• empty windows…
  • meandering words
  • statue on 47th street
  • suitcases of life
  • we had always…
  • yesterday’s words

th' dust never really settled

~ tolbert's poetry

th' dust never really settled

Tag Archives: love

tin cup music

05 Tuesday Dec 2017

Posted by tolbert in poetry

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

aging, alzheimer's, black and white, childhood, colors, compassion, death, dementia, depression, dreams, guitar, heartbreak, history, homeless, hunger, love, mailbox, meds, memories, moving, music, nature, nostalgia, old, outdoors, pain, patchwork, photograph, poetry, rain, reflection, relationships, remembering, romance, sadness, silence, songs, sorrow, tapestry, teaching, tears, water, windows, wisdom, wishes, words, yesterday

as mornings grow colder i am reminded of a woman
curled next to a steam vent in an effort to warm
herself.  a small tin cup like you might find in
an army surplus store was positioned near her
exposed face as the cold nipped away at her dignity.
some faces are unforgettable. hers was one.

 

tin cup music

life’s story was etched on her face
carved with pocket-knife memories
rubbed in with grammar school erasers
and colored like heavy wet fog
on a stinson beach winter’s morning

smiles were kept tucked in her pocket
until a coin rang out like handel’s messiah
hitting the bottom of her tin cup
a reminder of how far she had fallen
in a life written like a fourteen-line sonnet

noise from darkened streets and shadowed corners
became comforting street sounds
as she curled in her coarse wool army blanket
now clutched to her chin and pushed by her toes
until she found sleep in her cocoon of warmth

then a little girl jumped on chalk-drawn squares
skipped rope and laughed while running into the wind
and peeked around corners in games of hide and seek
oh, she chased her puppy and hugged her kitten
in dreams constructed with yesterday’s pieces

awakened, she wondered when she last cried
tears no longer fell easily
and the gurgling complaints in her belly
reminded her that morning erased dreams
as easily as dreams erased the pain of living

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the walk

14 Saturday Feb 2015

Posted by tolbert in poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

battle scars, bipolar, broken dreams, character building, dejected, dreams, emptiness, hopelessness, love, suicide

5 people walking

five people walked
on a beach, uncrowded
each alone, hearing waves and demons
wishing for more in life
getting less
cain watched the ocean to his left
as he lifted his arms
and freedom invited him in
he never knew freedom could be so cold
he should have known

four people walked
on a beach, uncrowded
each alone, hearing waves and demons
wishing for more in life
getting less
peter stood before the begging waves
waiting
his tears defined the moment
his feet washed by soft sea foam
as he remembered jesus
had washed his feet
but…
jesus was prepared to die
peter walked into the water
weighted down by his burdens
freedom invited him in
he never knew freedom could be so cold
he should have known

three people walked
on a beach, uncrowded
each alone, hearing waves and demons
wishing for more in life
getting less
david knelt down facing his vast uncertainty
in his mind he would be king
yet his mind was turbulent
like waves, tossing this way
and that
as his future passed overhead
and the waves were more angry
than an empty but jealous monarch
until david ran, insane…screaming
into the hungry sea
and freedom invited him in
he never knew freedom could be so cold
he should have known

two people walked
on a beach, uncrowded
each alone, hearing waves and demons
wishing for more in life
getting less
samuel watched overhead gulls
while wondering if they could fly
seagulls caught the wind
and secrets
samuel heard clapping waves
afraid to look
footprints leading to the water were many
and freedom invited him in
he never knew freedom could be so cold
he should have known

one person walked
on a beach, uncrowded
alone, hearing demons and waves
wishing for more in life
getting less
he watched the others
and knew each was him
conflicted and drowning
as the thick fog of each pill
made him more aware
waves were melodious
inviting him in to partake of the music
as the chorus died down
and no one
walked
on the uncrowded beach
the deceptive voice of freedom invited him in
he never knew freedom could be so cold
he should have known

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Symptoms

07 Saturday Feb 2015

Posted by tolbert in poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

aging, battle scars, bipolar, broken dreams, dejected, dreams, emptiness, hopelessness, love, mailbox, nostalgia, poetry, reflection, suicide, tears, yesterday

What are the symptoms of bipolar disorder?  (Part 6 of 7)

Sometimes I feel as if I have offended everyone I know and lots of people I don’t know. I replay moments from yesterday or years, even decades, and rehash conversations that perhaps should have gone differently.  I see the impact of grandiose bipolar actions and misplaced arrogance that masqueraded as confidence. God has either blessed or cursed me with a sarcastic, quick-witted burning mind that sees things differently.  Fortunately, for the most part, I have learned to curb my remarks, filter my thoughts and censor my stream of consciousness.  Unfortunately, that is not always the case.

