The Corners of my Brain

In the far corners of my mind live thoughts and feelings of many kinds, running around forming rhymes, wanting to be on time. Synapses fire signals around the wire, some inspire and some drop me in the mire, sending signals of desire and that my heart is on fire.

 Free radicals firing around the dusty corners of my mind, trying to find some place to bind and save a memory. Sometimes, there is dark matter and my brain begins to clatter. All the negative clatter, not sure what’s the matter. The dark places in the corner of my brain are where I go when I’m in emotional pain.

 In the corners of my brain is an area full of love, of doves and words that are cozy and kind and gentle. Then there are travelers, that move around and flick thoughts into my head. Sometimes absurd, they hound and pound, as they wiz around transmitting sound and messages from the ground. Yes, in the four corners of my mind there are thoughts of many kinds; long and short; good and bad and some that I ought not to have had.





yogaSitting in silence in the middle of the room, eyes are shut but colours come with a boom. Empty my mind of the daily grind but wonder what I will find. Music rifts drift seeping into my soul, rain drops trickle onto a metal bowl. my body has long since left it’s just me and my thoughts and my shallow breaths.

I let the nothing flow over into my head, no words are said, just images of the past. Rose garden with fountains and trees, where nothing moves fast. Victorian ladies wander with parasols like lost souls. I  drink from the fountain, water pure and cold, lit by the sun glistening and gold; this is an image I want to hold. My brain has escaped my body is cold, yet I feel safe and bold. It’s time to leave the garden via the gate, as I come down from my meditation state, paradise will have to wait

Slowly counting myself down, back in the room in the centre of town. Back to reality and all its gloom, settled mind, its back in the room. Light in the head, in a bit of a daze, the rose garden is now just a haze. Back to reality and life’s tangled maze

The Comment


Every time I hear that comment it rips into my heart and every time you say it again it tears my soul apart. I am not good at many things in total or in part, I’ve tried it all from chemistry to art. But all the time you undermine and cut into my mind.

I thought when I left school I had left it all behind, but the world sees I’m fat and that’s how I’m defined: my love; my humour; my kindness and my pain all these things are part of me to which you are blind. I’m not asking you to be nice and kind, I just want you to stop cutting into my mind.

Let me leave the pain behind, of my past I don’t want to be reminded yet you bring back my raw memories with every word and obscenity. You seem to know just where to throw those words of hate and spite, that decimate my being and make me all uptight.

You won’t stand in front of me in case I start to fight, with thirty years of hurt in side waiting to take flight. One little warning to you one day it just might


Sitting here it’s quiet or it should be, Tinnitus is troubling me. The constant wringing in my ear let’s me know it’s still here. When it’s quiet or I go to sleep up it let’s the volume creep until this crescendo peeks with pops and bangs and then it hangs right here in the middle of my ear.

My hearing goes and sometimes i don’t know what you say. Lip reading, getting the gist, back filling and finger spelling get me through the day, helping me know what you say. Talk clearly and steady but please don’t talk like I’m a baby carrying a teddy.

When it’s noisy I can’t hear, just the buzzing in my ear, my hearing aid for which the NHS Paid, helps a bit it makes it fade. But once it’s out the ringing is back like some sort of raid. It’s worse at night when my head is laid and eyes shut tight.

Then there’s a knock or a bang I wake with a fright wording if I should run or fight. No one else heard the noise, I regain my poise and realise it’s all in my head. I lay on the bed filled with dread about the rest of the night ahead.


The Funny Man’s Mask

depression-hurtsBehind the jokes and laughs the Funny Man’s Mask, lays the real face, one of despair which the funny man will never share. Depression and anger all go away for a few hours a day when the funny man comes out to play.

Without his mask, he has little to say and wishes that black cloud would go away. When on stage there is laughter and rage and the happiness is let out of its cage.

It’s all an act just a pretence, just to earn a few pence. He makes us happy for a short time then he’s back to his solemn state as he goes home again.

Next time you see the funny man out in the street ask if life is ever so sweet or does that black cloud come down to his feet. Is he wearing his Funny Man’s Mask? Just ask.