The Depths of Despair

The miserableness

hovering at the edges of my psyche,

waits to break through

sending me cascading

into an abyss of mental anguish

 

I turn into a puddle

of anguish and sobbing despair

Any good thoughts of hope

are shattered like a broken mirror,

the shards scattered across the floor

 

I pull myself together

for a short time,

then something else

sends me crashing

into a blubbery, messy pool

 

I’m caught

in the downward spiral

with no way out

my mind screaming with futility

I just can’t deal anymore!

 

Things going wrong,

dealing with new technology,

the lack of good customer service

being told to “Deal with it,”

feeling taken advantage of

 

I try to focus

on how my kitties need me,

and would they, could they

find another loving home

should I succumb to my despair.

 

I’m at my wits’ end,

not sure how much

I have left in me

to enable me to go on

When do I pull the plug?

Reflecting on Political History

Reading history

has taught me to see

little change in mankind

but for technology

Politics in any era

country or people

repeat similar promises

of protecting their sheeple

 

But they make secret deals

the public won’t see

and pad their own coffers

lacking responsibility

 

The public is told

what they want to hear

while politicians

bend to personal ears

 

Truth convoluted

media to hound

promote voices in votes

with promises not sound

 

The rich become richer

as power corrupts

the bullying precedent

overtakes much

 

And after elections

do mass voices count

are the pretty promises

replaced by doubt?

 

Because in the end

when following through

on what was promised

to what comes true

 

Deceived by words

questions arise

who ends up paying

for all this demise?

 

--Sasha Wolfe

The Yearning to go Home

My heart yearns to go home

but there’s no home left there

family is gone, moved

landscape changed

 

My gut tightens

with the yearning

to walk the old trails

to be out in nature

 

To remember

those times of feeling safe

to let the woods give comfort

to my sorrowed heart

 

But it is no more

no home, no old trails

paths changed

the property unrecognizable

 

Aloneness eats at my soul

I feel I have no roots

no connections

no sense of belonging

 

I’m left floundering

like the end of a rope

flopping in the wind

with nothing to tie it to

 

There’s no old home

to return to.

 

--Sasha Wolfe

On Writing Poems

Last night while getting ready for bed, I was recalling how I came to write “They’ll Never Write Songs About Me.”

The title had come from an incident from when I was 17 and pregnant for the first time. Bill and I had gone to a concert at Canobie Lake with our friends, the Stanleys. We managed to get right up to the edge of the stage. At one point, the lead singer dedicated a song to my friend Carole. I was happy for her, but I remember thinking, no one would ever dedicate a song to me.

 Then in 1994, after going through the Healing Tao three-week intensive training, I was one of only 10 to get certified to teach out of 50 people from all over the world. It was one of the biggest accomplishments in my life.

Upon returning home, I’d sunk into a depression that lasted three months. Then, at a retreat, “They’ll Never Write Songs About Me” just poured out of me. And when I read it aloud to the group, almost everyone present had tears, even the guys. (To this day, my eyes well up whenever I recite that poem.)

That experience woke something within me. I’d written a few poems over the years, but this ignited a new kind of fire in poetry writing as sometimes, the words just pour out of me … faster than I can write them down. It was, and is, kind of magical. This mostly happened when I was out walking in nature or during times of emotional stress. Now, poems come a little more slowly – maybe because I don’t get out in nature much anymore.

Since then, I’ve had a couple chap books of poetry printed and a book of poems accompanied by photos I’d taken. I have another book of poems ready to publish. (Sadly, I’ll probably never get around to taking that step.) Plus, there are hundreds of other poems.

 

Firestorm II

Mental firestorm

and I’m inundated with words,
thoughts and feelings
Like some unknown entity
turns on a faucet
and words pour out
 
And before I get half written
another topic comes gushing
then another
An uncontrollable, untamable

mental firestorm
ripping through my brain
 
It’s like being in a rodeo
getting thrown
from one bucking bronco
and grabbing another
only to get tossed
from that one, too
 
It’s exciting
but hard to focus
as my mind jumps
from one topic to another
before I finish thoughts
about the previous
 
Words stampede
through my brain
like herd of wild horses
being chased across a prairie
by a pack of word wolves
 
It’s like trying to grasp hold
of the brass ring
on a carousel ride
but the momentum
carries me past too quickly
 
I may catch a tiny piece
before I’m whipped away
by another thought or idea
but I can’t finish
one line of thought
before I’m jumping
to the next horse
 
(I often compare myself
to a fat bumblebee
flitting from one blossom to the next,
but in these instances
there is no simple goal
as with bees
 
In these cases
it is those stampeding horses
and I’m trying desperately
to hang on
milk the ride for every word
define every feeling
before I’m tossed to the ground
to grab the next horse
running by
before it all dries up.

