Taking back the Power


I am every colour of the rainbow and many shades in between. I own no label, no label owns me. A diagnostic homo Sapien, my bipolar is not me. I am not disabled, though my condition can be disabling. The rollercoaster is a metaphor I narrate in the blank verse of my behaviour, the discourse of my thought’s disorder and my textual laughs and screams. Bipolar is a creative sickness. Psychiatry is a symptom of an intellectual disease

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Moods


If my psychosis was a colour
It would be purple.

Screaming violet dreams of pain and pleasure
Obscene
Streams of consciousness
That never
Surface beyond my mind.
How I treasure
My own emotional extremes.

Until I am brought down by
Brown and green
Moods of the lower order
Servants of disordered
Rationality and boredom.

Joy and misery define life
But purple defines me.

Sent to Coventry


The corridors
Within the city walls
Echo
With the sound of torment
And in Coventry Central Hall
Coffee cups rub up against crucifixes

February was an unforgiving month
Spreading thoughts
Like breeding moss
From worker to boss
About the possibility of ruling class surrender

A pretender
To the throne
Of the home
The housewife mourns
Her tears roar like thunder

And those who try
Fail to die
Ending up on hospital wards

What is to become of Jesus Iscariot
Formed in Stoke Aldermore
Coventry
Baptised in delusions
An allusion
Waiting to be born?

For, we who have history
Cut our throats every second day
And question why
The oppressed do not try
To find a better way out

It is what life is all about
Teeth your grit and bear it

A poem in honour of world mental health day


A WRITER’S FALL

Climb the hill
Slowly
For honesty quickly
Falls
When spirits are
Low
Open doors close
No more I
Am
You never really
Were
Corporeality is blind
Illusion
Displaced by thought
Intrusion
And the deluded
Existence
Of physical laws
Like an ass
Seeking a brain
Transfusion
Marked with a
Cross embedded in
Its back, a
Holy autograph, yielding
Comforting nuzzles of
self-
Affirmation