Owning my dark poetry

A post about making peace with my inner darkness and a few bleak poems I’m choosing to own

I sometimes think of the elements that live within me as four highly unsuitable, incompatible housemates.

Water, Fire, Air and Earth been thrown together randomly by someone with a sick sense of humour and now have to make the best of it. There they doss in torment, pissing each other off like the cast of ‘Big Brother’, except no-one ever gets evicted.

Water is my least favourite. If I could evict one, hands down she would go first. She’s a brooding fucker. Loves writing dark, depressing shit.

“What exactly do YOU bring to the table?”

Air likes to ask her directly. (Nothing personal, she’s just rational, matter of fact.)

“Feeling, sensitivity, depth….”

Water answers, her persona somewhere between Wednesday Addams and Adrian from ‘Bread’.

As I went to publish another yet batch of downer poems, Water took the mic like a drippy, pleading baby.

“Sorry….. I’ve just been a bit fed up, I don’t want to infect anyone…..”

She whined.

Fire grabbed it back, calling her pathetic.

“Excuse me? You need to OWN this shit you’ve written! Make NO apologies!”

Air, the intelligent one (who sadly doesn’t spend as much time at home as I’d like) piped up again at this point.

“Have you ever considered that voicing dark thoughts could be cathartic to others? Make them feel less alone with their pain?”

Hm….Air had a point.

Damn you, Air, you clever bitch…..

As I meditated on this, Earth hobbled in, perfectly imperfect, draping her practical arms around me like a motherly pastry shawl.

“Dish it up now before it goes cold. Charred or not. Bit of burnt crust never harmed anyone. Anyway….one person’s burned is another’s well done.”

Full of common sense, that one.

Another blackened poetry pie is served.

(But only if you want some)

Connection

I had a connection, a fondness, affection

Energy peaking in soul resurrection

Edges were smudged, sharp corners were smoothed

My internal infant felt cradled and soothed

Ferns wore dabs of sunrise as globules of syrup

I remembered how horses find pleasure in gallop

Loved like a cat basks in heat after shade

Tongue tingled bubbles of lit lemonade

But ‘connection’ voiced trouble, a drunk after drinking

In riddles and rambles……oh, what was I thinking?

.

I suffered delusion, a blinkered confusion

The devils were winning, my angels were losin’

The mind is a prison, a room with a view

Romantic for princes and fitting glass shoe

Yes, I’d felt a connection…. but maybe I hadn’t

For how can tight knots be so easily unfastened?

All I had was desire, lone bird on a wire

Winged to my night as new death to a pyre

I’d bought into a fantasy, vision of two

Realised I’m alone….and well….what can you do….

Willow

The daffodils stood prim and tall

In frilly crepe against the wall

Outside the church

On loyal watch

But how the willow wept

.

All I noticed was the willow

Willow, where I went

Marauding ghoul, she seemed to follow

Moping figure, bent

Willow bowing, willow brooding

Staring to the void

Lacy shawl edging the river

Begging me to join

“Drown your pain, let’s share our sorrow ”

Her spirit seemed to say

Branches worn as weary nerves

Reflective in her sway

.

I caught the train, planting a grain

Of hope by cherry tree

Still, willow weeps, my heart she keeps

Submerged in misery

Silver Razor Moon

Silver razor moon

How much more is there to shred?

The blade of you, it ribbons me

As I lie cold in bed

You prey on my insomnia

Reducing me to rags

A noose of stars around my neck

As swollen hours drag

Briefly

When you briefly loved me

My days were scented violets

Each storm cloud once above me

Rained only crystal droplets

Your words would gently pave me

A path to glittered future

Encouraging, engaging

Called to my truest nature

But, you passed me as a river

I became a weeping willow

Peering wistfully in water

Never ferried to tomorrow

I think these poems are fairly self explanatory.

Willows featured in a couple because they seemed to be bloody everywhere, recently.

For me, they represent that ‘stopped clock’ time. Everything else goes on around them and they’re just fastened to the moment. I imagine willows screaming inside. Their roots drowning in dark water, their trunks forced to stay and watch flowers grow and animals play.

Anyway, I’ve noticed me noticing more daffodils this week. And that can only be a good thing, can’t it?

PS: I write lots of different things. If you appreciated this piece, you may appreciate more of my poems, located under ‘Poetry’ at the top of my ‘Mother Of Hope’ home page.