Slowly, Quietly

Slowly, quietly

I want to walk the trails I once walked,

stopping to look and listen;

just being in those places

where I once felt happy and safe.

 

I want to feel the air I once felt.

I want to smell the pines and other trees of the forest.

I want to feel the soft pine needles

and old leaves crunch quietly under my feet.

 

I want to hear the babbling brook,

getting my feet wet in the crossing,

climb the pine needled covered hill

moving deeper into the forest.

 

Slowly, quietly,

I want to remember

what my childhood felt like

in those happiest of places…

in the woods, in the quiet

in the peacefulness of nature.

 

I want to come out of the dark wood

into that little grassy area

where violets and bluets grew

in a small patch of sunlight

 

Slowly, quietly

I want to step back

into the cool gloom again

following the trail

to an open field

 

Then deciding

whether to go farther

wading through the tall grasses

or turn around and head back home.

 

Funny how the return journey,

even along the same paths,

always felt different,

yet, either way,

I felt hugged by the forest.

 

Slowly, quietly,

I want to let

these old feelings resurface,

bring me back

to less complicated times.

 

I want to return

to those happy places,

hoping my memory

hasn’t deceived me.

 

Tightrope

I gingerly slide my feet

along a deteriorating tightrope

holding in anxious thoughts

One slight slip

of thought or balance

might send me

Tumbling into the abyss 

of emotional chaos

and uncontrollable tears and sobs

I try to hold onto

pleasant thoughts and wishful goals

just beyond my fingertips

I’ve forgotten

what it feels like

to be happy

These days

I’m not even sure what

will make me happy

And I know

I’m the only one

who can figure that out.

--Sasha Wolfe

 

Shipwrecked

The mast snaps

topples to the deck

smashing everything

in its path

 

My positive attitude

nosedives into an unnamed sadness

These days, it doesn’t

take much to set me off

 

My rigging deteriorates

its strength rotted away

and shredded sails scream

in the gale winds of grief

 

My hull rips open

and the angry sea rushes in

drowning me in a misery

too deep to explain

 

I take a deep breath

and strike out

for the shoreline –

only I can save myself.

--Sasha Wolfe

Ice Storm

          Standing on tip toes

the edge of the precipice

pulls me to lean…

just a tad more

 

The raging storm of life

pummels me

Who would really care?

Why would I?

 

I’m surprised

my body holds rigid

when emotionally

I’m a puddled mess

 

Part of me

doesn’t care any more

I’m almost tempted

to slip forward

 

But I wait

wracked in sobs

the sharp shards of sleet

stabbing me to the core

 

How can I be so frozen

yet still feel intensely

the heat of pain and fear

worry consumes me

 

How can I ever trust again

when my heart has been broken

so many times, it’ll never heal

when the fear isolates me further

 

How can I live wholeheartedly

when days are filled

with scammers and thieves

I see not hope for the future

 

I shift my weight closer

How can there be any hope?

Is there is no saving of me?

I am so forever damaged

 

But once more

I step away from the edge

I may be forever damaged

but there is still …

 

For now, anyway.

I Miss my Mum

I miss my mum

my heart once young

still tries to cling

to a love once so strong

I thought could never break

 

I miss my mum

the loss so great

I’ll never recover

and today, as I wade

through sand so soft

 

my very being

balances on the edge of sanity,

and the realization

I will never feel love again,

leaves me invisible and alone.

 

--Sasha Wolfe

 

This came from a prompt while I was watching an episode of “NH Chronicle” about a poet.

