Looking Back Fondly

Looking back fondly,
The memories and moments once shared.
Time has passed.
Things have changed.
Looking back fondly.

Circumstances have changed,
Now is not the same,
Not alike.
I miss the past,
The time spent,
Our conversations,
What we shared.
Looking fondly back.

Maybe all an illusion.
The inevitable death that time brings.
I cannot tell.
Was it all a lie?
It all for nothing?
Was it something.
I cannot tell.
Looking fondly back.

Memories, photos and feelings,
All to remind me,
Of what I found.
What you showed me.
How I tried to help.
Looking fondly back.

Looking fondly back,
I look on through my mind’s eye,
A tear running down,
Remembering the time found and lost.
Missed, left and dying.
Like I am inside.
Making of life,
To have it ripped from my chest.
I look fondly back,
Always will,
Remembering and happy-sad.
Looking fondly back.

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Empty Loss

This empty loss,
Alien feeling.
Dissatisfied with comfort,
Confusing feelings.

A storm out of nowhere,
Consuming me from within.
Incomprehensible,
Left empty, empty loss, without feeling.

Death from nothing.
Mourning started before the total loss.

The dark shroud to come,
The empty abyss that comes from bliss,
Incomprehensible,
the loss, and the emptiness.

An alien infection,
Suddenly coming over me,
For no reason.

Feeling left my mind.
A loss to the world.
Frozen out of existence.

Fearful,
Of hurting my friends,
Those I hold dear.

Needing to drift off,
Away into darkness,
A figment, a distant memory.

The empty figure.
Unfeeling.
The empty loss.

Leaving out the door,
Without looking back.

Wondering, hoping.
Leaving,
With my empty loss,
The only friend I can’t hurt,
My only possession.

The dark figure,
Leaving,
An empty loss,
A scar on the world.

Drifting into the dark abyss,
Of emptiness,
Of loss.

The End Has Come. The World Goes On.

The end has come,

The finale, the finite experience.

The realisation.
A life I thought I had lost.
Now come to a close.

Given a glimpse.

The future.

To a change I didn’t want.
A change I have found.
Complete novelty.
Different.

The death of the old path I walked,
Kept alive, within my memories.
Fading fast.

A new path outstretched.
New, unfamiliar.

The world goes on.

The path behind me collapses.

A singular choice.
Now the end has come.
To step forth or fall.

What’s Death Got On Me?

What have you got on me,

This death looming,

The endless pain and suffering,

That endless torment.

The noose around my neck as I wish for the  end.

Survived your grasp once,

Challenge you again,

Do your worst.

Bring me down, I’ll show you up.

Throw you down,

Show you what I am made of.

Conquer death as it’s already my life,

Already my living.

To own this world and make you my bitch.

Crushed at every turn and now it is mine.

A stretch to crush you,

To show you,

To own you.

To show you.

I have this.

Death, the mere cessation of living,

Familiar friend, or enemy?

Welcome comfort, to greet my end.

To acknowledge the limitations and differentiations.

What’s death got on me?

Screaming At Your Own Confines

My screams at my own confines.

The walls closing in,

The pain drowning out.

No one to help,

No where to go.

Alone in the confines of my self.

Left confused and looking,

In desperation for a solution.

In desperation for help.

Looking and tearing apart my mind and thoughts.

Looking for a way out, a solution.

An escape.

Some help.

A friend to talk to, in my depths of loneliness.

Even as no one can help,

No one can understand.

What is raging in my mind:

The worry and uncertainty.

The longed for solution,

To my panicked fright,

The looming unknown.

The raging desperation,

Dripping from my mind.

Sapping me dry.

Exhausting my being.

Screaming at the confines with no escape.

Screaming at the being that confines me.

The reality that drains me.

The hurt that kills me,

The world that tears me.

The confines from within my mind,

No help to be found, no solace.

No place to find a solution.

No place to find my escape.

The uncertainty drawing on my mind.

Ripping apart my thoughts,

Focussing my pain.

Sharpening my worry.

Keeping me to the confines,

The chains I try to break.

The walls I try to shout down.

