Monstrous Dreams.

 

Broken dreams litter my lonely nights.

Monstrous shadows haunt me

Breaking me, softly but surely as I try to sleep

A ghostly happiness wanders, remembered from a recent past, forever lost.

And as wakefulness invades the small hours … I weep.

– ————

My head warned my heart of certain pain

My heart ignored it, as always … my heart is my bane

It causes such sweet pain as I wander alone

Feelings lost… or stripped to bare white bone.

My tears are as nothing in this solitary world.

————

Dark tracks ahead, shrouded by tendrils of ghostly mist

No clues are given, no words of encouragement uttered

I wander aimlessly … I face this alone. Unknowing.

… and my head drops. I care for little right now

I return to my nightmares.

———

© Stan M Rogers 2018

 

Tomorrow the Sun.

Tomorrow. I will wake early.

Tomorrow a dark cold morning.

Midwinter gloomy, rain on my window.

As bleak as only December can be.

Before the dawn.

…..

But I will waken with joy in my heart

A smile will suffuse my face as I start my day

A joyful day … a happy day

… for tomorrow I travel. I escape.

Sweet freedom. A brief parole.

…..

Tomorrow. I will create my own sunshine.

For a day I will cease being chameleon.

I will be me. The true me I remember.

The me I don’t fear. For fear has no place.

Tomorrow. I won’t be alone.

…

Stan M Rogers Copyright 2018

Escape.

A last uneasy kiss.

A meaningless goodbye

I had grown wings

Escaped to the sky.

Castles in the Sky.

Time for sleep in Chateau Rogers but I thought I’d share this piece I found in my odds and ends files from 2009. I’d forgotten about this and even put it under ‘unfinished’.

I kinda like it.

Castles in the Sky.

.

Sometimes I sit outside on warm summer evenings

And I think such thoughts

Such sad painful thoughts

But I look above to heaven.

There are no gods there, but I see

Great castles in a pink puffed sky.

Figures in clouds

Holding hands

Princesses….and dragons

Those dragons. They burn. They hurl fire but they fade.

————–

And I see your face

Feel your fingers in mine

Just history now but I feel them still

And yes… tears come. Sobs from my heart.

At things lost. At memories.

An orange sun sinks in the sky

And I know you feel its warmth too

I feel it touching your skin, I touched it too

And a breeze gently stirs. Bending flowers before it

I feel it on my face, drying tears

Touching my lips, lips that kissed yours.

————

But I sit here in this sadness

And I wring my hands in hope

That those days will come again

That my exile, my solitude will end

But for now. I will go. Try to forget.

But I feel that one day …

…one day I will return.

When dragon fire no longer

…. Will burn.

———–

Copyright Stan Rogers 2009.

PRISON.

Rather an old one this but I am posting it anyway. I do love this one and it is certainly one of my best I feel.

Self made prisons are the hardest

My mind made this one

Locks, bars, turnkeys

I crafted them myself to imprison myself

This broken wing of my own mind

I created the means. A rod for my own back

And my wing broke. My mind broke. My life became lost

 

But this prison is home

I find comfort somehow in cold bitter loneliness

Why should I reach out. Seize comfort when this pain fits so so well

Like a glove.

And I have withdrawn to become one with myself

In my self made cell

These bars are my own fears

Would I leave if I could?

Could I just walk?

 

Find some god to rescue me and my broken wing mind?

Yeah gods are two a penny

Gods of self pity maybe

Mine would be one of self loathing

No self pity here. I already explored that one

I shook his hand

So I deserve this sentence

For being imperfect in an imperfect world

For enjoying my broken wing

 

And then I sit, crosslegged admiring my bars

No golden sun without.

Only a cold spiteful moon of memory

And I imagine a blade and immolation

Should I cut deeper

Watch the blood run. See my life force leave me

Mingling with my tears and my fears

Black puddles on a dusty stone floor

Embrace departure and finality?

A final salty tear to say goodbye?

