I am, is a term I fear. Yes, i would love to introduce myself as somebody defined, I can tell you I am ill, or healthy at heart or mind but I cannot tell you what I've meant in being either.
That was not poetry, no seriously, an introduction at best.
I find myself switching, strange to say, but in and out of narratives of identity. Perhaps this is what happens when we live in notions of identity, not simply, asking for what we must, leaving the rest off and knowing what we are doing is the best we can.
Funny, this is the main question to ask after discovering our truth. What now? turns in to what Then? Life becomes a question of what is ideal, and i myself cannot say this is an easy task. After years of disiolined vulnerability I still find myself coming in and out of my own. I cycle between the who am I, the how am I to be, and the what am I to do.
I remember a long time ago I envisioned a painting I'm yet to paint, of three people, three me's sitting under a tree with teathers from there skulls connecting them to the greater bulk of the tree. That all they could do is sit there, knowing they are not alone, but unable to leave the tribe, through what fear in little security from their guardian they might regress.
Heres the thing, later I learned about Carl Rodgers and his theory of personality. I only realized this now, but is it not strange I drew three separate me at a time my personality might have simply been fractured in three (theoretically). Its quite the interesting psychology study. I would encourage anybody tk find a good source to read up on it.
I sometimes use poetry to ease the mind. In fact, my first poem I posted was called "to poets who wish to expelled their souls unto the page," defenetly not the best of ways to practice, but then again, I am a riddle of self image.
Other times I come to poetry with a beggeners mind, in fact, I wouldn't say I use it for anything at all but simply being, becuase that is not at all a thing to take effort.
I cant nesecarily remember when I came to poetry, but looking back through notes of old times, I defenetly found myself in the most poetic of complications, and wrote in that sort of phrame.
Thanks for reading. Will come back to this section to read all your's aswell.
I'm Cassy, a disabled, chronically and homebound writer, formerly a mental health program developer and researcher. I write about serious subjects and very much enjoy writing in a facetious or amusing manner.
Here's a poem I wrote in 2020, during one of Melbourne's interminable lockdowns.
Published in 1972 a poem by Giusepe Ungarretti in the Italian Magazine Epocha... this is said to be the first of the "New Wolrd Poetry" as it was published just after the moon landing and the earth was no long terra firmament, but a heavenly body in the sky.
There is a quiet strength in knowing when a chapter has reached its final line. 📖✨ This piece, 'Now let’s move on,' is a reminder that even when the soul feels dragged through the streets, there is a horizon waiting. Like a river finding the sea, we all eventually find our way back to ourselves. Grateful for the lessons, the 'faded shows,' and the grace that comes with starting over.".feels like a final, gentle acknowledgment: you mattered, you still do in some way, but I’m choosing to move on. NOW LET'S MOVE ON
The chapter came unwanted and she took the ending on her sake
The stories become the faded stars as if it was a piece of cake
My soul got dragged away to the streets and my tears quenched my heart
She threw me away far as this way her life moved with her cart
Now the people have the story of this mess
But the definitive response from her is that I don't care
but then also god will compute my legacy
with the moulded beads and wrapped treats without any Ecstasy
Rainbows add colour to the colourless clouds appear on sky
My chapters will never stop by you because god never lie
Time will heal the wound and I will go on
your story will become a small part after you gone
Butterflies takes away the nectar but flower never offends.
atleast a honey bee will come for the distorted head to mend.
If your sky maynot be the place where I truely shine.
atleast I will also become a part of other sky cause I won't lose a chance to breathe
My river will still find the sea and blend with it.
atleast my heart will get a smooth sigh for a bit
Still my mind is blessed to have a way through you
but now its turn to see other ways too.
Life never known and time stopped by none
Fates stones are all planned and its not for fun
My mornings will miss your hug but its time for an embrace
drop it right into the comments. Readers scrolling through will stumble on it, and a poem sitting inside a conversation always hits differently than a link people might skip
Oh yeah and my poetry
I think this is my only active page. Just press on it if your inclined
I am, is a term I fear. Yes, i would love to introduce myself as somebody defined, I can tell you I am ill, or healthy at heart or mind but I cannot tell you what I've meant in being either.
That was not poetry, no seriously, an introduction at best.
I find myself switching, strange to say, but in and out of narratives of identity. Perhaps this is what happens when we live in notions of identity, not simply, asking for what we must, leaving the rest off and knowing what we are doing is the best we can.
Funny, this is the main question to ask after discovering our truth. What now? turns in to what Then? Life becomes a question of what is ideal, and i myself cannot say this is an easy task. After years of disiolined vulnerability I still find myself coming in and out of my own. I cycle between the who am I, the how am I to be, and the what am I to do.
I remember a long time ago I envisioned a painting I'm yet to paint, of three people, three me's sitting under a tree with teathers from there skulls connecting them to the greater bulk of the tree. That all they could do is sit there, knowing they are not alone, but unable to leave the tribe, through what fear in little security from their guardian they might regress.
Heres the thing, later I learned about Carl Rodgers and his theory of personality. I only realized this now, but is it not strange I drew three separate me at a time my personality might have simply been fractured in three (theoretically). Its quite the interesting psychology study. I would encourage anybody tk find a good source to read up on it.
