Attacked: A Poem on Anxiety

Look out
Look down
Look up
Look in
One step
Eternity
Breath in
Breath out
Relax

Phoebe, MD: Medicine + Poetry

By Riya Bhatia | Featured Contributor


Note from Author: This was written when I was experiencing one of my worst anxiety attacks. Instead of running away from it, I decided to embrace it and use my words as a means of understanding myself better.

*   *   *

My breath trembles
as the room seems to be
consuming my soul,
The walls are closing in
and my thoughts are
consuming me whole,
Sweat and tears
dim the shine
and rosiness of my face,
And all they can say
is keep picturing yourself
in a better place,
I’m crippled with fear
and can’t think
beyond this second,
How do I move on
and when will this ever end,

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Hold it for a few seconds.

Keep breathing.

It’ll be alright,
The day will get better
and the sun will shine bright.
My heart starts to race
as tears stream down…

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In And Out The Flesh

IN AND OUT THE FLESH

Sometimes we return here
Other times return there.
Conjecture; construction.
Both imaginary.
It’s neither here nor there.

It’s The Wine Talking

IT’S THE WINE TALKING

The scum rises to the top
The dregs sink to the bottom
I’d point this out more pointedly
But my mum always said
It’s rude to stir (or point)

She also said
There are three things you should never discuss
Politics, sex and religion
Unfortunately
Nothing else has ever interested me much

Except
Of course

Writing

… She’d be appalled

The Cruellest Month

THE CRUELLEST MONTH

On the twenty-first
Ten years ago
Your son
Claimed this annual
Memorial.

On the twenty-fifth
Two years ago
My wife
Stepped up
To take her own place.

Shoulder to shoulder they,
Shoulder to shoulder we.
Another burden,
Beacon, memorial.
Nothing but memory

Stands the test of time.
And some day
One day,
One fatal day
Not even that.

Bonding Is The Natural Thing To Do

End Times: Republished

END TIMES

Hold fire! Mukti’s rickety rickshaw
Holds its breath a moment, pauses in suspense,
Gasps, gulps, shudders and shambles one day more
Bent upon what uncertain comeuppance?

What deadly quagmires lurk around us
As faulty torches, barely flickering,
Leave us stalking fears, while dreams caress us
Beneath steel towers, looming, uncaring?

Surreptitious glances scan each shadow,
Meet only with mirrors too fogged to read
And whereof, pray, this breath? Above? Below?
Which blurred each image, then blindness decreed?

After the abandon of summertime
Comes winter’s burning breathtaking horror.
Bully boys preparing fresh pits of lime.
Hear them sniggering in the corridor,

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

“On April 4, 1945, soldiers from the U.S. Third Army freed a camp in the town of Ohrdruf, in central Germany. Tech. Sgt. Eugene Luciano later wrote about the experience:

‘Many prisoners laid in their bunks too weak to move, but raised their arms in thanks. Bodies were piled high on the ground; others were in pits covered with lime. There were rows of ditches filled with buried bodies with an occasional leg or arm protruding [sticking up] out of the ground. The stench was intolerable.’ ”

– The Free Library by Farlex.

Of course that kind of thing couldn’t happen these days could it?

Who II

WHO II

Who
Is with
The one
Who is
Alone?

If be
Your answer
“No one”
Pray search
Further

doerless doing part 6b, editor’s notes

Homage.

dhamma footsteps

POSTCARD#378: Bangkok: This is the last part in the series of posts created from source material in “Heartwood from the Bo Tree” by Buddhadasa Bhikkhu. It is a conclusion of sorts, although how this slim volume came to be with me and the events that go with it, is worthy of including.

I found the book again after 20 years of it being lost in a deep cupboard. Such a precious thing to have it leap into my hands again as if by magic. Maybe it got picked up along with the Nokia Phone Manual (that’s how long ago it was!) and got lost in the cupboard for two decades. Finding the book came with all the memories of how things were then, discovering Buddhism for the first time – although there was something déjà vu about it – and how it opened up an understanding in my world that…

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The Framing

If I may?

fourwindowspress

In Memoriam Kevin Michael Davis

Doors at Chaco Canyon photograph by Kevin Davis (2/16/1982 – 7/21/2010)

The Framing” a poem by Richard Brenneman

This is the anniversary of our son’s death in Poughkeepsie, New York from cancer ten years ago. This is always a sad day for Ethel, I, and our daughters, Sonja Bingen and Mary Wood, every year. This blog was started in honor of Kevin, who was a wonderful web designer, photographer, artist, and poet. This year we are publishing one of Kevin’s most iconic photographs, a doorway found at the Chaco Canyon ruins in New Mexico, and Richard Brenneman’s wonderful poem about the photograph, remembering someone who was deeply, deeply loved.

THE FRAMING

by Richard Brenneman

Ekaphrastic poem celebrating the Kevin Davis photograph, “Doors at Chaco Canyon”

 I   Picture this -- seen through the lens of a camera; eye sighting perfectly this line of…

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Onlooker: Quatrain

ONLOOKER

Just another snapshot
Just another day
Breath carries on
Regardless

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