Left screaming at my own confines that keep me, the worries that pains me.

Paralysis of Worry

Paralysis of worry,

The endless flow of pain.

The pain rupturing my head.

The tears flooding my mind,

The darkness that wakes,

The worries controlling my mind.

Mind restless, in pain and tortured.

Endless screams of worry, pain and failure,

The mixed passion with inability.

The husk of being that confines me,

The empty living,

Constant misdirection.

Nothing to soothe the pain.

My excruciating pain,

Heightened by confusion, thinking and insecurity.

Pain always finds me.

Ripping me apart from the inside.

Spinning in my torture,

In my thoughts,

In my darkness.

Surrounded by my pain,

Unable to call out.

Unable to find my solution.

Wishing for the end.

To escape my pain.

Let go. Drift off. Into my ever-sadness and pain.

Tortured to every moment.

From inside.

My thoughts, feelings and emotions.

Drifting apart.

Ripping me apart.

The uncertainty tearing me up.

Waiting for it to end.

Wanting a way out.

No matter what the cost.

A burden on those who I care about.

Wanting and wishing for their escape. From me and my inability to live.

The paralysis of thought and worry.

Wanting my escape.

To numb myself from pain and existence.

The unending worry.

The paralysis of my worries.

The pain in my heart for all whom I care about.

Left alone to my darkness.

With this paralysis of worry.

‘Truly A Book To Capture It All’ – Review of Stoner by John Williams


He had wanted the singleness and the still connective passion of marriage; he had that, too, and he had not known what to do with it, and it had died. He wanted love; and he had had love, and had relinquished it, had let it go into the chaos of imagepotentiality.

Katherine, he thought. ‘Katherine.’

And he had wanted to become a teacher, and he had become one; yet he knew, he had always known, that for the most of his life he had been an indifferent one. He had dreamed of a kind of integrity, of a kind of purity that was entire; he had found compromise and the assaulting diversion of triviality. He had conceived wisdom, and at the end of the long years he had found ignorance.

Stoner by John Williams, page 285


Stoner, by John Williams, an usual book to start. But. Totally encapsulating. Containing so much feeling, meaning experience. I will give my review of the book, not really a formal review, but one looking and reflecting on the book, feeling and experience of reading it. I endeavour not to mention explicit spoilers, but I do mention my emotional experiences reading it and the emotions it passed onto me (the inspiration for my poem ‘Feelings Not My Own’)

Stoner, a book of an experience, an experience of fiction, but somewhat real. The feelings it portrays are totally real and totally thrust me into the story, caring, experiencing and feeling.

All of the poems that I wrote yesterday, took inspiration from the book, around the section of the above quote, I had to stop. To savour experiencing the end, the feeling, when I could concentrate and experience without distraction and reflect through this blogpost.

The feelings this book can capture and enstill on the reader, are immense, I would describe this book as an emotional rollercoaster. The feelings of love, happiness, existence and passion, but, at least for me, the book seems to emphasise negative feelings. But not ‘negative feelings’ in the conventional sense. I would describe these feelings as negative, but without feeling, a portrayal of the reality behind existence, the reality behind being, the existence of life, and one’s place within it. Here I shall endeavour to encapsulate my feelings and experiences in regards to the book in its totality:


The discovery and ecstacy of love, finding a crush, the feelings behind planning, the future and struggling and succeeding despite all adversity. The choices to be made in life, choices that make us, shape us, define us. The choices we make, the choices that aren’t owned by ourselves, until we make the decision. Then the choice becomes ours, becomes personal and meaningful. There is also the adversity of life not overcome, adversity in existence, the tiresome living, the hurting of family and friends, the loss of those we care for.

The watching as life rolls by, and we make what we can, leave our mark but inevitably fail to find conventional ‘happiness’, but, find a form of contentment out of the adversity, contentment with pain and dissatisfaction, not out of choice, but out of necessity to keep on living. The pain and somewhat helplessness in dealing with situations and people encountered in life.

The friendships made and kept and solidified through truth, adversity, hardship and mutual love and care. As life goes on, never enough time, never enough done, never enough success to make one feel full and content, nevertheless contentment and perseverence and change to overcome all adversity.