I sometimes use poetry to ease the mind. In fact, my first poem I posted was called "to poets who wish to expelled their souls unto the page," defenetly not the best of ways to practice, but then again, I am a riddle of self image.
Other times I come to poetry with a beggeners mind, in fact, I wouldn't say I use it for anything at all but simply being, becuase that is not at all a thing to take effort.
I cant nesecarily remember when I came to poetry, but looking back through notes of old times, I defenetly found myself in the most poetic of complications, and wrote in that sort of phrame.
Thanks for reading. Will come back to this section to read all your's aswell.
The first piece I post on Substack, something I wrote back in 2012.
https://substack.com/home/post/p-197842562
I can feel the rhythm …… The beat of life,
it was always there,
it was always with me,
inside me and all around,
coursing through what is seen and what is invisible.
If we can only be aware…that it is always there,
in all the things that we do,
in every twitch and every stride,
in the cadence of our voices,
and in the swinging of our arms.
It started at our conception,
and carries on to our death.
This rhythm,
this beat,
….. always there …..
to set us free ———————}
Thank you for reading.
I'm Cassy, a disabled, chronically and homebound writer, formerly a mental health program developer and researcher. I write about serious subjects and very much enjoy writing in a facetious or amusing manner.
Here's a poem I wrote in 2020, during one of Melbourne's interminable lockdowns.
I swallowed the sword
Oh how the end of day roils.
Ravens calling their forever caw.
Our sky uniting all colours
in an end of day war.
The call finds its echo
locates its kin in the nest
in a tree embraced by sea breeze,
tricked good night by dimming light.
Voices from the street
rising with the mist sing delight
yet ring hollow.
How the end of day veil brings sorrow.
This window cannot suffice
as a mirror to the heart
a journey of joy.
For it is so long aborted
from memory and flesh across those years.
So real to touch in dreams.
Youth and love and lust
I bought it.
I swallowed the sword.
End of day accord.
Cassy, this still lands through the lost formatting
“I swallowed the sword” feels devastating
Really beautiful, and deeply felt
Sorry, the formatting vanished!
And another of Matilda’s Poems on a pole which she is doing one a month of as part of her healing journey https://substack.com/@matildaleyser/note/p-192707657?r=1ddkh&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action
This is one of my wife Matilda Leyser’s Poems on a Pole https://substack.com/@matildaleyser/note/p-189458179?r=1ddkh&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action
“Never Thunders in Hades” https://youtu.be/lDVQtYdUADs?si=Fc_fc4FfYlYoLtEx
Written in the late ‘70s
Published in 1972 a poem by Giusepe Ungarretti in the Italian Magazine Epocha... this is said to be the first of the "New Wolrd Poetry" as it was published just after the moon landing and the earth was no long terra firmament, but a heavenly body in the sky.
"What are you doing, Earth, in heaven?
Tell me, what are you doing, Silent Earth?"
https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20230511-earthrise-the-photo-that-sparked-an-environmental-movement
There is a quiet strength in knowing when a chapter has reached its final line. 📖✨ This piece, 'Now let’s move on,' is a reminder that even when the soul feels dragged through the streets, there is a horizon waiting. Like a river finding the sea, we all eventually find our way back to ourselves. Grateful for the lessons, the 'faded shows,' and the grace that comes with starting over.".feels like a final, gentle acknowledgment: you mattered, you still do in some way, but I’m choosing to move on. NOW LET'S MOVE ON
The chapter came unwanted and she took the ending on her sake
The stories become the faded stars as if it was a piece of cake
My soul got dragged away to the streets and my tears quenched my heart
She threw me away far as this way her life moved with her cart
Now the people have the story of this mess
But the definitive response from her is that I don't care
but then also god will compute my legacy
with the moulded beads and wrapped treats without any Ecstasy
Rainbows add colour to the colourless clouds appear on sky
My chapters will never stop by you because god never lie
Time will heal the wound and I will go on
your story will become a small part after you gone
Butterflies takes away the nectar but flower never offends.
atleast a honey bee will come for the distorted head to mend.
If your sky maynot be the place where I truely shine.
atleast I will also become a part of other sky cause I won't lose a chance to breathe
My river will still find the sea and blend with it.
atleast my heart will get a smooth sigh for a bit
Still my mind is blessed to have a way through you
but now its turn to see other ways too.
Life never known and time stopped by none
Fates stones are all planned and its not for fun
My mornings will miss your hug but its time for an embrace
I hope us nothing but a life filled with grace.
apologies for posting a link... I can't seem to get formatting to go into these comments.
https://tryingtokeeparockalive.substack.com/p/control?utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web
"Clean your side of the street"
the whole piece reads like something you'd want tattooed on the inside of your eyelids for those night spirals
thank you, Gary
If a poem is shared do you simply post it or restack? How do I share it?
drop it right into the comments. Readers scrolling through will stumble on it, and a poem sitting inside a conversation always hits differently than a link people might skip
The child is close:
https://tryingtokeeparockalive.substack.com/p/the-transformations?r=afcqj&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
Here’s link to my first centos-a sustained weaving of voices that have inspired, challenged, and blessed me. https://sharonhom.substack.com/p/beyond-international-womens-day-rights?r=2fluad&utm_medium=ios
https://tryingtokeeparockalive.substack.com/p/island-of-peace
Gary, thank you for sharing it