Writer’s Block

I’ve been sitting here all day, staring at the clock
I’m trying to write a poem, but I’ve got writer’s block
I’ve got several partly written, but none of them seem right
As I’m looking at this naked page where everything is white

I’m getting so frustrated; oh, come on, get on with it
I’m stuck on what to write, and time’s getting on a bit
Get your brain in gear, dear; don’t sit there in a huff
I know you’re getting bored, and you’ve really had enough

I could try again tomorrow, but I want to write today
There’s a lot on my mind, and so much I want to say
I’m refusing to give in and will not give up the fight
If I have to sit here crying all the way through the night

It’s coming up to dinner time; I’ve not got anywhere
I think I’ve lost the knack; at least, that’s what I fear
I could watch the telly, but the signal is on the blink
So, I sit here, mind vacant, and I don’t know what to think

I’m at the point of giving up, but I’ll know I’ll be so cross
If only I could say that I don’t give a blooming toss.
But, no, I simply can’t, as I was hell-bent on achieving
Now, I’ve lost all my words, and I sit here sadly, grieving.





Photo by Steve Johnson on Unsplash

Feathers (Fiction)

Flash Fiction (My First Attempt)

Over the weekend and today, I wrote two pieces of coursework to send to my tutor. One was a 2,500-word true-life short story, which I may share another time. The other, today, was my first-ever attempt at flash fiction (under 300 words). As I said to my blogging friend, Jeff Cann, yesterday, I never write fiction, having always said I can’t do it, so this is unusual for me. I thought I’d share it with you here.

FEATHERS

Andrea was washing the dishes when she was startled by a scream from outside. She hobbled over to the kitchen window and looked to see where the sound had come from. A minute later, the phone rang. As she answered it, the irate voice of her neighbour shouted, “your bloody cat has killed a pigeon in my garden,” to which Andrea replied, “I’m really sorry, but how do you know it was my Lucy? She’s never caught a bird before; several cats prowl this area.”

The voice yelled, “Your cat was sitting nearby and looking very proud.”

She smiled to herself and tried to visualise a proud cat. “You’ll have to come and clear this mess up,” Mick demanded.

Andrea explained she’d injured her ankle, so she couldn’t help. She felt quite sorry for Mick now, having to deal with the feathered casualty and knowing how much he hated cats. She felt sorrier for the pigeon, as she loved all wildlife. She apologised, still not convinced it was Lucy’s fault but wanting to keep the peace. They’d always been good neighbours up until now; it would be a shame to fall out over this one incident.

She offered Mick some plastic bags and old gardening gloves to clear up the dead body. Five minutes later, she could hear him cussing as he dealt with the corpse in his back garden. Andrea finished washing up, despite the water being only lukewarm now. She glanced up and was horrified to see Mick, having hopped quietly over the low fence, furtively creeping along the wall to her dustbin. He lifted the lid and unceremoniously plopped the dead bird in.

Now, he was the one who was smiling.



Busy, Busy, Busy

I’m suddenly so busy; I don’t know where to start
I decided last week to try my hand at art
Monday morning came, and I trotted off to town
Got soaked on the way as the rain thundered down

The art group was crowded, taking turns with the paint
and I really do not have the patience of a saint
I left rather early as I didn’t want to wait
with half a piece of work that I didn’t think was great

Tuesday morning is my own; perhaps time to write
I’m short on ideas, so will my piece be trite?
My imagination frazzled; do I really want to try,
or shall I stop here and now and simply say goodbye?

Tuesday afternoon, I’m at the gardening group
It gets pretty chilly; I was glad I’d taken soup
But nothing’s really growing, and the flowers are dead
I’ll wait till the spring and do something else instead

Wednesday night, I’m drumming; I have a brilliant time
I’m really in my element and feeling quite sublime
Thursday afternoons, I pick litter in the park
We walk around in twos like the creatures in the Ark

Friday comes around, and I have time for myself
I just cannot settle like the Elf on the Shelf*
I ought to read or write, but my concentration’s poor
not helped by the postman who is knocking at my door

Saturday at last, and I am seeing my best friend
I hope that our relationship will never, ever end
We’ll have lunch together; dip our biscuits in our tea
We think so similarly, and we rarely disagree

And finally, Sunday comes, and I’m free to lie in bed
I sleep too heavily and wake up with a sore head
The shopping comes from Tesco; now there’s food to eat
I snuck a bar of chocolate in; my happiness complete!


*Elf on the Shelf (for those who don’t know it) is a classic game that children get involved in at Christmas. There is a toy elf, and the parents/carers place it in different places around the home every night, so delighted children think the elf is moving around itself. My youngest grandchildren are sure that the elf is magic because of this!

Image by Brian Merrill from Pixabay


My Therapy – The End and The Beginning

As some of you will know, I had my last therapy session with my therapist, Chris, this afternoon. I’m not going to say it wasn’t tough because it was. We talked about what progress I’d made, even when I felt I wasn’t making any. We spoke about my poetry and whether I was going to continue writing. I am, naturally. I NEED to write – it’s the breath from my soul, and I would be lost and speechless without it. After I got home, admittedly in floods of tears, I wrote this poem to clear my mind and express my thoughts.