It is totally encapsulating a feeling I cannot express with words; a feeling of contentment out of unrelenting discontentment, of existing without achievement, but continuing to persevere for your aims and continue to keep journeying to achieve them, even if you never actually achieve them, you make the journey anyway and contently, live out your life with the aim in mind, the objective aimed for.

The book’s ending (from around page 285 until the end), I will try not to spoil (as much as I can while expressing my more affective ‘review’). One that encapsulates the book, the ending, a fitting end, one that captures and summarises the whole book, not in a repetitive manner, but one suitable to, in my opinion, its aimed portrayal, of life, without highlight of the good times, without hiding the bad times, but merely portraying human experience, in a way that truly resonated with me. The portrayal of sadness, closing, finality and happiness, dissatisfaction, reminiscing and also summarising and deep-contemplation. The very last page. Written to perfection. Even thinking of it, causes my eyes to well-up. A perfect, concise, summarised end. Like the finalities found in everyday living, without show, or celebration, without positivity or negativity, just sweet, maybe reluctant, but nevertheless final, end. Drifting off into silence. As the words on the page end with the final period… and then… silence.


A powerful story, I know that I paint a bleak picture of the novel, but, it is more than this. It’s more than the sum of its parts (not to mention the subjective experience of the reader that needs not be said). It is a book, not everyone will like, it’s writing is definitely unconventional, but I find this is its beauty, it captures reality, as nothing else does. Captures reality, much like my poetry does for me, and also the poetry I read from many others on WordPress. Capturing reality, for what it is. The highs of the good experience, the lows of the bad. The real life existence. The one we share, both content, and also discontent.

Although I say it’s a novel that not everyone will ‘like’, I would say that I think everyone should give it a read. I would unapologetically be happy to suggest this  novel to anyone I know, especially anyone I feel comfortable to talk to about personal and emotional matters.

To personally summarise this novel and my experience reading it in very few words:

A book that captures reality. For what it is.

 

 

I would like to write a note, to my very close friend who gifted this novel to me, inspirsation for ‘Little Gift From the Heart‘, thank you so very much for this book. I sure hope that you do not see this review, and if you do… that you do not think it too harsh, or feel the book’s been a saddening experience. It has been a realistic experience, a vicarious living and experiencing of a life, not my own. Yet also I see past experiences, events, ways of thinking also appear throughout this book, almost every couple of pages. This book was a mixed experience to read, but an invaluable one, and one I am a better person for reading. Thank you, thank you very much Ruby.

To Those Who Try To Help

To those who try to help,

Those who continue to believe in me.

I’m sorry.

The path I take, I try to make.

The doors closing on me,

A lost cause.

A hopeless mess,

When I’ve come so far.

All thrown back into my face.

As I try to make my way.

The path I try to plot, to escape the darkness of uncertainty.

I’m sorry.

The path is lost,

The bearings lost too.

Left adrift.

Left losing the will.

Left with loss,

Loss of all, of mind, will and soul.

To those who try to help,

My gratitude is yours,

But I am left adrift at sea,

Drowning in uncertainty.

Without a place to turn.

The mind cannibalising itself,

Worries manifesting,

Uncertainty growing.

I’m sorry.

To all those who try to help.

I’m lost.

And I’m sorry.

Those Empty Days

Those empty days, empty times,

Looking to those memories,
Good and bad,

Wondering where they’ve gone.
Left without a feeling,
Feeling lost.

These empty days that pass,
That give,
That hurt and leave one wondering.

Leaving one empty,
Sitting and staring,
Thinking and living.
Wondering.

Of those empty days that come.
The welling feeling,
Thinking and hoping,
For the next opportunity,
To feel alive,
To feel meaning,
To feel like a living being,
Rather than an empty object,
A piece of the furniture.

Thinking of those memories,
The good and the bad.
Of the times I felt,
The times, that have gone and past.

Waiting through those empty days,
Where the feeling overwhelms you,
The feeling of lacking just that.
Feeling.

Through these empty days.