounded opinion that makes me feel vulnerable.

        but rightly so. I don't want to admit I write 4 you all, because what happens on lonely nights when if feel reeeeally bad? I'll tell myself, "I don't write for them anyhow…"

        right. bullshit.

        some people genuinely write as a sole personal self-nurturing exercise, but the bulk of us make those statements to defend our lonely hearts.

        no, I write for me, but without you guys, I would think., yell, ruminate, laugh and do many things, but probably not write.


      6. Oh gosh haha! I should have gotten the BG without explanation. I do tend to be a bit dense of a moment…. But we won’t discuss that!

        For me, until this last month, I’ve never shared much of my poetry or prose, unless it was an assignment or a gift for someone. I began writing around ten years of age, but was very secretive about it. It started as journaling, which i still and always will do (and that is always solely for myself alone), but eventually started composing poetry and stories in my mid teens. It’s always been my self-prescribed therapy for dealing with the dark shadows of my past. Much of that early work is belies that, and is dark and morbid, mostly unfit for other eyes. Over the years, I’ve honed my craft so that, while some is still dark, morbid, or somber in its way, I make a conscious effort to add at least a little hope therein, whether or not I feel it at the moment. Sometimes that’s hard, nearly impossible; sometimes i don’t even try to incorporate that hopeful element.

        While all that seems to stray from the tact I was using, it also works into this:

        I fell in love w reading, w words as a very small child on the laps of my parents. Then I fell in love w writing, and it’s saved my life and likely my sanity (what i have of it, anyway lol). There have been so many poems that have touched me, moved me, given me hope or encouragement, or just let me know I wasn’t alone in the dark abyss, and I’ve found much needed comfort.

        Sharing my writing openly is hard for me, though I’m getting better. But I just feel like, what if something I write about how i feel, or felt, is just the thing someone needs to read to get through another soul-rending moment? In probability, i don’t think it will be me. But i have to try.

        So yes, in a way it has, to an extent, become something for others. But for myself first. Everything i write, good or bad, beautiful or silly, I’ve written because I needed to; for me, an introvert, a loner, the words must come eventually; and it’s always in written form. I don’t mince what I share, i share the pieces i love, that i find beautiful, the ones that were truly inspired and seemed to write themselves. I share most of the bad ones, the ones i don’t like, that labored long over and couldn’t get right, however hideous and embarrassing. I’m a real girl, imperfect and flawed. I try to be honest in all, and I feel it would be dishonest, in this format, to only post the “perfect” poems (if i did that, there would be few). I feel everyone is entitled to see my base-est, flawed works too. The only things i have posted are the unfinished ones.

        And now i must apologize for such a long reply.

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