Carole…

…speaking through art, poetry and humour…oh and politics too!

I’ll tell you about M.E. by Jonathan Eyre.

http://sustainablyyours.blogspot.co.uk/

 

One poem from a 10 poem pamphlet ‘ Stopping the Clocks’. By Jonathan Eyre.

I’ll tell you about M.E. –

I’ll tell you about M.E.
Write down your dreams, your aspirations, on a sheet of paper,
Done it? Write your aspirations down! One or two of them,
Maybe the deeper ones. Done it? Now tear it up,
Tear up the sheet of paper with your aspirations written down on,
Tear the sheet of paper into tiny pieces and throw them to the floor.
Commit littering where you are now, don’t hold back! Done it?
Do this every day, every hour, in the street, in your seat, in your car, in your kitchen, in your bed, Do it where you stand, where you cook, where you think, at the work desk, on your computer.
Not just mentally, But in this physical representation of your personal dreams for a future.
This is the process of M.E., torn dreams, aching limbs, an exhaustion that strips you of your soul’s desires, strips you of your simplest objectives in life,
Tears even the thoughts you are having at a moment in time,
Tears the conversations from your mouth as you are trying to have them,
Tears them into shreds.

So you make your dreams smaller, I’ve read the books, done the
Cognitive Behaviour Therapy ‘patient sufferers’ course.
You make your aspirations easier to achieve, to have a shower, to walk two extra steps, go and post a letter, to read the next few pages of a novel, to say hello to a friend…
………And I can see you have not got it..
Go on, write these smaller dreams down on a new piece of paper.
Now tear them up, throw them to the wind, these simpler dreams,
Do this every hour; train your mind to accept this
To accept that even the shadows of your deepest dreams
Are……….. torn…………. to …………..shreds,
Rendered into a fatty deposit
That sinks to the bottom of the latrine of your aspirations.
That there is around you the smell Of festered and decomposing dreams……
Your life is not broken, it is torn over and over and over again,
Thrown as confetti the day you became shotgun wedded to this disease
And you now find these torn pieces hidden in the clothing of your personality,
The folds of you character, turning up as decapitated words and scrambled torn individual letters
On thousands of pieces of torn sheets of paper,
Shards spirited away by unseen underground rivers of illness.

And I see you might be getting it, the enormity of this incurable disease
That cheats on the body, steals the mind and toils the soul….
So now that you are working it out,
Write these thoughts down on another sheet of paper, tear these up to smaller pieces and send these to your friends.
I have no need of them; I have too many tears
(or is that tears)
Of my own.

Jonathan Eyre 2012

If you want to share please include the author, Jonathan Eyre’s name, thank you. Or go here- http://sustainablyyours.blogspot.co.uk/

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Written by carolecarrick

January 2, 2017 at 9:06 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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