mobile navigation
Blog - Richard Downes

Black Dog

FacebookTwitter


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
Giant

Poodle. No less
Hairy, curly
Menace

Stalking through a forest

I shout, ‘Go HOME’
Force, gusto
Commanding

This is past
A story put to bed
Night night

But in dream
Electronics flashing
The black dog

Rears up again
Paws raised
Salivating

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.

1
Leave a comment

avatar
1 Comment threads
0 Thread replies
1 Followers
 
Most reacted comment
Hottest comment thread
1 Comment authors
deb Recent comment authors
  Subscribe  
newest oldest most voted
Notify of
Deborah Caulfield
Member

good poem
bad dog
this one
here sometimes
creeps out
its muzzle
goes yap
snap snarl
its gone
for now

Declaration 9 – Exploring Exile

Maybe detention may have been a better focus here than exile. Exile raises questions of race and place. But can you not be exiled within your own country? Semantically maybe not. But what of institutionalised care, the house on the hill, the special school, the care home, nursing home, the psychiatric hospital. Separated, parted, away ...

Anthony Fairweather Poems

A nervous breakdown led me into the world of poetry. First of all it was a way of coping with life, and later as a way to live. Along the way I was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome (as a result of showing my poems to a psychiatrist) and have ended up discovering a life I would ...