Feelings: Harmonics, Fragmentary, Sleep, Hysterical, Why Cry

I don’t want to compile production
sheets today, not sitting here in
this my universe, all alone; where
I’m averse to all arithmetic –
statistics of every kind always messes
up my mind; loosing track of the
harmonics that work like hydraulics
to oil the beat rhythmically running
in my head, caressing every word
that is said; numbers simply drive
me mad, I’m building up steam,
growing disgusted enough to run
away without a qualm – there is no
balm for feelings raw in the routine
and task of today; Bioplus never was
meant for me, I clearly see the
more I consume good minerals, the
worse the headache will be; it would
be better to pine away in stupid
fatigue than burn in my head while
my body is freezing to death –
no production sheet today; dereliction
of duty, willfully guilty, because
I cannot concentrate in any way –
I will have to lose the advantage
of living today – write it off as bad
debt; beginning again on another day,
I’d better start afresh – in a new
junction leading away from the
pain and loss of today!


Fragmentary Poems

I wanted to type a story, but
fragmentary poems suited to my
fragmentary mind seemed the only
way to go, working in stops and
starts; my story sounded like a
poem without the glory; I took
the thing apart and now I type
it up in tiny little bits; suitable
to my time-constraints
at work…


For Sleep, Magical, Marvellous Sleep

Oh, for to sleep, for magical, marvellous sleep
even though I’m dead on my feet; I cannot
sleep; I slept in front of the TV earlier on; then
when I went to bed sleep was all gone; I don’t
want to read any more and my back is sore,
I am bored with nothing to do; I wish I had a
sleeping plan – we laughed watching sitcoms
that work marvellously: The self-sufficiency of
Fletcher in Porridge work beautifully and the
bland stupidity of George in My Hero nicely
absurd; My Name is Earl balancing all with his
lessons on karmic retribution - now it is late
and I’m sleepless again; it’s becoming a habit
and I can’t stand it!


Growing Hysterical

Sometimes we wake up to the sound
we are alone in our mind, there is
nobody else with me in here – and
I hate it, I hate it – and you say
have a soliloquy with yourself
à la Shakespeare?

Digging everywhere, I can’t understand
why my mind is so blank, why the world
is tuning out all image and sound, then
the discovery: It’s me, I’ve grown deaf
and blind, I can’t hear and see what’s
going on all around me

Can you blame me for
growing hysterical?


Why We Have To Cry

Crying alone is the only way to go,
that much is clear, how do we
explain the cause of our tears?
Irrational, subjective, sometimes
offensive, it cannot be done, without
tearing at somebody else – and their
person is sacrosanct –

Nobody can understand the cause
of our fears, but they can add
blame to our shame, call our pain
just a game, make fun of us, it cannot
be done, we can’t tell them why
we have to cry - when the only
thing wrong - is the end of a song…

by Margaret Alice

Comments (1)

Good poem. Just do want to like to do that make your day complete. If its a job that you do, just do it to meet the expection. Thanks for sahring. worth the 9.