What Hope is There Left

What Hope is There Left

Hope is a fleeting want

that desire for something more

a dream that seldom

comes to fruition

 

Hope wears the wings

of a spectral being

a mystical, dragonfly-like creature

flitting around dying flowers

 

But hope’s light

seems to diminish each day

the dimming sucking the joy

out of life

 

Hope’s bright white

fades slowly to a dull misty gray

taking on a musty decaying smell

until its light finally

blinks out

 

Hope’s song,

at first vibrant and

full of joyful expectation,

dies a slow painful death

its death-wail

tearing your heart

from which you feel

you’ll never recover

 

When hope is gone,

what is there left?

 

But there’s always hope…

isn’t there?

Shouldn’t there be?

 

I don’t know any more.

At the moment,

I have little hope

for anything.

 

--Sasha Wolfe

Grief Compounded

My heart
shattered, broken
shrouded in grief
so overwhelming
the shards continue
to cut deeply
 
My mind
gagged by strangling sadness
any joy within
has been pounded
into a murky congealing swill
 
My entire being
consumed by grief
of one thing after another
going wrong this year
I’m not sure
I can ever recover
 
Is it possible
that being broken
and put back together
so many times
throughout my life
that not it’s possible
these pieces may never
be glued back together?
 
I’ve forgotten
what happy feels like
and wonder
if I can ever feel
happy again
 
And, if I do get better
will I ever feel
totally wholehearted
Time will tell
I have little hope these days.
 
--Sasha Wolfe

No Warm Presence

There’s no warm presence

to comfort me
No fluff
rubbing against my legs
 
There’s no thump
as she jumps up
on the table beside
for kitty pats and brushies
 
There’s no warm presence
permeating the house
No warm solace
for my soul
 
There’s no comfort
in knowing
she’s just in the other room
sleeping on the bed
 
There’s no warm presence
to sit on my lap
while I’m watching TV
or watching herself
if there’s some
critter on the screen
 
There are no “Raow” greetings
in the middle of the night
when she looks for me
and jumps up on the bed
 
There are no
soft white paws
reaching up to me
while I get her breakfast
 
There are no
headbutts against my hand
while I’m writing
as she vies for attention
 
I miss brushing
that beautiful
white and calico
long, soft fur
 
I miss the purrs
the love, the companionship
I miss running my fingers
through that beautiful soft fur
 
There’s no warm presence
to comfort me
I’m alone and lonely
and missing the warmth
the purrs, the love
 
There’s no warm presence
to comfort me.
 

--Sasha Wolfe 

Surviving Grief

After days of grieving

I keep thinking
I should feel empty
Instead, my gut roils and rumbles
 
I keep thinking
I should feel more heartbroken
but, at the moment,
my heart feels nothing
 
its shattered pieces
have fallen in jumbled piles
throughout my gut
leaving a huge, gaping hole
where my heart should be
 
Sharp, crushing edges
pierce my soul
in a clenched fist
of despairing darkness
 
My emotions
painfully knotted up
I bleed out in tears
broken, abandoned, alone
 
Like a washed up
piece of seaweed
left drying up on an open beach
by the outgoing tide…
there’s no comforting warmth in this sun
 
I need a new kitty ASAP
not to replace Pele
but to be her own little love
and to help me live wholeheartedly again.
 
--Sasha Wolfe 

Grieving for my Dying Kitty

Grief
runs down my face,
breaks my heart in a thousand pieces,
makes my eyes and face swell and
my nose so sore from wiping it
I can hardly touch it
 
Grief
causes a horrific, pounding headache,
and stomach so in knots
I feel like throwing up
Emotions well up
threatening to strangle me
 
Grief
So sharp I can’t function
I just want to lie down
but there’s no sleep to calm
a sorrow so deep
I don’t know how I can go on
 
Grief
She hasn’t eaten in days
water bowls still full
The box delivered from Chewy.com
sits unopened on the floor
her food and water dishes untouched
opening the cabinet with her food and treats
seeing her toys in a bowl
start the tears flowing again
and vocal sobs
leap from my parched throat
 
Grief
Her purrs so diminished now
I have to put my ear down to hear
but she doesn’t want me close
she’s not interested in cuddles or pats
It’s like she’s already
moving away from me
 
And seeing neighbor Leo-kitty
makes my soul hurt even more
for my own kitty-love
to be healthy and happy
 
Grief
I can’t take it.
A part of me is dying with her
and the sobs consume me
I don’t want to let her go
but if it’s her time…
 
Grief
And the guilt
Am I doing enough?
Is it right to force her?
 
