Welcome, pilgrim, sit ye down. Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! Another deeply unsettling “holiday” officially commemorating the time indigenous good Samaritans saved the lives of the early settlers only to be mostly exterminated for their troubles. There is a lesson here, I cannot however seem to isolate the whisp. I’ll never abandon giving unconditionally, when possible, but what if it brought about the downfall of your entire nation? Was your city surrounded by murderous foes but offered redemption should they sacrifice 10 children, is that price too high? To save millions? I think so, but when one adheres to their principles, they must be prepared for the same disaster courted by those who have similarly abandoned. A valuable lesson indeed. Life more rarely enjoys the comfort of a happy ending than fiction. Happy sells.

Well, with that in the rear view please let me thank you for waiting out my mental health hiatus. Five weeks away from all social media was relatively beneficial in most ways. I do feel rather dedicated to my myriad goals again suddenly. Previously I hadn’t displayed such a lack of commitment since
escaping the asylum. No butterfly net could contain this most caustic insouciance.

Today’s poem is as stark as Iron Man and bleaker than the house of Dickens. Enjoy?

“She’s So Heavy”, August 19, 2021.

Indecision weighs harsh upon ragged soul

Atlas unable to muster even minimal shrug

Regret subdued by grossly ravenous hunger

And logic is consumed blinding by endless fire

Sibilant whispers beckon soothingly

Up and down paradoxically rapturous vertebrae

Passionately decreeing amiable acquiescence

With sweet promises to blessed silence

A peaceful chorus, the siren’s lament

But they are liars all, tired conceit colossal

So ever on the battle rages

In stark knowledge of possible futility

Resistance crumbling and rebuilding

Both at wildly varying rates

Denying either combatant victory

But like the final captured occupant

Of fabled Pandora’s accursed box

Hope remains, forever crying out

But whether mocking or to offer salvation

Still to be long unknown

To those eventually proven worthy

Or the uncountable remains

Forever ensnared, so very far below.

Uplifting like an undertow, yes? Drugs are bad, mmmkay. (The suggested spelling correction for mmmkay was “mammary”, just thought you’d want to know). Free chuckles. That poor clown has been imprisoned too long. Strange how the poor always seem to be the ones in jail. Coincidence indubitably.

Anyway, quick update, Catherine and I are thriving. Not unlike the headiest of wild violets, spreading our roots and strapping our boots. Life abounds.

I’ve sincerely missed this cabal of consciousness and look forward to providing future content on the very soon. Be blessed:)

Happy Trails and Waggy Tales!

-Alex Blaikie (He/Him/It)

Categories: comedy poem poetry

Tagged as: comedy funny poem poetry writing

dReadpoetssobriety

A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.