the slaves of causality
. . .
. . .
At Pollock Shores, in summer squalls, a madcap stepped across chianti walls
To celebrate the morning like a thousand eons before, where universes collide,
Coloured balloons at a kiddies party, which one to take home, which one to hide?
Mr Universe, I’ll write your name on your coffee cup with a coloured sharpie
Thats blackish blue and white like the sky at night when the planets come out to play
Some so old they are dead, some revolve around our sun, the ones who have most fun
I’ve had so many friends and then they end, people walk away, closeness can be frightening
We are not all disassociated the closer you get, the universal glow can be enlightening
Priscilla is an aunt who hasn’t seen a single one in days, diagnosed with a condition
She juggles with her position, concerned with a smooth transition and coprophobia
Angie ties herself in knots, struggles with procrastination, was told that she’s depressed
This led to self annihilation, which Doctor James considers a misappropriation.
Out under the stars Jake has discovered too late, he suffers from astrophobia
While his friend cool Harry, once caught in a lift, had an attack of the claus-trophobia
And Margie now sat on the mat with a rare case of clinical lycanthropy
Her new life as a cat has altered her mind to a permanent state of fantasy
Birdman of Alcatraz, Donnie Darko, Syd Barrett, Herman Bosch sit alone in their prison
They lost their ability to reason, like Margie was convinced she had turned into a kitten
Marcel Proust joins the debate his views on the constructs of relationships so great
For too many souls, lost in the darkness of their minds it maybe is already too late
Understanding root causes will make you less vulnerable to future episodes, is a line that I heard
Addressing the facts with a cognitive stance based on an intelligent supposition
A statement of truth in the context of a mental contusion, a potential psychotic delusion
Whilst the analyst constructs, in the course of time, to find a healing solution
Medication, pills and tranquillisers often are the equalisers in the psyche’s restoration
the treatments for the workings of the mind often in the past so unkind, wrought an evolution
to stave off any ridicule and pain the victims of the shame of becoming less than human
I myself met the horrors of electro-therapy in the face of a beautiful young woman
Mari Antoinette, the Shah of Abu Dhabi, Good Queen Bess, characters of minds illusions
Jesus, Budha or Rasputin, the mad monk, where imaginations ritual become the minds new spiritual
as the opium of the weird and the wonderful may be forced upon them by the constraints of religion
This travesty becomes the more obscure the more that politics override a natural sedition
Jackson does not throw his paint so much as let it fall, he pours it all like oil upon the floor
A lottery ball, a wooden floor, a mad dogs paw, a detective story, a what the butler saw,
The unfathomable fathomed, our reason is not diminished, our rationale is partitioned
Jackson is confirmed by Saint Margaret of Cortona, her misery atoned, the dependants would all own her
At Pollock Shores I stand and greet the dawn and the soon incoming tide.
The waves of ‘bright’ and health and healing, to mend this broken ceiling
This paranoiac feeling, like we are all just dreaming and victims of the scheming
Whereas in fact the walls are not chianti red but dressed in shiraz black
. . .
a poem concerning mental illness
Authors Note ~ A Foreword to POLLOCK SHORES
This poetic piece represents the most personal, insightful and researched examination of the subject of Mental Illness I have been able to complete.
I present it here as a written frontispiece to my latest publication – MENTAL ILLNESS – it is a written illustration of this worthy subject.
Alongside the other written poetry and essays contained in my latest pamphlet, I believe they provide a notebook or journal to promote thought and discussion. An introduction to a potential think-tank that might encourage a greater understanding, empathy and willingness to appreciate how much healthy minds matter.
Maybe the collection could be used as a work-book to encourage discussion and openness and help relieve us of some of those taboos and dogma’s we still cling to, this is my hope anyway.
This poem was written at a time of personal reflection, during and after illness and it deals with a recurring theme that shows in much of my work :-
‘We were born involved with one another’
My history, your history – although relatively dissimilar can become curiously enmeshed quite suddenly when we begin to be honest with each other and are prepared to reveal more of the people that we really are and then we may discover those same fundamentals that have affected all peoples from all walks of life. Our similarities and our ‘connections’ will begin to emerge out of the murky past of our individual human histories and maybe even out of the ether of time itself.