Blogging, Mental Health, Poetry, Writing

Don’t Feel Like a Poet Anymore

I don’t feel like a poet anymore. The last poem I wrote was in 2011.

I have had writer’s block for a long while now!

I’m going to follow more poetry blogs to see if that gets the juices flowing.

I’m still going to post about mental health and living with Bipolar Disorder, but I don’t want that to be my blog’s only defining attribute.

I’m sorry I haven’t been online very much. I haven’t felt well. I’m recovering, but I still have days that I struggle to get through.

I was following Millionaire’s Digest and there were so many posts that I couldn’t see the blogs that I have also been following which means that I missed out on a lot of your posts!

I don’t follow Millionaire’s Digest anymore. They have interesting tips but the glut of posts crowds out other blogs I’m interested in.

I hope you have a happy mental health and writing day!

 

Uncategorized

Be Ok…

I was lying down and listening to Pandora when Ingrid Michaelson’s “Be Ok” came on the station.

Open me up and you will see
I’m a gallery of broken hearts
I’m beyond repair, let me be
And give me back my broken parts

Just give me back my pieces
Just give them back to me please
Just give me back my pieces
And let me hold my broken parts

I have broken parts, but I’ll be Ok.

Ugh…”I’m No Good” by Amy Winehouse is now playing…

It’s true, I’m No Good…

It’s better this way.

That you don’t know me.

Blogging, Poetry, Writing

Luciano-A Funeral Dirge (Poem)

  • You passed me by in gardens of stone
  • Placed roses beside my feet
  • Said prayers as you danced away
  • With ones who wore diamonds on their toes
  • Until fate intervened
  • And your face melted
  • In a fire of chaos
  • Lying in bed
  • Your flesh falling from the bone
  • I placed it back
  • And read you my songs
  • Each day
  • You awakened more
  • Until you no longer saw my granite
  • Until I became a gem you’d sworn you’d seen before
  • Though had never quite known.
  • Love was born
  • Two faces who had weathered life worn
  • A light into our beings
  • Infused as though we were one
  • I left a foreign land
  • For your native home
  • And so-I tended your vines
  • Centuries long yours
  • I pressed your grapes tenderly
  • Just as I reattached your flesh to your bones
  • I nursed your child
  • As I nursed you in charity and in poverty
  • Our garden was a splendid spread
  • There were no servants-only family
  • No hierarchy
  • Only loved ones
  • We were intimately secluded
  • But touched the world with our wine stained hands
  • Until a traveler you thought might interest me entered our lives
  • A native from my own
  • Introductions awkward
  • And undesired
  • An omen of impending doom
  • I ignored all of the signs
  • And lived in your garden
  • In your vineyard
  • In your castle
  • Until an enemy of your father
  • Struck you down
  • As metal flew into every inch of your body
  • I was blanketed by the native to whom you introduced me
  • I escaped from beneath him
  • Crushed the grapes that lay beside you
  • That mingled with your blood
  • The native watched
  • I wouldn’t let him touch you
  • I buried you
  • And went home
  • To our castle
  • And in the hours of grief
  • I died
  • Staring out upon our garden
  • Bereft of your beauty and my timeless form.
  • –Carolina Maine

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I have considered using this as a prologue to a novel I have mapped out.

What do you think?