She hides under the bed
her sad dark eyes
looking out at me
 
I painfully lie down on the floor
knees screaming
reach under for a pat
she hardly purrs
and my heart shatters even more
as part of me is dying, too.
 
Grief
Another night
one more chance
but not any better,
she goes to her eternal rest
 
I’m relieved for her
but my heart still aches
I can no longer call out,
“Kitty, I’m home!”
and have her come running,
“Meow, meow, meow.”
 
Grief
I am shattered
but at least
she’s now at peace
and no longer suffering.
 
--Sasha Wolfe

Social Anxiety

 

How can I describe

how my stomach knots,

how I feel nauseous,

how tears want to

leak from my eyes,

how the horrible lump

in my throat

threatens to gag me

 

How can I describe

how I just want to

hide in my bed

with the covers

pulled over my head,

how I want to close doors,

cover windows,

stay inside,

and not go anywhere

 

How can I describe

that being around

groups of people

makes me feel

out of place,

makes me want

to cower,

crawl in a corner,

stay out of sight,

and avoid talking

 

Was this how

my mum felt

near the end

when she no longer

wanted to go anywhere?

 

She never talked

about it

never had the words

Am I now

finding the words

for us both?

I Can’t Get Away from Words

I can’t get away from words

they chase me down

fill my mind

tear at my heartstrings

 

Thoughts fill me

stir me

roil in my gut

until I’m ready to explode

 

Too often

I push them aside

because of life issues

to deal with

 

Too often

the many feelings

accompanying the words

have me scrambling

 

to make

feeble stabs at

deciphering and recording

the waterfall rush

 

only to have them

evaporate

before I can

make order of them

 

and before I can

find cohesiveness

in the chaotic tumbling

of emotional ramblings

There’s so much

going through my head

I can’t get it

all down

 

I’m torn,

pulled in multiple directions

going from here to there

to another there, and still another

 

There are times

when the words

are filed away

until another similar outburst

 

But sometimes the words

evolve into a beautiful poem,

and other times there’s enough

for a full writing.

Night Shadow's Dance

 

Sultry moon hidden

dark of night

humidity hangs wet

in the 3 a.m. air

like last night’s underwear

hung on the line to dry

 

Silence is a presence

felt on the tip

of each finger

air has the heaviness

of baited breath

 

She moves swiftly, quietly

through the night stillness

to sit on back deck

sharing a cup of coffee

with the steamy night

 

She waits …

She dreams …

 

Breath held

she watches shadows

move silently

across the yard

quivering in ecstasy

erotic passion

eerily displayed

 

As clouds part to allow

one sliver of moonlight

to brighten the stage

she drops her gown

moves into

the dance of shadows

and disappears

into the coming

Dawn.

Life Work

 

I am continuing listing old poems, making a table of contents. Here's another I particularly like:

Life Work

Work

by Webster’s definition:

“physical or mental effort

directed towards a goal;

A job … employment … occupation …

act or deed ….”

In Webster’s,

describing work

takes up half a page

 

Society deems work

as something

you get paid to do

a service performed or

chores around the house

 

I want to know

about the other kind of “work.”

The work you don’t get paid for

and is often not recognized

or acknowledged by others.

The work that doesn’t

necessarily benefit anyone

but yourself …

and sometimes not even that

 

I want to know

about the work

that is never finished,

the work that if

you don’t do it

 you’ll die

or go crazy

or worse …

--Sasha Wolfe

Priceless Friendship

Different styles

different techniques

different mediums

and yet

we can totally support

each other

 

Maybe it’s

the one common goal

of being realists

in our paintings

that draws us together

 

Feedback and suggestions

are openly given

with the goal

of helping each other

achieve the results

each desire

in our paintings

 

She doesn’t force

her style on me

nor do I

try to convince her

my way

is the better way

 

In this day

when there is so much angst

with those trying to force

their points of view

onto everyone else,

this freedom of speech

between two very good friends

is emotionally refreshing

 

We’re able to speak freely

while remaining true

to our individual styles

I love learning

about her style

and she enjoys

seeing my progress

 

We remain

unique to ourselves

 

Author’s note: When she was leaving, she was saying how much our friendship means to her. Does to me, too. Funny, here I am a word person, and I can never find the right words, and then she was describing how wonderful our friendship is. So precious, so wonderful. –SW