Crazy Real

the official blog of author and poet Jennifer Wilson

Month: April 2016 (page 1 of 2)

Poem #17

Sometimes people
you love
disappoint you
and do things you wish
they wouldn’t do
sometimes they don’t
think it will hurt
but it does
and it’s painful
to look at their 
happiness
because they just
don’t get it
and they probably
never will
so you have a 
decision to make
will you let go?
or will you hang on?
and it reminds me
there is no love
without forgiveness.

#16

Poem #16 is an oldie. Flashback to 1992, six years into marriage and three wee ones on the ground. I found this poem in the garage last week while cleaning. It solidified my grasp on the fact that Bipolar Disorder is something I have truly struggled with for my entire adult life…
 
What is it like to be a tightrope walker?
I think I know.
It is to hover
on a thin thread
between sky and earth
and yet
being a part of neither one.
It is to balance–ever so tenuously–
between fear
and self-control
terror
and rationale.
Caught with a scream
held tightly
between your teeth, too busy
concentrating
on your next
perilous
step
to let it out
let it out
let it all out
and risk falling, not knowing if
the net is even there.
Is it there?
Is it gone?
Can I trust, and not hang on?
Can I fall, or did somebody take it
away when I wasn’t looking?
I think it’s gone
but it was no stranger who removed it
it was me.

Halfway there….Poem #15

The octopus
With legs of eight
Or are they arms?
But let’s just wait
And dwell upon
This mystery
Conundrum great
Beneath the sea
If they be arms
Now think of it
His mouth is in
His own armpit
But if they’re legs
(Is it icky
To have eight legs
All long and sticky?)
Then when he eats
You shouldn’t watch
His mouth is there
Within his……………..

Poem 14

I lived
a thousand lives
last night
became
a me
that was not
me
loved
fought
wept
grew
changed
and I awaken
and grieve
for the growth
undone
by lids drawn open
to the new day
Did I 
ride piggyback
on someone else’s
consciousness
for eight
solid
hours?
So vivid
these dreams
they make
reality pale
and tremble
as I wonder
which is
which.

#13

It rears up,
well-known
and familiar as
my own face
it inhales
and
belches
scorching
my best laid plans
with one pass
of its fiery breath
it whispers
loser
fake
ugly
fat
stupid
worthless
hopeless
sick
addicted
useless
broken
and I
stroke the scaly hide
curl up under the leathery wing
its shade is cold
and unwelcoming
but there I make my bed
and I cock my head
to listen
closer.

#12 (for my newly minted 8 year old)

Once
there was 
a wee small child
a tiny thing
a trifle wild
he grew and grew
and grew and grew
as babes, I hear, are 
wont to do
a handsome lad
a strapping son
bringing light
to everyone
before his mom
could think to sigh
he grew to eight
in the blink of an eye
and so the tale
continues on
until the days
are used and gone
My shining jewel,
my Xavier Gem,
we bless the day
we welcomed him.

#11

Oh oh oh
the banjo-o-o
makes me happy-o
makes me wile-o
away the hours in the day-o
makes me smile-o
Steve Martin did it right
And so did that froggie Kermit
sometimes I want to play and play
and simply be a hermit
with my banjo-o-o

#10

 
I awoke
from a dream of you
to reality
and the noise
of fighting
children
and thus
the day began
Yet you followed me
the scent of you
clean
like
cut grass
and
your voice
like rumbling
thunder
low
in my ear
telling me
all will
be well
and so
I continue to dream
though I am
awake.

Just silly…

Poem number 9:
 
O coffee bean
O bean of coffee
you’re better than
a can of toffee
you wake me up
you never fail
good when fresh
but never stale
each morning with
aroma fine
you fill the air
you taste divine
your color is
so rich and deep
without you we’d
still be asleep.

Poem #8

Country Song

So much space in my head
so much room in my heart
since I found you were gone
and then I fell apart

Many questions of why
many things left unsaid
since you chose to be strong
Left with chapters unread

Oh but what do I do now
with all of this space?
and how do I handle
what I can’t erase?

And what will appease
this ache in my heart?
Tell me, won’t you please,
and I’ll make a start

But the quiet speaks low
and the silence is loud
and I guess you’re determined
and I know that you’re proud

So then all that is left
is for me to forge on
stick to my lonely path
find a simple, new song.

And perhaps I will see
that this song’s minor key
means one day I’ll be found
a better me

than we.

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