Autobiography · Mental Health · Poetry

Quiet

"'The Night Closes in on Us' - Rhyd Ddu, Snowdonia, Wales" © Adrian Kingsley-Hughes, 2014. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Adrian Kingsley-Hughes, 2014. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

On Sunday morning
I went for my first run
in our new town.

Quiet.
This town is so
damn quiet.

My feet, my breath, the leaves on the ground.
Everything I couldn’t hear
over the scream of the city
is now deafening.

And the constant screaming in head
that was trying to break the barrier
and be heard
is beginning to coo.

Autobiography · Poetry

Lush

Cathedral Grove” © Bradley Davis, 2008. CC BY-ND 2.0.
September finds us holding
fragments of past months.

We search out a forest, green space,
somewhere lush to plant them.

Trees and grass we can walk to,
untouched by the traffic,

by the ever-present whine
of the endless energy cities spit.

Over and over we’ve asked
what’s missing,

but never stopped to wonder
if it might be nothing.

That we might be overflowing
instead of empty.

Longing for the quiet.
The stillness of rainforest.

The song only evergreens,
moss, mushrooms,

and our broken hearts know.
In the cold, wet air

they sing it to us
and we can finally hear

ourselves echoing it back.
Pulsing empathy.

“I know you. You belong here.”
Hush.

Poetry

Keep it Simple

"listening." © Kristina, 2010. CC BY-ND 2.0.
listening.” © Kristina, 2010. CC BY-ND 2.0.
Just listen.

Really listen.

Lay down all the little hairs
prickling up the back of your neck,
screaming they have a solution. Continue reading →