Where do the words go
when they slip through the cracks
of my mental filing system?
And where is recognition
when words reappear,
no longer categorized
or referenced –
out of alphabetical order –
not even an inkling of recall
as if our acquaintance
is akin to discovery?
(Mental-pause first appeared here January, 2018. This version edited.
Image my own.)
Today is Thursday
I’m certain of it
Thursdays Mom calls
after her hair appointment
But she hasn’t called
and I can’t find that show
I watch on Thursday nights
Did they change the programming?
And then I remember
that garbage goes out
Thursday night
and so I scramble, but
everyone else has forgotten
how can this be?
Today is Thursday
and nothing is going right.
(For Reena’s Xploration Challenge: featured image is prompt. I suffer from inflammation on the brain, which at times affects my understanding of reality – especially when I’m overtired. During these times, my mind will lock on to what it believes to be true, even if I’m totally off base. Reena’s image reminded me of those days.)
My mind is ablaze –
ideas churning
vying for recognition –
greed is ego’s bane
hogs the spotlight
but other thoughts stir
gentler, more insightful –
will remain in shadow
till a quorum empowers
artful expression.
(This poem is from Twitter @Vjknutson. I’m linking it up with Reena’s Exploration challenge which is the featured image. Photo credit: Daniel Salmieri.)
Oh, this symphony,
this magnetic resonance –
my brain is on fire,
a duende spiralling
mystical discovery.
(Ragtag Community’s daily prompt is duende. I am also linking up to Reena’s Exploration challenge #111, in which the linked video is the prompt. Credit to Aeon.com. Photo from personal collection.)
Letters jostle for position
back-up
attempt to regroup
get detoured
Frustration builds
and obstacles
pop-up –
cognition faltering
Circuits are jumbled
pathways rerouting
patience exploding
expression lost.
Word recall
out of order
Word recognition
under construction
Is there an exit
from this nightmare?
(Brain fog affects cognitive functioning. I first wrote this piece in 2015 and the condition continues today – one of the reasons I keep writing. I resubmit it here for Ragtag Community’s prompt: jumble. Image from personal collection.)
No matter how
I organize the littles –
set the unruly to task,
orchestrate harmony
from chaos –
critics dismantle
the efforts, find
the loose thread
and tug…
until all
is worthless effort.
Manufacture fresh starts –
build bridges across the abyss,
stay afloat,
imagining –
mythical passages,
fantastical places,
magic of wizardry
just keep the foes submerged,
act carefully,
the house
is under surveillance,
observers
quietly learning.
Left leg
on strike,
brain
disengaged,
energy
scrounging
for re-charge
coming up empty
Body
derelict –
this illness
sensual agony –
forgive
my silences,
any absences
Spirit
like a racehorse
strains against
the reins
too taut,
hungry
to feel
the wind
in its stride,
breath
freedom.
Gate is closed.
(The challenge of living with chronic illness is to maintain balance. There is a disconnect between what the body is capable of and what the spirit aspires to accomplish. Today, body wins. Thank you to Sammi Cox for the Weekend Writing Prompt: derelict; to Fandango for sensual; and to Daily Addictions for agony – all words that help convey this experience.)
Sensing foulness of mood
they slither out from dark places –
whirling wisps of putrid insinuation
Clever they are, and almost imperceptible
but I am clever also, have succumbed
one too many times to the deceit
will not be played by the mutterings
prodding me to find fault with others
to claim myself unjustly wronged.
With the force of a mountain
I stand fast, repel the daemons,
command uncompromising clarity.
Hissing with disappointment,
the spineless creatures retreat,
disappear to plot their next attack.
(Tonight’s prompt at dVerse comes from Jilly who challenges us to write about the unseen. I am also including this post in Ragtag Community’s challenge: play.)
Chance encounter,
a simple “hello”,
and I reel
backwards,
grasping…
blank
the mind a trickster,
memory inaccessible,
panic pulses
a response…
hovers
out of reach
expectancy
a deadline…
Am I smiling?
Or just an inert fool,
this brain fog
a cruel master.
(Ran into an old friend today. Could not remember her name, nor where I knew her from, only that we knew each other quite well. This is has been happening frequently – maybe as I get out more. Very disconcerting.
Prompts today are from Fandango: deadline; Ragtag Community: pulse; and Daily Addictions: access.)
One Woman's Quest 