I’m thinking of taking a short break – not from writing, but, just for a while, from trying to keep up with all the blogs I follow (and that’s a lot) because I need some headspace to take stock of what I’m feeling, what I need and where I want to go from here. I will still be here and will, at least, try to read some blogs when I’m able to. I hope you will all understand.

Thank you so much to each of you who have been beside me and supported me through such a difficult few months. I’m eternally grateful. I’ll be back before too long.

With my love, Ellie Xx 💗🤍💗

~~~

My last session left me feeling distraught
I’m not being brave like I know I ought
Just before leaving, I asked for a hug
The answer was no, and I felt like a mug

She did, momentarily, hold my hand
Just briefly, though, as hugging was banned
I thought that this was so very kind
It calmed my heart and soothed my mind

I duly filled out the last questionnaire
To see, on the whole, how well I’d faired
I could see my progress, and more than a bit
I was somewhat surprised; I have to admit

Now, I have to wait for quite some time
I’ve got an awful long way to climb
I won’t be with Chris, but someone new
I hope I can bond with that person, too

She said it’ll be months before I’m seen
I’m wondering what I can do in between
I’m trying to find some way to cope
without completely losing all hope

I owe it to Chris, and I owe it to me
Not to turn this day into a tragedy
I hope I’ll be able to continue to write
It helps me to battle, and it helps me fight

I’m debating whether to take time out
To let myself fully get over this bout
I want to write, but less time to read
Right now, I have to do what I need.

“The last time always seems sad, but it isn’t really. The end of one thing is only the beginning of another.”

― Laura Ingalls Wilder, These Happy Golden Years

(Photo by Rowan Freeman on Unsplash)




A Bitter Pill

I cannot think; I cannot write
I can only see the end in sight
I cannot read the blogs I follow
Keep saying that I will tomorrow

My brain’s in autopilot mode
I just can’t carry this hefty load
My counselling has nearly ended
And yet, my heart still hasn’t mended

I’m losing C., my therapist
She’s going to be so sorely missed
Desperation is setting in
Fear like shark’s teeth on my skin

I’ve just got two days left to attend
I know that I am reaching the end
What will there be left of me?
An empty vessel is all I’ll be

The holidays just two weeks ahead
With jolly Santa, dressed in red
It’s such a struggle again this week
Where do I find the comfort I seek?

My heart beats fast and faster still
As I swallow down this bitter pill
I really don’t know how I’ll cope
I’m trying not to give up hope.



(Photo by Maddi Bazzocco on Unsplash)

FOR GRAHAM J.
A neighbour died two doors away
I only found out yesterday
He was a husband, friend and dad
Mourning him and feeling sad.


RIP Graham J.



Raw

My heart is still heavy, but I’m wanting to write
I’ve opened my ears and sharpened my sight
I’m trying my best to keep trudging along
Not to do anything drastic or wrong

Spent the weekend with the kids and my son
I’ve let go of the thoughts of firing the gun
Thanks to my friends here for sticking by me
Without all of you, I’d doubt I’d still be

I’m busy this week, which might just be good
Not really up to it, but know that I should
Still don’t feel able to read a lot
My stomach just feels full of knots

Christmas, for me, is a lonely time
But, I guess I’ll have quiet to pen a rhyme
Lost my Mum on the 30th of December
During the holidays, it’s tough to remember

I’ve still got an awful long way to go
The process is still incredibly slow
I’m dreading my therapy, with the end being near
January the fourth, I’m still full of despair

Before that time comes, there’s a three-week break
The thought of this makes me a physically ache
With the end being nigh, and that’ll be that
Somebody else will sit where I once sat

After that, I have to wait on the list
My counsellor will be so sorely missed
Everything is exposed and so raw
Will it be like this forevermore?

Just to let you know, I’m taking things slowly with getting back to reading and commenting and am limiting myself to just a few blog posts a day for the time being. I’m missing all my regular bloggers, but am doing the best that I can. I wanted to write something today and will probably continue to do so as the days go by because it helps me to process my feelings. I’ve got a very busy few days coming up (unusual for me), so please bear with me. Thank you to all of you, my readers and regular bloggers, for having faith in me and for your kind patience.

Love and Hugs, Ellie Xx
💙💙💙



Enough is Enough

I wrote this poem last night when I felt extremely low and depressed. It was honestly how I felt at the time. Today, not a lot has changed, but please be assured that I’ll be okay, Writing is my only way of releasing my pain and deepest feelings, as you all know, so I needed to express this. Love, Ellie Xxx 💗

Ellie Thompson


Jagged boulders tumbling down
the mountainside on me
I stand poised for the impact
when I really ought to flee

~~~

The rocky ground below me
trembles as they land
missing me by inches
that wasn’t what I’d planned

~~~

The malicious demon at the top
starts throwing down his flame
He’s thirsty for a death
Should I play his little game?