Those afflicted with bipolar disorder experience unusually intense emotional states that occur in distinct periods called “mood episodes.” An overly joyful or overexcited state is called a manic episode, and an extremely sad or hopeless state is called a depressive episode. Sometimes, a mood episode includes symptoms of both mania and depression. This is called a mixed state and unfortunately it is where I spend most of my time.

Let me again say I am speaking from my own experience and understanding of bipolar disorder and yet as I read the clinical aspects as stated by the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), I see me, pure and simple…me. I see me, a statistic in Washington, California and Arizona where Psych Wards offer little more than colorful crayons broken more often than yesterday’s promises. I see faces of empty people, medicated and wandering, some with wrists wrapped some with a bleeding scalp where patches of hair once grew…all without shoe laces or belts. Faces still haunt me sometimes in the night, never names; I knew none, only faces and hands, wrists, bruises from self-inflicted wounds driven by self-hatred. This is where the clinical aspects of bipolar crash head-on with the reality of an unsettled mind, this is where one inflicted with bipolar faces the battle of life verses death; there under the watchful eye of doctors and nurses who come and go as quickly as the fleeing thoughts they have bled from the minds of those who walk into and out of interviewing rooms.

I wandered through the open spaces of emptiness, looking at nurses sitting idly at their stations, watching them watch me. I am the study written by NIMH, accurate and concise, a statistic, a number hidden deeply within the boundaries of bipolar disorder. Inside, I weep, wondering where my mind went in its journey to bringing me to this place.

open only on monday

words wrap around my tongue
like a cellophane wrapper, wrinkled and crushed
while copper pennies group together
after being spent too many times in too many places

i never cared for the smell of root beer or licorice
in the corner candy store where i filled my pockets
with round striped peppermint slash chocolate pieces
that nobody else wanted anyway

that’s how the excuses started
and validation was easy when dealing with penny candy
on a saturday when nobody was in school anyhow
and the grocer overcharged for bread

monday was coming, it always did
and emptied pockets were comforting and warm
when repentance was behind me for another day
of solitude and peace and promises that i would never do it again
i did

and now i can only hear you on mondays
and even then its only in my head
where your words wrap around my hungry tongue
like a cellophane wrapper wrinkled and crushed

i hear your smile calling to me
while copper pennies group together
after being spent too many times in too many places
just like the memories i used to open
only on monday

The following list of Signs and Symptoms of bipolar disorder is from the
Mayo Clinic:

Manic phase of bipolar disorder

Signs and symptoms of the manic or hypomanic phase of bipolar disorder can include:

  • Euphoria
  • Inflated self-esteem
  • Poor judgment
  • Rapid speech
  • Racing thoughts
  • Aggressive behavior
  • Agitation or irritation
  • Increased physical activity
  • Risky behavior
  • Spending sprees or unwise financial choices
  • Increased drive to perform or achieve goals
  • Increased sex drive
  • Decreased need for sleep
  • Easily distracted
  • Careless or dangerous use of drugs or alcohol
  • Frequent absences from work or school
  • Delusions or a break from reality (psychosis)
  • Poor performance at work or school

Depressive phase of bipolar disorder

Signs and symptoms of the depressive phase of bipolar disorder can include:

  • Sadness
  • Hopelessness
  • Suicidal thoughts or behavior
  • Anxiety
  • Guilt
  • Sleep problems
  • Low appetite or increased appetite
  • Fatigue
  • Loss of interest in activities once considered enjoyable
  • Problems concentrating
  • Irritability
  • Chronic pain without a known cause
  • Frequent absences from work or school
  • Poor performance at work or school

I will add these comments to the list.  First, it is not all-inclusive and probably could never be all-inclusive. Second, not everyone who is bipolar has every condition listed.  As a personal test, I read the two lists to my wife and she told me whether or not the condition applies to me.  She hit the points right on and the outcome was just as expected; my world is made up of quite a large number of symptoms from the Manic phase of bipolar disorder while concurrently I also live in a world that is derived from the Depressive phase .  My problem, as my wife pointed out, is that the two worlds have merged and are stationary; leaving me trapped inside.

