The Trip

This poem describes a bad experience I had after taking two hash muffins in a coffee shop in Amsterdam.  

The Trip

Two muffins and the puff of a joint.
Amsterdam coffee shops – aren’t they great!
Sitting by the canal - Adam, Kerry, Ally and me
A waitress arrives for orders
“What does she want?” I chunter and glare
Oh, I feel weird.  Oh, so weird.  Woozy, like a dream
Pressure in my head
 “I feel funny Ally”
Adams tries to distract me with numbers
“Ally!  Oh god, I feel bad Ally, I feel bad”
The horribleness comes in waves.  Horrible  Horrible  Horrible
I wrap my arms tight and fidget my legs
Can’t keep still, we walk around
Ally takes me to the hotel, self consciously trying to distract me
Does she know?  Is this a ploy?
What if I fell or yelled or ran or died, would anyone notice? Is anything real?
Back in the room, I say sex might help
My mouth is dry, her’s too and down there also
Hell’s sex with no wetness  - dry to dry
“I’ll be back in a minute” – she’s gone
This is like a dream; except I can’t wake up
A nightmare.
I can’t wake up!
This is hell.  Hell.  This is hell.  Hell
Ally’s back.  “Oh my God, I’ve seen HELL!
“Graeme!”
“No, no - I’ve SEEN HELL!”
Door.  Corridor. In a rush.
When did I die?  Stuck in this.  Horror.  No escape.  What have I done?
“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO”
Corridor.  Door.  Eternity.
NO ESCAPE
I’M IN HELL
This can’t be happening
I’M IN HELL
 “Graeme!”
HORROR HORROR HORROR HORROR HORROR
So this is what we flee from all our days - thinly veiled, lurking beneath: Terror
HELL HELL HELL HELL HELL HELL HELL

UNENDING HELL
Escape.  The window.
End it.  You can’t end it.  Try!  At least try.
“GRAEME!
Pulling.  Shoving.  She’s hanging on.  So sad.  I must.
GRAEME! GRAEME!  GRAEME! GRAEME!
Looking down.  Not high enough.  I can’t end it
“GRAEME!”
Ally and Kerry hanging on
I’m tired.  So tired.  Weird that I am physically tired in Hell
They corner me in.  Holding on.
I’m nude.  Blanket covering me down there.
There’s two others here now – a boy and girl - they talk, gentle talk
Oh, how exhasuting life’ll  be
knowing that Hell lurks beneath
We walk down the stairs
Not enough space to jump
People around.  A movie on TV.  I know the actor and the movie.
But it’s all surreal.
I’m going insane.  Trapped in my mind.  Why me?
Someone else is spacing out
I sleep
I walk round Amsterdam with Adam
I sleep
I wake
Chuckle self consciously
They chatter as if nothing has happened. Ally, Kerry and Adam
“Oh my god, did I try to jump out the window?” I say
An uneasy pause
Then chattering resumes.

Written 2003

My Wound

This poem was inspired by the helplessness I felt with Investec managing my money badly (causing my wealth to seep away) but their being unconcerned because I was such a small client.  

My wound

It seeps away
like lifeblood
from a wound
my doctor raises his eyes and sighs
he doesn't give a shit
you are an effort his eyes say
i have more important patients than you
the more blood you spill the less you mean to me
why dont you die and go away
my wound hurts so
festering for so long
the blood seeps out,
sometimes just a trickle
other times a gush
but always out it flows
and with it, my life force
my confidence
my wealth
and the pain constricts around my chest
i look away, put my hand over my eyes
cannot watch the spilling wound
just close my eyes and wait
for the end of life
to take me away
or a miracle to happen.

Written 2003

Silent Tears

I look into her world
and see a vulnerable child.
She loves without  reserve;
wants only for me to love her as deep
to share our lives,
nurture a family:
two children, a warm home, a puppy and kitten
She looks into my eyes for hope;
sees sadness deeper than a hundred wells
confusion
fear
doubt.
I am terrified to commit to her:
a life of responsibility
with no escape should the pain come.
But I love her,  want to  nurture her, give her all.
And I need her.
She is my warmth and light when the storm comes.
Strung between fear of her - and fear of no her
between her pain and mine.
I see her beautiful soul
reflected through her  glistening tears.
My hands caress her cheek with infinite tenderness
but my eyes are unable to give her
the assurance she needs.
Just sadness.
confusion
doubt;
as we wait  for the mystery to unfold
to connect us through a million threads
or set us adrift on separate ships.

Written: 1997

Fear

Niggling fear
like a worm that wriggles, and hisses like a snake.
Shivers in my heart in the deep of the night.
Burgeoning.  Out of control.
Hot, writhing, rods in my bowels.
Want to hide - anywhere dark.
Away from this hell.
From the scrutiny that will come.
From the pressure -
the pressure that is being tightened like a vice around my skull.
Got to be perfect.
But I'm stupid!   Inferior.
They'll find out!  They'll know.
Oh, the pressure.  Time, so little time.
Round and round and round, no escape.
Got to prove I can. 
Squeeze it out.  Try harder.  Come on.
An agonised cry.  What is wrong with me!!!!
They will watch.  I feel so useless.  Helpless.
The vice tightens.
I feel my skull pressure.  I feel the bones crack.
I sense my hand as it tightens the screws.

Written: 1997

Violence of art

Violence of Art
Frustrating, fucking so
Gnarled with fucking frustration
Explode, bruise, let it go
Screaming and blaring in unrestrained passion
No safety net.
Spontaneous.  Free.  Rip the voice apart - send it hurtling away like a rat with
a firecracker on its tail
Exploding  into bloody bits
The violence of art is clear, quietening the voice.

Written 1997

Out there

They laugh and joke out there;
the unselfconscious fun of the free;
their cheery voices mingle
and jovial banter flows.
All the time,  I lie in my hut
timid like a mouse
scared of being judged
as my mind judges  -
and hiding from the pressure
to entertain and impress
with confident wittiness.
Oh self imposed pressure -
Crack and Break!
Let me leap forth from my lonely hole
to sit and be with friends
relaxed and open and free
as me - just me - and no more.

Written: 1997