Dead toad on the roadWhere were you going?Who did you hope to meetWhen everything stopped? Toad you are forgottenNo-one mourns youWhat spawn you have begottenThink not of you.
Frog
Frog, your legs were long, symmetrical and braveAnd also deadYour arms were crossed across your breastYou looked at rest. What creature killed you, Frog,And left you there?A sacrificed amphibianOn a cold, stone stair.
Sour
My mind is souredLike pickles caught in teethLingering past the tasteAnd spreading doubt.I hate the cloak I wearOf clinging knowledgeI hate the doubts I feelAnd they are me and youAnd you.No longer do I taste of milkFresh and sweet and pureMy thoughts are long fermented.I will never know quite whereBut the road to deathIs paved…
Remembering life and illness
So many moments make up a life. Some are forgotten almost instantly, some fade with time, and some are written hard on memory. Some of these are happy, some painful and humiliating. Do we really remember them, or do they curl into something else, worn by memory itself? Do we talk about them, look at…
Of my daughter
My second child was due to be born when my daughter was four years old. Psychotic depression, before and after her birth had meant that we thought we would not have another, and it was a joy to think that we might have a different experience. I had been on lithium when the baby was conceived,…
DNA
A poem warning of the dangers of ancestry testing & the consequent risk of ill-founded doubt (with thanks to Sylvia Plath) ~ Daddy give me a breakWon't you?Daddy what will it takeFor youTo seeThat I am a part of you? What do you see when you see meDaddy?Is there any way you can free meDaddy?From…
Lucy
Soundless you ceased to be, Oh my daughter. Unliving A shell of a life A sigh with no start. Is it better To live, twenty years and more, To long and to yearn, To lose the distance That will never come? Or did the pulling darkness, The lack of time, Beguile you more? I never…
Privilege
Privilege is a word that is uppermost in many minds at present. It drips off the tongue, coated in caviar, champagne and cocaine, and no-one can really decide whether they want it or not. Does it help? Does it condemn? I consider myself privileged and feel guilty for being so. I’m not privileged enough to…
Lived experience of mental illness
When I call myself a patient and a doctor, they seem like two opposites, two sides of the same table. In mental illness they are often perceived very differently – one with knowledge and power, one suffering and in need of help. They don’t join together well. They make a whole with an empty centre,…
The worried doctor
I think I have always experienced anxiety. Not all the time, in that I’m not always anxious, but it has always lurked in the background, waiting to spoil things. I don’t know how much anxiety is normal though, and perhaps mine is a sensible and healthy amount. No anxiety at all would be quite a…