 

Would that would be too easy

Too simple. The fools way out although foolishness…

It has it’s attractions.

But I want this pain. I shouldn’t end it

With this pain comes understanding

Cold biting realisation is a powerful tool

In experienced hands

 

So I sit, naked on a cold prison floor of my own design

And I wonder. Is my prison keeping me in?

Or keeping others out?

Should I let you in

To share this glowing incandescant pain

To share this broken wing

Should I allow you here?

Just let some light into my darkness

Can I do that?

 

I think not

I tried sharing and boy it hurts.

I won’t make that mistake again

It broke my wing

It killed my spirit

It placed me in this cell

Of my own design

I can’t come back from it

 

So I will stay here. I will taste sweet oblivion

I am alone. I will be always.

 

 

©2009 Stan Rogers

 

 

 

 

What Do I Deserve. 2009.

Time for another oldie tonight. I wrote this in 2009 and it is one of my all time favourites. Another Matt Spears inspired piece, exploring bitterness at life I suppose. Enjoy.

What do I deserve?

Little, some might say

I leave when I said Id stay

But thats me

Matt has nothing on me ha.

You might find me in a wine soaked corner

Broken cigarette between bitten smiling lips

And Sarcasm

I will give you sarcasm

And then smile cos you dont deliver.

Ha…Take my broken cigarette

Crush it on your carpet and light another

Tell you a story you have never heard before

About you and your problems

And so do I care?

Matt might have but he aint there

And look into my eyes. Pain? Ha

That aint pain, it is loss

I can handle that. I did before. I will again

Fifty five years and I get used to pain

Dont send you insane.

Just walk out the door, slam it even

Pull up the collar and say ….Fuckem

You wont pull me down. You cant hurt me

Cos I am used to it now. Have to be

And walk down the street

Glaring at street lights reflecting in rain spattered puddles

Daring them. Hating them

Just for being there.

Hearing noises of the late weekend night

Kicking garbage, coke can, and smiling.

And entering some sad local bar

Her in the corner? Too much lipstick, Cheap clothes

And I smile, pulling down my collar

Lean against the bar. Catch eyes.

Whisky…Large one OK?

And scan the lives in this neon lit hell

Talk to you. Sitting on the stool next to me

Putting your leg over the other as you grin at me

Tell me your story, might make me smile?

Ha. That you dont want. Would ruin your night

And I find a seat and enjoy the feeling of trainers

Yea sticking to beer drenched carpet

And think…let my mind wander

Shouldnt be let out on its own.

But suck back whisky and smile at the woman in the cheap clothes

Dare her to talk and feel her pain and want

Because deep down she is me. Lost and alone

Stan Rogers 2009

IF I WERE TO FEEL ANGER. Re-edited.

Between the years of 2007 and probably 2010, I reached the peak of writing creativity. I was always more of a poet, a troubadour of this modern age rather than a novelist I felt, but I did turn out Love Sex and Time Travel in 2007 which is still my biggest seller by far. It is also my favourite novel. I actually cried as I wrote parts of it such was the emotion I put into it, which came from my poetry.

In those heady four years, my brain positively crackled with new ideas. I didn’t write because I wanted to make money from it. I wrote because I had to. I didn’t have a future … I had a NOW.  If I hadn’t have written my words down, I felt that my mind would explode, and so most days I would just write. I would write more and then more. Beautiful poetry, wonderful words seemed to cascade from my mind continuously it seemed.

Also, during those four years, my life changed totally. It was all down to my words. I gave up the rat race in 2008, taking redundancy, and vowing to never return to 9 to 5 slavery, I left the UK to be with my Sandra in the Seychelles. Ideas as usual poured from me spurred on by Sandra and her love of my words. But it was not to be, the Seychelles was not for me and I unhappily returned to the UK a few months later. But my words never stopped and in 2009 I wrote some of my finest work. I also started the Seer Of Albion, which believe it or not started its life as a simple Facebook status, then a very short piece of philosophy about reading people’s faces for emotions. Then it became my project for NaNoWriMo that year. That is a competition held every year to write a 50,000-word novel during the 30 days of November. I succeeded and won my certificate.

