Anybody here write poetry and maybe want to share it?

I only found this forum last night, so this is my first post, please forgive me if it's to long, i tend to waffle. I'm 68yrs old and always wished i could be artistic in some sort of way, but have never done anything.

I heard of a group that was being financially backed by our local health authority, aimed mainly at people with 'problems' or those like me, who were alone and sat all day with only 'the four walls' for company. We did any sort of creative art, painting: writing; sculpture etc etc. It was sort of like, art on prescription.  Because of Covic we had to meet on Zoom, then loss of funds meant it  was closing.  But then i had an email  from the organiser to say she was trying to keep going. I wrote this last week, as a reply to her email.

................. The Email.

I've had an email

Not one from Tesco telling me of their bargains

Or not even the usual one offering to let me buy a timeshare in Nth Korea

But this email came from Helen at CA

She's starting a new group and invited me to join

I hope she hasn't added my name by mistake

The last time we spoke, she said i had to leave

Well, she's to polite to say that. But she reminded me, there is only so much budget

And i'd had my share, and now was the time for her to help new budding artists, that need her

So after reading the email, i'm back

I can paint some pictures; do some doodles, or write my thoughts

I thought i'd start with some writing

It's Saturday, i've had a lousey day, and i'm stressed out

I've had heating engineers here all day, fitting a new Combi

I hope it's going to be worth it

It may not work by the end of the week, if Mr Putin decides to cut off our gas

Why i'm stressed is, i'm no good with people

I'm Ok while hiding behind the computer, i can talk  then

But not in real life

Especially when they're in my house for hours and hours

What do you say ?..... What do you do ?

Am i suppose to sit in the kitchen with them, in case they need help

Or do i keep out of their way.

Do a make them a coffee, or a cup of tea. Then i'd have to ask, do you take sugar

Am i expected to feed them,

Should i make them cheese butties for lunch ?

What do other normal people do ?

Why is it so easy for others to socialise and chat ?

Why can't i be like everybody else ?

The men have gone now and i have my house back, with a shiney new boiler

I should have had it done in the winter, we seem to be getting warmer weather now

It's Sunday, i need to finish this off

After yesterday, i've been so tired, all i've done all day is lay on the couch

I've been thinking this week, considering, offering my spare rooms to some refugees

They have nothing and need help

But if this autism leaves me feeling like this, after only one day with strangers in my house

What would i be like with, a family who were fleeing from war.

I hope that wasn't to long for a first post.

Bill.

If I could post words onto the screen

That I write would then be seenI

've seen I can, it just takes time

To appear on screen the words I rhyme.

Masking is not basking,
Its not fake it until you make it,
Its not wheeling along with good feeling,
Its draining to hide and abide,
Energy taken away from the thrive.
It only works until it no longer works.

Oh that's beautiful. Maybe I'm biased as an emotional person, but I think this one might be my favourite of yours so far. And thank you for the kind words in return.

Absolutely, you struck right at the heart of the matter. You said it so much better than I could.

Poetry, count me in 

Expressive words unfold 

When shared with rhythm and /or rhyme

Inner thoughts are told. 

Really good, and the length, formatting, and regression is very much as valuable as the words and unsaid words.

Devotion of emotional motion,
Person, not Persil washed personas,
Set path to go against the flow,
Releasing vulnerable herds of words,

About to take a risk by getting extremely personal. Hopefully the formatting still works as that's part of it. It's kind of a long one.

“Let’s do a poetry exercise.”

I made up a story

Of a cat

That walked

Along a street.

Street so long,

Cat so soft,

And nothing happened.

It was content.

-

“Let’s do a poetry exercise.”

I wrote of how frightened he must have been

Curled up in a trench

With the world hurling fire upon his head;

Metaphors of social ghosts and soldiers

Medieval battles with dragons

And shooting a coal-lined demon with a revolver point-blank.

I wrote of fighting for survival in an alien world

Much like our own

With just enough passion to make people wonder,

With just enough anger that people wouldn’t realise,

Just enough

To leave his tea untouched,

To make you weep,

To woo her into silence,

And I was

I was

I was

Loved? Perhaps

I was.

-

“Let’s do a poetry exercise.”