I noticed that there were conditions (such as Euphoria), that I have experienced some time in the past but not recently while almost all of the other conditions have taken up residence within me and now I could have my mail delivered there.. It occurred to me that this is the reason the condition worsens as we age. The luggage of my life is overstuffed and there is room for no more.

suitcase_old_brown

suitcase

you had a suitcase
packed and ready to go
brown, like the hallway
narrow
like the minds of those who tried to hold you back

there was so much of life to live
so much packed in your brown suitcase
strewn like tight jeans and wrinkled shirts
cracked belts and fractured memories

i wished for a promise to give you
a rose and a poem wrapped in pink ribbons
on parched paper
written by hand and erased twice

hungry for words and short sentences
i crawled into your life
as easily as i envisioned crawling into your suitcase
it was more narrow than the hallway
and the soiled, dingy walls reminded me of my life

as the lid closed
and the music stopped

3 suitcases png

 

The amazing thing is that in writing this I feel that I am opening up old wounds and yet in my heart of hearts I know I am holding back.  I hope you will join me for the seventh installment of this look into the mind of a bipolar man.  Thanks so much for reading my words thus far.

The seventh part is appropriately entitled “Comfort”…

Thanks so much for reading my words thus far.

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Definition

06 Friday Feb 2015

Posted by tolbert in poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

battle scars, broken dreams, character building, dejected, emptiness, guitar, heartbreak, hopelessness, love, memories, nostalgia, reflection, sadness, suicide, tears, yesterday

purple poetry

What is bipolar disorder?  (Part 5 of 7)

As I enter into this fifth installment concerning bipolar I am suddenly feeling vulnerable and quite insecure about his whole process.  I know it is not necessarily well written but the point is it is written and that is a tremendous step. It is as if I have just penned a poem entitled ‘purple poetry’ and then purposely spilled purple ink onto the page. At this juncture, I will confess that some of the most frightening visitations I have with bipolar are the periods of psychosis that are marked by delusions and hallucinations.  These can be amazingly real and can manifest themselves in the form of a snake or a scorpion or can be a person or a dog.  It’s uncanny and most times I am able to differentiate between a real person and one born in my mind. These come on usually as a result of sleeplessness.  When experiencing a manic episode I can go days with zero sleep and weeks with virtually no sleep (an hour a night for four weeks).  I do not recommend this for anyone because depression and suicidal anxieties can walk arm in arm with sleeplessness and sometimes the line of demarcation is not so comfortable.

I stop on occasion and try to check where I am going and where I have been with this somewhat self-inflicting word wrap.  I don’t want it to come across as a complaint nor do I want it to be read as an attention grabber.  I hope this is informative and your visit into my mind, which happens to be bipolar, is just that, informative for any who question what it is like at the end of the hall when the lights are turned off.

I suppose if I am able to communicate one thing it is that bipolar is not an addiction and when I think about all it entails I think of  Senator Barry Goldwater’s campaign slogan in 1964 when he made a bid for the office of President of the United States.  His slogan was “A Choice, Not an Echo”  Bipolar, to me, is quite the opposite, “An Echo, Not A Choice.” By that I mean it is genetic and has everything to do with wiring and nothing to do with choices. The echo chambers of my mind are filled with eerie expressions on bad days and melodic sounds of orchestrated music on good days.

an honorable death

morning escaped like an echo
winding through whispering pine trees
crawling with bent fingers over frozen ponds
searching for the minute of birth

fogged windowpanes slowed the reflection
as ghost-like fog and mist stopped
dead against the cold moisture-laden glass
where morning died an honorable death

mourning died in the burrowed soil
while storm clouds threatened to weep
onto stones planted around her
as she lay in a place safe from yesterday

haunting music still plays in my head
my fingers on guitar strings too late
my shallow words too soft for her ears
my heart too broken to know how to heal

morning escaped like an echo
winding through whispering pine trees
mourning died in the burrowed soil
while storm clouds threatened to weep

Simply put, bipolar disorder, also known as manic-depressive illness, is a brain disorder that causes unusual shifts in mood, energy, activity levels, and the ability to carry out day-to-day tasks. Symptoms of bipolar disorder are severe. They are different from the normal ups and downs that everyone goes through from time to time. Bipolar disorder symptoms can result in damaged relationships, poor job or school performance, and even suicide. But bipolar disorder can be treated, and people with this illness can lead full and productive lives. I hate taking medications that make me feel like I left my head at the bowling alley after it was used to clear the gutter.  Chances are I didn’t because I have not been in a bowling alley for probably thirty years…or maybe a week ago Wednesday, I don’t remember which.

The point is, if you are sick, take your meds!

