Depression, the wonder about it

We seem to not know or ignore any possibility of there being positives with depression or other mental illnesses. Yet, they are there lurking, not willingly exposing themselves. You might have to dig them out!

I held guilt over the passing of a prisoner in my care in 1978 although it wasnt my fault and in fact he was technically under another officers care. Nevertheless a short time later my brother suicided and I left the jail onto other security jobs but the memory (self blame) remained inside me. In 1994 I was on a boomgate job in an Army camp as a civilian security guard and out of sheer boredom began to pen a poem....my first. I wont print it here as its has triggering ability however it was only 4 verses long and at the end of it I broke down and cried...and the guilt flowed away with my tears. I stumbled on my ability to write poetry and use it as therapy. wow!

Not everyone can write poetry nor appreciate it. In fact I dont like reading others poetry very much for some reason, but I do appreciate the ability some people with mental illness can create or be creative. Many entertainers have mental illness like Stephen Fry, Robin Williams (dec), Van Gogh and so on...not that I'm in their class.

Since that time 25 years ago I've written 250 poems or more, I no longer count them. In 2005, I had a history of sending them to publishers without success. So I turned to victims of crime and began to write to the parents of murdered children. to this day I remain in contact with one that is my mother figure...even though she be younger than I ha!.

THE HOUSE OF WAX

He was busy with the pouring this old man’s name of Max

So I toured his workplace while he toiled, this holy house of wax

There were inventors of a kind and starlets from the stage

There were master minds of talent from another age

There were heroes of the wars and leaders of a group

There were figurines of wax, from every allied troop

I stopped to admire him work, his name tag read just “Max”

“You really are a marvel how you recreate with wax”

I focused on his one off mould and marvelled when it set

This figure of a lady that I’d recently had met

Her arms were open wide, as if about to fly

I asked a simple question, I asked a simple “why”?

Because she is cradling her girls, even though you cannot see

It is the stance she had when they were one and three

He continued to work away, as his making of a sign did end

And I was in total awe of a mirror image of my friend

He rolled out the final cast, to place at the mother's feet

This house of wax curator that I was glad to meet

He placed the sign just right, this single cast of one

The sign read appropriately...“this is the perfect mum”

I can describe the feeling when I begin to write a poem, its euphoric, an upper feeling of sensitivity, a place I am in awe of life and its wonder. Yet I'm also sad, wishing I could change the world.

DAD'S WRINKLES

Soon it became obvious as my ol' man came of age

that the strain of life itself, did complete another page

And as "his" book filled up to approach the final scene

I knew each wrinkle on his face and which ones came from me

As I read the last line of a chapter not complete

it tells me of his twighlight years of which he'd never meet

Dad was never scared to die he faced it brave and strong

And I knew every wrinkle on his face and where they all came from...

Peoptry, or writing can also cheer you up when you effectively write something humourous. It is an expression of mood or a desired mood.

MACK THE MOUSE

My old house was full of mice galore, all of them running across the floor

Even though I caught some in that tiny trap, I couldnt catch the one with the cane and hat.

Eventually he stood up on the loungeroom floorand waved his cane as if it was a war

He said "I've lasted many years in this old house "I have a plan for you" said the wise old field mouse

Well I lowered my ear to the floor to listen for a while, he told me of his plan with a sneeky smile

He said if I could put up with him and his wooden cane, I'd never have any of the other mice, never would I again

So only Mack the mouse is allowed to roam around...he's the only mouse that makes a mousy sound

As soon as another rodent shows his face to me, old Mack chases him off with glee

So if you see him by the door or in the dining room dont chas ehim off or flick him with a broom

He's my little mate, you can give him a little pat, he's also the only mouse around with a cane and hat...

There is poetry that doesnt rhyme. Some people dont get that type of expression. Some of my poems dont rhyme but have strong messages built within them. I've had some people question their worth, they just dont understand them but I've also had people cry when I recite them.

SCATTERBRAIN PAIN

Like rolling Jaffa's down the aisle

Just to irritate

Such was my brain

That at the bottom

- congregate but don't -

communicate....

Oh, the pain of a scatterbrain

Memories of being with "her"

Not obvious to some

Why so many stones are stepped

To cross a river?

Unlike those in denial

I mirror my symptoms, reflect

Befriend and respect

To nurture normality

To no mental order

and own my disorder

Thank goodness (sigh!)

hard to endure, easy to say

"I have a mental illness"

Indeed, I concur,to admit it I prefer

- so damn luckier than her....

Some though can be written for your partner. I leave one every now and then on my wife's dressing table. I left one ther ein March this year an hour before we were to head off for a dinner. so she read it before we went out.

A SERVING OF LOVE

There is a depth wonder in a beating heart

And when it stops- its fate

But today I served up all my love

And hand it on a plate

See there are some things that cant be bought

And others that come free

But of all the gifts you can receive

This is the best of all from me

This one will always beat aloud

But only for my girl

For she rattles every cage of care

To comparison in my world

I serve you up my beating heart

There’s no other like it in your world

I give you it on a dinner plate

For my lady, my only girl….

I hope you benefit from this post. Even if you cannot write poetry, writing letters of your thoughts on a computer is just as beneficial. Inspire yourself, leave your thoughts in text as a way of extending your living ....the wonder of life.

There are bills in the mail but birds by the dam

Sore muscles in my shoulders but fodder on the land

There are tears dropping I really dont understand

until I pause...and realise how life, is wonderful and grand

I place that bill on the table, a form of strife

then write a style that rhymes, all about my life

no longer centreing on lows and upper hype

Give thanks for existing and a hug for my loving wife...

Can you write? Can you write a poem? Try it, it can be your own little inner library.