Think of me.
In case I go
Some dark horizon beckoning
For some days it comes closer
But my heart is always with you
Even in deaths cold mist
My memory fading
My words becoming fainter
… with my voice
My image with you but my touch no more
… upon you.
But still I will be with you
Whispering faintly my endearments to you
Echoing in corridors of your mind
Think of me in that light summer breeze
Think of me as it gently whispers in the trees
I leave you.
As today I walked, step after dusty step over this parched land
I felt the earth was burning. I am burning too
I am burning with such passion for a new future
A new world for me, unexplored, full of wonder
But I ponder as I trudge along, bare chested in the sun
The burning sun on my back, then in my eyes.
What will this new world hold for me?
I am frightened … will it be tears?
Shed so frequently over recent years.
More of the same? Will it be? Or …
Will my new world be one of happiness?
I have almost forgotten what happiness is.
But I want my new world to grant it again.
I want to waken each day with a smile on my sleep creased face
I want to kiss you awake my future lover, share smiles
Share joy, share breakfast, share laughter, share a new world.
I want to love you and spoil you, whisk you away
Make love to you, kiss you, tell you I love you each day.
… is that my new world? Is that a future?
It can be. I know it can be. With strength which I have
With a certainty which I will gain
I will forget pain. In my new world. My new world.
Copyright Stan M Rogers 2018
I love poetry that cuts into,incises even the human psyche. I suppose that is why my own seems to be shadowy dark…I try to write happy poetry and it comes out cheesy.
Perhaps writing happy stuff is hardest as the adjectives for torment and depression are so much sexier and soul touching than any other genre.
Anyway I am digressing. Perhaps my love of dark poetry started with the following piece, all I know is that is by Charles Baudelaire and how did I get to discover it?
Back in the late 1960s early 70s I was in love with a band called Mott The Hoople, this was before the days of pseudo glam crap such as Honaloochie Boogie etc. It was on the back cover of their second album called Mad Shadows and this piece of verse goes with the album so well. Atmospheric,self exploratory, examining the darker insanity of love, it has it all.
I have been searching for it for a while now and have downloaded just about every piece of Baudelaire going including the beautiful ‘Calm’…(blogged earlier) but I had no luck locating this. I kept finding mentions of it but no actual text then Duhhhhh, so obvious eh? Are you ahead of me? Yeah I downloaded the covers of that Mott The Hoople album and Eh Voila. This is it……
Descend the way that leads to hell infernal
Plunge in a deep gulf where crimes inevitable
Flagellated by a wind driven from skies eternal
Where all your torments, and for the all the ages
Mad Shadows never at the end of your desires
Shall never satisfy your furious rages
And your chastisement be born of loveless fires
Should I consider selling my lowly soul?
Take the devils payment?
Though it may be small.
But what would I sell it for?
A handful of cash? Naaaa?
The perfect woman?
But I don’t like perfect
My perfection is different
The hurt, the dismayed, the almost broken
They are mine but with the will to fight
To stand strong, to carry on
To fight, to never give up
Now they are for me. Like me
… are me
But a devils deal?
Guess I don’t need it
For hell is no stranger to me
It is actually my hangout right now.
Perfect company I find for a discarded soul
Demons can take me
Hell can make me whole.
Copyright Stan M Rogers 2018
I wrote this in January 2010 and had quite forgotten about it until just now while I was looking through some of my old files. I never ever did find out anymore about this mysterious dream but…and wow this is weird. As I read it now I still break out in goose pimples….so so spooky.
This is that piece. Any dream readers out there?
You’ve had them. Dreams I mean. I know I have them but they are rarely
remembered and soon forgotten. Yea I get the odd fragment or two but mostly I seem
to sleep dreamlessly. Dreams never bother me. I certainly have never suffered from
But a couple of days back … well. A dream moved me or rather a dream affected me.
This is how it happened and is still happening.
Kit arrived home from night shift about 08:15. Mostly I am up by then but this
morning I wasn’t. I had woken earlier, about 06:30 I think but Yep I had drifted off
again and so I woke to Kit’s smile and cheery good morning. But I had dreamt. I
remembered some of it. But as is the nature of my dreams the memories soon left. I
knew the dream had been intense. It had meant a lot. It had involved so much.
But one part of the dream had stayed with me. Haunted me even. It was so real in my
mind. So tangible that I knew I was there. And I know that someone else was. And
that frightens me.
1977. Don’t ask me how I know. It could have been any year between 74 and 80 but I
just know this was in the summer of 1977. Remember that I have lost so much of this
dream but the part that remains is of me walking up to my old home in Bishops
Stortford. The day is warm sunny and bright. I can see two tortoises walking down
the drive towards the road. They are white and I remember them. I had owned these
two tortoises but many years before. By 1977 they were long gone. But I could see
them now. Walking as speedily as tortoises can. The big one first. The real tortoises of
my memory were normal tortoise brown but my dream ones are white. And I am
worried. They are walking towards a busy road and certain death.
Not very scary stuff so far I know. Pretty urbane actually but the thing that causes me
concern is something that I cannot see. I can smell the new tarmac of the driveway. I
can see the leaves of the pear tree in the front garden moving slightly in the warm
summer breeze as I approach. I can smell cut grass and hear traffic in the distance
slowing as it ascends the sharp hill of Latchmore bank about a half mile off and a
skylark singing as it rises above the cornfield to my right. And there are these two
damned stupid tortoises seeming to want to rush towards certain destruction but the
thing that even now as I write this brings goose pimples to my entire body and makes
the hair on my neck rise is immediately to my left. Why left I ask? Left in Latin is
sinistre. It is where our modern day sinister comes from.
I know that if I turned and looked left I would see the tarmac drive leading up to
white painted garage doors. I would see my old car. I would see the enormous oak
tree in the back garden. But I don’t look left. I can’t look left. I rush and stoop to pick
up the tortoises but I can’t look left. I know that someone is there and they are
watching me intensely. Following my every move with unblinking eyes. (Believe this
or not but I have just had the biggest rush of goose pimples ever and even tears in my
eyes as I write? Why? I just don’t know.)
And that is the crux …Who is watching me? Who can I not bear to turn and see. I can
sense that they are female. That is all. I know they are standing there and I feel so
powerless. So unable to face them. Why Why Why? Do they mean me harm? Are
they trying to warn me of something?
I talked with Kit last night about it in bed and she felt my goose pimples of fear rise.
I placed her hand on my leg so she could feel them. Tonight in the shower I tried so
hard under the hot spray to look to my left in my mind. Even under that hot spray the
goose pimples rose. I actually felt fear, or was it just fear of not knowing. I even
question now whether I am losing my mind. Has my karma come back to haunt me
from a dream. I wish I knew.
Tonight I am alone again. Kit is back on night shift 20 miles away. I am writing this
alone listening to my mp3 player while drinking Shiraz red wine. Maybe in a minute
I will go to bed. Maybe I will re-enter that dream. Maybe I will get the courage to
look to my left. I will if I get that opportunity. I just have to know……… even if it kills me.
One of my entries in the 2013 NaNoWriMo poetry competition.
Look at me and ask yourself what you see?
You will see your own self reflected
In my eyes and my heart … In me.
You will find strength if you weaken
Strong arms when you wane
To hold you in safety.
When all seems against you, when all is pain.
When you think you’re alone?
You are not for I‘m there
To brush away tears, till there are no more to spare.
© 2013 Stan M Rogers. All rights reserved