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Blog - Richard Downes

Black Dog


I’m not familiar with my depressions. I tie them up with a bow and put them in a bag and heave them in a sack, on my back, and carry them with me, hidden. Numb to thought to feeling. But from time to time they grow stronger in the dark and leap out on me, remindful. On new days I am a colourful clown exploding with mirth. Its how I cope. The clown will get a rhyme or two one day.

Black Dog

Churchillian Voodoo
Lies in wait
In fact

A great big
They say a

Poodle. No less
Hairy, curly

Stalking through a forest

I shout, ‘Go HOME’
Force, gusto

This is past
A story put to bed
Night night

But in dream
Electronics flashing
The black dog

Rears up again
Paws raised

I push back
Get down
Down boy

Entangled in the undergrowth

In the briar
Frightening. Worse than
Brer Rabbit

The black dog
Has its prey
Knows me

Has me in sight
Finds me out
Scents me

These smells from
A past time
No sense senses

I forget the black dog on new days

Waking up
To find the dream
Has gone

The past
The experience gone
A new day

It’s only the
Panicked memory
Lingering on

Of a time
Of a place
Long gone

It hurt me then but now its gone.

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