Piece of Mind - thought poetry
Piece of Mind
There’s this place I know,
This place I go,
This magical place
Just for I and me.
In my place there’s rainbows,
Colour glitters in sparkling streams,
And the lime-green valleys
In angelic light bathe,
All surrounded by my dreams.
In my place there’s sunshine,
And golden treasures so special to me.
For there in my place
Lives all I love,
So this place I always will be.
To my little world
I go when I’m sad,
For I know it will bring me cheer.
I only need think, and it’s all that I wish,
And this place is always so near.
It’s where dreams are made, anytime, anywhere,
I can go for gratification,
To this place I know,
The place I go
Is my mind, my imagination.
Published: 1996 by Anchor Books in ‘Poetic Hideaways’.
Quite literally from the mind, I composed this on a spontaneous 10 mile midnight walk and wrote it down when I got back. The title is the note I left on my door.
"Gone For A Walk."
Our Man In The Moon has faded,
Now she'll have hers, I mine.
What I thought would last eternally
Has reached the end of time.
Our star in the sky, once put there for us,
Has died a death to rue.
Where one and one, as us, made one,
Now totals a seperate two.
And I tread in trying solitude
Down a road I cannot know.
And the light and the dark in the distance flashing
Are to me but a confusing glow.
As I move towards that future,
There's a curious mist in my mind.
No matter what magic I'm going to,
I cannot forget what I'm leaving behind.
Hegira
Where is my gateway out of all this?
The outlet through which to escape?
Am I trapped in this tiny and airless world
Of claustraphobic mind rape?
Where is my hole through which I can climb?
A separate place I can go?
Where troubles can`t seek out and find me,
To control and smother me so.
Sometimes when I push my eyelids together
And pour my woes through a funnel,
Out of the black filters fizzing colours
And I stare at a transcending tunnel.
But all too soon the promised plain fades,
So how might I now step outside?
With Bacchus? Oh no, for he always returns
Us to Earth, from temporary ride.
How else can I possibly fly away?
On the bliss of that Nightingale?
But the voice cannot stretch to reality,
What goes up...will see Icarus fail.
What will set me free in maturing years?
From Growth`s tears of fury and fuss?
What of the poet`s free flight of fancy,
Is the transport our good Pegasus?...
The waters heave around the fever and fret.
In my learning mind`s congested sphere...
But wait! It dawns now! This very Muse, my liberation!
And so eternally I shall live here!
Child's Play.
When I was a child
I had my own world,
My own little world
I had.
Some of the sky rubbed away
Was a rainbow, I saw,
Revealing bright colours
Behind the azure.
A giant torch shone down
Was the sun, I'd say,
Until the batteries ran out
At the end of the day.
Precious, sparkling silver
Were the raindrops, I believed,
So why at their sight
Was everyone grieved?
A cunning old man
Was the chill, I spied,
Sneaking nips at my ears-
Was Jack Frost (personified).
Giant green quilts
Were the fields, I dreamed,
Keeping the Earth warm,
But all was not as it had seemed...
When I was young, it was MY little world,
Then I grew with trepidation.
But now I am older, I CAN still have my world-
For I've kept my imagination.
If I 'Art...
If I could draw my thoughts right now
I'd draw a swirling cloud.
A violent wind rampaging,
A storm crying out loud.
If I could sketch my mind contents
I'd sketch a blustery breeze.
The sound of dying thunder,
Crashing through the trees.
If I could copy my visions to paper
I'd copy an aching scream.
Shaking with desperate tremours,
Bursting a fragile seam.
If I could scribble down my dreams
I'd scribble an almighty beast.
Roaring deeply from his heart,
And begging for release.
If I could pencil from my head
I'd pencil a solid chain.
The strong, fierce, locked metal,
Pounded by torrential rain.
If I could shade my imagination
I'd shade in harshest black.
In rage, in daze, in questions why,
The bitter night attack.
I cannot draw my thoughts right now
And so instead I write...
The words from inside show me calming storms,
'Midst the cloud, a distant light.
My Own Time And Space.
Last night I wandered through the Universe
As I sat in my room alone.
I rose, absorbed by the soft thick black
Warm welcoming heat, gentle tone.
I floated deep beyond the ebony,
Penetrated the inky dusk.
Cruised far behind the mystic, murky layer
To dimensions with no want or lust.
Fulfilled, contented, and captivated,
With "Life" so far behind.
Enchanted amidst a Cosmos of Colour
Gorged with bliss of all kind.
In a sandwich of dazzling red, blue and green,
A kaleidoscope of passionate animation.
All around me whizzed by such visions of joy,
Emotions errupt with elation.
I lived there within for a whole lifetime
But stayed for a moment only.
As this cordial plain cannot truly exist -
For Life condemns it to visionary.
Through Life
I`m going through life
In a Plathian Bell Jar,
Trapped in a Bacchus bubble.
I`m drowning in here,
I`m stifled by fear;
The wall permeated by trouble.
I`m bobbing through life
In a small ocean-vessel,
Alone in a wide mass of sea.
I`m sinking out here,
The depths seem so near;
Such weights pressing down upon me.
I`m static through life
In a grey prison cell,
Helplessly chained to the wall.
It`s so dark in here -
See my private tear -
Does a light flicker out there at all?
The Angel of the North
I know not even myself.
No, not here.
How can I?
When The Angel of the North
Dwarfs me with its brazen magnificence,
Reduces me with its irrevocable timelessness
To a mere grain of pepper in its mighty eyes.
Am I, then, to be
a mere - inconvenient? - sneeze,
a simple whisper of a breeze,
unnoticed, across a cruel, ignorant landscape,
rising in the air, and fading again as soon?
Never to reach the heights
Marked out by the challenging, mocking Angel,
Its sheer loftiness is incomprehendable,
dizzying my mind.
A mind which sees limited horizons
comparatively,
I am blind to ambition and scope
Whilst You, You can view all, achieve all.
And You gather all as You spread
Your vast, far-reaching wings,
and receive
and live
and know yourself.
Grand Angel -
From high You Are,
and receive so much.
Yet You also take.
You take my soul.
For in Your Presence -
I know not even myself.
The Angel of the North stands in Gateshead, Tyne & Wear, England
In a presentation at University, I conducted an exercise on how poetry means different things to different people. From an audience of 10, I received 10 different answers as to what this poem was referring to. So what do you think 'they' are?...
They.
They envelope their visitors
With a gentle, warm embrace.
They snap out at their victims
With a raging, pointed pace.
They wave their bodies slowly
With a soothing, simple dance.
They lash and thrash themselves about
In violent, vibrant stance.
They're silent in their business,
With a peaceful, background hum.
They're noisy, at all pitches,
Like the wind upon a drum.
They're calm, collected creatures,
Who sway from here to there.
They're random and so varied,
Who stab and grab the air.
They're pleasant, cosy characters,
With comforts day or night.
They're crazy, angry figures,
Who snarl and fight and bite.
In their place, they're friends to Man,
Controlled, they fuel our needs.
Escaped, and free, in mindless tear,
They're heated enemies.
All poetry on this page is © Jonathan Fitzgerald and is the sole property of its owner.
It may not be used or reproduced without the author's expressed, written and signed permission.
All images are either personally designed or thought to be freeware.
Email: jonathan@poeticjustice.co.uk