I described your eyes

As midnight lakes I wished to wade in

Your lashes as angel wings and

You smiled and ducked your head:

“That’s too much.”

When did the lakes freeze over,

Warm eyes turn to thousand-degree knives

Remaining so steel-cold in my skin?

When did too much become far too much,

Or not enough, or good and plenty thanks, or

Whatever it was?

When did the feathers begin to fall

                      Down

                                   Driftwood

Leaving me

Stranded and

Lone?

What changed?

When my heart clouded over

And I begged for shelter where I’d been offered recluse so many times before,

You sought to bring not sunshine but a storm

And crashed a cyclone against the damaged walls

Brought them down

-

And went.

-

I don’t think I’m in Oz anymore.

(I remember, now, that you never wrote poetry about me.)

-

“Let’s do a poetry exercise.”

I write and the ink flows from my veins

And words come pouring, pouring, gushing,

As if they never dried

And I remember I used to love this.

I used to love.

I used to

I used

I

i

i

can’t

Speak of what I am and not what I was -

Abandon the girl who glanced fearfully in the mirror,

Missing poster on the medicine cabinet:

Last seen ten minutes ago.

She’s changed since.

-

Nothing means anything and vice versa.

There aren’t words from me to describe

The big, the ugly, the empty.

There are so few words from me.

I’ve been walking now for so long

So soft

But nothing happened.

And nothing happened.

And.

I want

to be

Better

(Loved)

again.

But I

I

i.

I am SO intrigued by this one. I feel like I understand it, or at least have my own personal interpretation, but I'd be interested to hear your process and the original context, if you don't mind sharing? The imagery I'm getting from it is a blend of spirituality and... puppetry, if that makes any sense. The "worth therein create" part definitely hits home for me.

I like how bouncy this one is to read aloud, kind of distorting how serious the subject matter is. I don't know if this was the intention, but it makes me think of how misunderstood and belittled we are out there - how many times have we been told that our struggles really "aren't a big deal"?

Hopefully 

Jonathan is half twixt sleep and wake

All-while his thinkers think and seekers seek

And worth therein create

Yet his actors cannot act

He cannot reap

So neither does his Maker make.

Yes, I cheekily made my own version of the great poem.

Is masking asking too much,
And is it best to say less,
Or say more and bore,
Its not great to grate.
Do I dare to share,
Or say little, be belittled.
Will I turn out well or burn out?

Very dreamy and lovely. It sounds so relaxing, makes me jealous as my mind rarely stops racing haha! But also yes, completely, "wandering lonely as a cloud" I remember. I think I can empathise.

I wonder if clouds get lonely,
I said, amongst the daffodils,
They don't stop to chat to others,
Just drift across in silent dreams.

Are the stars bright or clever,
Are they the twinkle in our eyes,
All across is patterns and scatter,
There is darkness about this matter.

I lay amongst the golden cups,
And smile at the beaming rays,
So old the light yet new,
Light moves in mysterious ways.

Thank you, that means a lot

Im really glad you liked it too

Oh I love this. It's a familiar story - reminds me of both myself and my partner, we've both experienced  social traumas of this sort. Trust that we have finally found the right people, friend. And keep looking forward. The anxiety will never completely leave, but with time it should lessen.

Fear of Falling

All the things I’ve ever lost are things that weren’t worth keeping

Friends that weren’t there for what I was needing

Girls that were there for a season but always leaving

But all the anxiety of the ones I’ve lost keeps feeding

The fear that I’ll lose the people who stop me from bleeding

My wife’s smile, my best friend’s laughter

The things I’ve finally found that I sought after

That fear of loss never leaves me

Cos I never understood why people left me

Autistic anxiety bangs inside me

All my traumas never leaves me

Healing just means surviving

But I’m breaking free from the chains of my upbringing

My battle scars I’m showing without hiding

I don’t need anyone’s approval of the life I’m living

I look in the mirror and I start believing

That maybe I’m stronger than I’m ever realising

Maybe I’m worthy of receiving

Back the love that I’m giving

Maybe I can trust these people aren’t actually leaving

And maybe for the first time in my life it’s myself on whom I’m relying

Please do! The literature student in me can go deeper into it, or if you prefer not to that's no problem, but I'd love to read someone else's work!