I was inspired in my writing of it and even parts of the story by my Raven who I had first talked to in late August 2009. We became online lovers and then real lovers in December 2009 and then she became my wife in 2012. I thought that my life was complete. My writing did continue into 2010 but something was different. My mind stopped crackling. Writing became something of a chore. I missed daily targets that I set myself. My inspiration faltered and instead of a natural flow it became a chore to try to find it. I had lost the plot. My writing became contrived and forced and so the flow slowed to a trickle. I put that down to being so very much in love with Raven. I was happy and very content and I suppose the need to write diminished because of that contentment.  From then until now, apart from a few shining exceptions, I feel my work has been second class and pedestrian.

Yes through these years I did produce some wonderful poetry but it was the exception amongst a sea of dross. My follow ups to Love Sex and Time Travel and The Seer of Albion ground to a virtual halt over those years and that is where they pretty much stand now, along with The Anonymous Poet another novel started in 2014 which I felt had the potential to be my strangest but greatest novel yet. All lay, stuck between about 10 and 20 thousand words. I wouldn’t admit to it but my inspiration had just totally dried up. I became dead inside, mundanity bit, and my inspiration followed it. I had found love but had lost my words.

And now? Well a wonderful thing has happened to me but at a terrible cost to myself personally.  The unthinkable, for me, happened and I lost my dearest love. But slowly my mind has started to function again. I wrote Three Castles, I rewrote Until the End of Time, I rewrote Beautiful Brown Eyes. Not by far my greatest work, they still lacked some of my previous fire, but they were a turning point. For 8 years my follow up to Love Sex and Time Travel has lacked direction. I could not see where it was going, I could not imagine the ending, until a couple of days ago. The ending had been there all the time. I had written it already a few years ago and not known that it could be the ending, a wonderful inspired ending that explains both books and will lead to another follow up. Now it will be. I have a direction at last.  My end has a start…. I am a writer and a poet once more, if a very lonely and heartbroken one although as she knows, she is always welcome to call me at any time.

© 2018 Stan M Rogers. All rights reserved.

I thought I would finish by posting a piece of poetry from about March 2009.  I do admit it was inspired by my very dear friend, Donna Marcozzi. It wasn’t the piece I originally looked for but it does show the emotional depth of feeling I felt back in 2009. Here is, ‘If I Were To Feel Anger.’ It is the past, the present, and the future…….

If I were to feel anger. Tears of rage
Loss of innocence even at my age
Would it be at losing you…before I knew you?
Feel your soul dissipating through my outstretched fingers
Like mist on a summer morning. Dew dissolving under hot morning sun
And a breaking heart in my chest. Feeling your sighs
Touching your face across a void, and mutual highs
But I am me. The guru of love lost.
I find it so hard to be…happy?
So hard…just so hard. Life gives me that as interest.
And I am never ready. Always behind
And where’s the sense in that?
Can I help this feeling of self imposed loss?
Going down with all hands baling
Angry with failing, and fighting my own devils
Punishing myself for imagined future crimes
And past indulgences….back to haunt me
And people feeling anger at me
And I wonder why. Because I dare to be happy?
Because I stepped into their lives?
I hate these feelings of trying to balance
Not to hurt and think of others feelings.
Guilty I suppose… I always am. Perhaps trying
Isn’t really enough.

Should I just lie down? Fulfil my own collapse.
Give up at all that lies before
Renounce myself.
And any anger I feel is at myself
Audacity at my own hope of being
Temerity at daring to think I could ever possibly be happy.
At daring to think that love isn’t possession
Not control…I want to give. But that isn’t right
Is it?
Anger at inner turmoil. At trying so hard
At being the person I aspire to be
Anger at the insults I receive?
No not really…just sadness at negativity and pain
And spite, the worst of human sins.

©2009 Stan Rogers