Bipolar disorder is not easy to spot when it starts. The symptoms may seem like separate problems, not recognized as parts of a larger problem. Some people suffer for years before they are properly diagnosed and treated. I did and it almost killed me on several occasions. It’s important to know that like diabetes or heart disease, bipolar disorder is a long-term illness that must be carefully managed throughout a person’s life.

morning is empty

when gray doves no longer coo
and what was once a novel
has been reduced to a few short words

there is nothing left
but a shortened paragraph
in search of punctuation
to slow the silence of emptiness

do you remember your youth
when life was spread out like a cinema
on some wide screen
and acted upon in full color?

a new fog has rolled in
and swallowed the light of day
there are still prostitutes on every corner
and the smell of morning’s laundromats
is unchanged

morning will soon pass
and the sun will move no more quickly overhead
than it did when i was five
morning will pass
surely morning will pass

Next:   What are the symptoms of bipolar disorder?  (Part 6 of 7)

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in the beginning…

03 Tuesday Feb 2015

Posted by tolbert in poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

angels, battle scars, bipolar, emptiness, heartbreak, love, tears, yesterday

Bipolar 1…Coming to terms with life in the trenches (Part 2 of 7)

When I was first diagnosed with bipolar several years ago, my reaction was ‘so what, who cares?’ In fact, the doctor explained that I was bipolar 1 and I remember thinking, ‘at least I am on the low end of the spectrum.’ I’m sure he explained it more thoroughly to me but honestly I don’t remember anything he said after bipolar 1, I just wanted to get out of his office. Even then, in a manic episode, I had places to go and I didn’t want to hear any more of his explanations.

I had no idea at the time that Bipolar 1 is the most serious of the bipolar conditions.

In retrospect that reveals a few things about where I was at that time in my life. I knew nothing about bipolar and perhaps for the moment that ignorance served me well. I had no idea what some of the symptoms were but in reconsideration I can now see them all too well. I’m not sure I could have handled the implications had I known.

Some of the issues that caused me to visit a doctor were clearer to my wife than to me and even then it took quite some time for me to admit that I had some problems going on.

I remember driving through a residential neighborhood to see the doctor. The fact that I was driving 65 miles an hour in a busy neighborhood where children were playing never fazed me and yet now I see the danger and foolishness of my actions.

The question may be, ‘what exactly is bipolar and what are the underlying causes?’

Tomorrow I will reveal some of the craziness involved with the illness  (Part 3 of 7) from a personal, non-clinical standpoint. The whirlwind (remember that word) that is my real-life continues to cut a path like an erratic, non-predictable tornado.

split-head 1

Artwork: tolbert

silent scream

i heard the silent scream again
and felt the piercing
of my heart…where i used to live

now someone else plays in my head
games i wish not to play
with no board and no rules

i will die alone when the time is right
lie on the floor and breathe
the silent invisible fumes
that will wrap wicked fingers
around my neck
squeezing the final breath from my body

the voices in my head hurt
in ways i never knew possible
as my tired body longs for sleep
while my racing mind craves peace
at the hand of this intruder
who shreds my heart

the silent scream is louder now
and the voice i hear
frightens me
now that i recognize the crying
i feel the tears

the silent scream is my own

Next:  Some of the craziness involved with the illness  (Part 3 of 7)

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My BLOG died and now my WEBL is alive and well.

17 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by tolbert in poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

angels, bipolar, black and white, broken dreams, character building, childhood, death, dreams, heartbreak, love, memories, photograph, roses, sadness, tears, yesterday

Part of me says “don’t write so much about bipolar because it’s a turn-off” and part of me says “it is you, write about it.”

Therein lies the problem. I always feel like I am being tugged in many directions and it is difficult to set the course.  My moral compass has not always pointed in a set direction, I will admit that.  But God only knows I have attempted to “do it right” and all things considered I think it has worked out fairly well.

If you are reading this I will say “thank you” now and also you can rest assured that I am writing this “off the seat of  my pants.” That, to me, is what my WEBL is…an acronym for “Wayne’s Everyday Battle List” during which I may list some of my victories for the day.

Of course you may remember a recent entry during which I “rebelled” against the dull and uneventful word “BLOG”(a truncated form of the word “WEBLOG”) and I replaced it with “WEBL” which is also a truncated form of the word “WEBLOG”.

So that is it.  If you have a desire to delve into the convoluted spaces of a bipolar mind, this is the place.  I plan to do a virtual lobotomy and while I am in there I will also deal with issues of the heart because these two are so closely connected.  I know this is a danger zone, a hard hat construction area and yet I am going to walk boldly in and see if I can finally discover who this man is who lives in my body.

I also plan to add a touch of poetry each day and poetry is one place I can go to feel  settled and safe. Poems are like seeds that grow…dandelions that scatter in the wind.  I invite you in to take this wild ride and with your comments and help I know we can get there, wherever there is.