~~~

I’m exhausted from the fighting
with this dreadful, awful stuff
I feel I can’t go on
Because enough is enough

~~~

Suicide’s not painless
And I can vouch for that
For someone else is sitting
In the seat where I once sat.





(Image source – Image by Goran Horvat from Pixabay)





Scarred

(Image source – Phoebe Kay – Pinterest)

NOTE:
Just to reassure my readers that I don’t self-harm anymore. Unfortunately, I have scars that will never go away, which I have to live with for the rest of my life. It’s not easy – I carry a lot of shame for them, although I appreciate that was my way of surviving the intensity of the agony at that time. My scars are sadly worse than those in the image. I get judged by strangers who stare sometimes. It makes me want the ground to open up and swallow me. I can’t say I’m never tempted to do it again at times when I’m desperate, but I know that I won’t. I owe it to myself, my children and my ever-curious grandchildren. I have a tattoo across some of my scars – it says, “THIS TOO SHALL PASS,” and I know it will in time.

I want to heal and my writing is my way of beginning that journey. Thank you for bearing with me and supporting me with my recent outpourings of grief.

Tramlines embedded

permanent reminders

in soft, yielding flesh

disguising the pain of existence

~~~

The beginning of the slippery slope

the agonising journey

following tracks

side by side by side by side

~~~

Ensuring her instruments

gleaming in the moonlight

spotless from the flame

as she attacks with ferocity

~~~

Pearls of crimson gathering

on her lily-white skin

offering relief

from the shame and guilt

~~~

Never speaking of his sin

holding it all within

brain freeze

a blade on the skin

~~~

Silenced with threats and blame

memories, flashbacks abound

cutting the evil and torture out

of the time when cries went unheard

~~~

Child of her child’s curiosity

she tells of a fall on broken glass

submerging her truths

hoping the child’s thoughts will pass

~~~

No surrender of life or sanity

She needs no permission to write

expressing her pain in words

she’s not giving up on the fight.


Searching For Tomorrow

You may think me rather sombre as I write my feelings out
I concur they’re somewhat dark, as well you’ll know
Do you understand my pain, and why I try to hide my face?
My shame lives on from very long ago

I started this year well, without a tale to tell the world
But then I started digging, as you will all have read
Was that the wisest move, or should I put it all behind me?
But then I’d have to keep it in my head

My heart and soul are burdened; can I bury thoughts again?
Should I bid them on their way to pastures new?
Friends are standing by me and for that, I bless my soul
Do I really want to lose that loving view?

Oh, I’ve had my share of joys and bliss; an awful lot of fun
Along my endless travels, and on the brightest roads
So, why the saddest face and the hesitance to smile?
When I’m longing now to lose these heavy loads

I attempt to write my heart out; as it gives me real relief
Will you bear with me some more, while I search for peace?
Don’t give up or look away, as I’ll get there in the end
I’m so near the point of getting some release

I’m grateful, one and all, for your love and such kind words
They’re much appreciated, as I wend and find my way
The sun’s begun to shine and the sky’s a vivid blue
As I look forward to a better, brighter day.

Live today facing forward—with your back on yesterday, your eyes on tomorrow, and your head and heart in the moment.”

Richelle E Goodrich

Passage of Time

Please forgive my indulgence in sharing this poem with you. I thought long and hard about publishing it, even writing it initially. This post follows my two previous ones, Dissociative Healing and Brave. They are all a part of the process.

I’m aware that my posts, mainly poems, of late, have been dark. I’m currently working through my thoughts and feelings about this with my counsellor. She is helping a lot, and I know I will get through this before too long. However, today, I needed to write this straight out of my heart, which is where all my writing comes from. It’s the only way I know how to write.

My intention is not to cause distress to any of my readers, although I’m aware that others may possibly have been through such traumatic experiences.


Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick
The metronome ticks the minutes away
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick
It regularly beats without a delay

She hears it, hears it, hears it now
All the way from childhood days
No choice for her but fear and pain
To come and go from this toxic place

Come day, come week, come every month
Nothing ever changed
Come birthdays, Christmas, year on year
Becoming more deranged

She trod on the cracks along the road
She’ll be punished for that, to be sure
Nearer and nearer she’d get
Ringing the bell on the the door

Waiting, waiting, waiting for time
Knowing she’s headed downstairs
Panic, fear and desperation
He’ll be seated on one of the chairs

She’s greeted by the metronome
Knowing what’s in store
She’s swallowing down the terror
And tightly clenching her jaw

She’s beckoned within, the time has come
The door bangs behind her – it’s shut
The bolt is shot, and she’s trapped inside
As she’s made to be the slut

Come, come, come sit on my knee
Just you do as you’re told
Her heartbeat faster and faster
She’s only eight years old

Don’t tell, don’t tell, don’t tell a soul
They’ll be trouble if you do
So she silenced herself right there and then
Not knowing this was taboo

After years passed, the news got out
Not from her but another source
Someone else told their story
He denied it all, of course

The police were called immediately
Spoke to her Mum and her Dad
She was frozen solid to the core
Because she’d been told she was bad

She didn’t want to cause any trouble
She silently tucked it inside
The grown-ups shrugged their shoulders
While she crept up to her room and died.