Back with the morning,
white-coated greetings,

stinging questions,
drone straight at me,

then swarm past,
turmoil in their wake,

a whirlpool of noise,
muddying the air,

spinning, sucking me
into its still-centre

of thrumming silence:
and I curl myself up

in my rolled-up vacuum,
my solitary

where I hang out my days,
one by one, back turned

to the here-and-now
peeping in, rattling keys.

Still, after the pills,
a nightingale sings:

the trees have sparkles
in their hair:

wide-armed, I can
inhale the world,

roam knee-deep in darkness,
and be myself till dawn.


© Nemo 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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In purely personal taste, I’m not a fan of abstract poetry, but this was well composed


Perhaps abstract is not the right word. I mean the whirlpools and sucking in etc etc, Yes it is about a mental condition – as I say, it’s just my personal taste, not a criticism as such


To be honest, Gerald, not one of your best in my opinion but I seem to be contradicted by the nib and nomination.
Everyone to his/her taste, I say.
Best, Luigi.


You have many terrific lines in this poem, but for me the last two are favourites, I love the idea of roaming knee deep in darkness. Sue.

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