I want to give a special thanks to DiAne Ebejer who said, “As I have learned here on WP, a blog is anything you want it to be..”

And so it is, this WEBL formerly known as BLOG will be anything we want it to be…and by we I mean the divided heart within me.

broken dreams

i wanted to know you better—
a black and white photograph told the story
of how you went away without smiling
or saying goodbye.

i looked for flowers
sprayed around the plain metal box—
black and white roses all look the same
and photographs expose no fragrance.

somehow i remember your face,
eyes closed so i’ll never know the color,
hands folded one over the other
as if covering a hidden secret in your belly.

i looked into your padded bed
and when i saw an angel sleeping
i knew you had to go away
and i would never know your touch.

i wonder what you would say
if given just one minute
to reveal the passion in your heart
and if you would hold me as i have dreamed.

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carmel morning

07 Thursday Aug 2014

Posted by tolbert in poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

breakfast in bed, carmel, love, memories, monterey, nostalgia, yesterday

walk n breakfast

was it morning
or the touch of your skin against mine
that reminded me of yesterday
in carmel

sidewalk cafés and coffee clouds
sounds of daylight peeling back last night’s sunset
packing it away in the side pocket
of a brown leather case

we lay in bed
swallowing laughter like cinnamon rolls
devoured and left sticky on our fingers
conquered by the incinerating heat of passion

your skin always amazed me
the way you wore it, even in morning
when i traced it with eager fingertips
like drawing clouds and sea bound fog

that magic was neither morning
nor was it carmel
enchanting is you, how you moved
when you thought i was not watching

but my eyes always undressed you
in carmel or san francisco
and when the winds swirled around you
i fed you chocolate

cotton-thin clouds were never ours to hold or keep
oh, but we loved them
and when laughter was to be found
our clouds were there

now i wonder, was it morning
or the touch of your skin against mine
that caused me to think about yesterday
and the feather-like touch of clouds we never owned

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i lost you somewhere in the fog

02 Saturday Aug 2014

Posted by tolbert in poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

heartbreak, hopefulness, hopelessness, leaving, love, sorrow, yesterday

coffee

i lost you somewhere in the fog
tuesday, the day we shared cherry pie and coffee
i knew by the way you swallowed your words
and politely wiped the punctuation with your napkin

soft music cooled our coffee, black
and when tears welled in your eyes i had no doubt
you would walk away when the final word was spoken
and last glances devoured like dust in an upright hoover

i never knew then, and don’t know now…
where did you go when you turned left towards fillmore street?
aimless, it seemed and yet with power
steamed with determination like a railroad locomotive

i see you on occasion and yet not
sometimes it is your eyes worn by another woman
sometimes your smile has been stolen
but never can another woman wear you like you did

when i hear the song that played that day
tuesday, when we shared cherry pie and coffee
i close my eyes and watch you walk in the door
turning right from fillmore street

never wanting to open my eyes for fear that i was dreaming
i wait until i am sure my coffee is stone cold
so i can ask for a fresh cup with no tears
and watch the server walk away…just as you did

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hawthorne zep

16 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by tolbert in poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

alzheimer's, bicycles, compassion, dementia, love, nostalgia, rain

rainy alley w bike

i remember he looked like a paperclip…
hunched over and limited in his usefulness.
and to think that several years ago, he rode a bicycle—
hawthorne zep it was called—1939 model.

i knew the bicycle better than i knew him.
“cleveland welding company.” he always said,
when i asked how things were going.
“cleveland welding company built it, 1939.”

he was only eight when the delivery truck came;
montgomery wards written on the side.
just as he had dreamed…dark blue with white trim,
tires blacker than night and sidewalls brighter than the moon
when it hung lethargically in full cycle.

but now, he could barely rise from his chair.
i wondered if maybe that bicycle hadn’t kept him alive;
memories were reason to hope, even in the past.

it hurt to see his spine so crippled;
his back, an asymmetrical arc leading to nowhere,
bent like an old fiberglass fishing pole
overburdened with a seven pound bass with a will to live.

we had roles.
i spoke…he stared into the past.

“hawthorne zep it was called, 1939 model, white sidewall tires,
side jeweled reflectors, and a chrome-plated chain guard…
she was built by the cleveland welding company, 1939.”
was his answer to any question i asked.

i told him it was okay to tell me all about his bicycle,
so he taught me about life…
and everything i needed to know about the hawthorne zep.

seems he forgot all about 1939—and every year that followed—
but one saturday morning long ago, a bicycle was delivered
and he fell in love like most folks only wish they could.

 

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