HIDDEN TRUTHS

By Tara Reyes

You welcome me in with a warm smile

I know I'm safe just for a little while

You ask me how things have been

I lie- say they're ok, but then...

I want to scream- they're not good enough;

Masking the pain is far too tough.

Then when you ask about my fears

It's all I can do to blink away tears

Your care is always loving and real,

But it’s still too hard to share how I feel.

To say I’m broken beyond repair,

Feels like confessing, and I don't dare

Is it fear or shame that keeps me from truth?

Afraid to reveal scars that serve as proof?

So I leave with thoughts unconfessed

Still bearing the burden of secrets repressed

A hopeless struggle that I face alone

I long to open up and make it known

I hope someday I'll find the strength

To share this darkness that keeps me at length

Life's chaos is too overwhelming

But even your presence can be calming

Through waves of pain and endless night

You guide me towards healing with your light 

ABOUT THE POEM: "I wrote this one for my therapist- she's so genuine and caring, but it's still hard for me to open up completely."

THE STRANGER

By Tony Cooney

There’s a stranger who gets me out of bed.

Washes my face and gets me dressed and fed.

She seems to know my history.

But the photos are a mystery.

I ask her, have we met before?

“Everyday” she says, but I forget once more.

For I was born between the wars.

I fought for mine and I fought for yours.

I spend my nights travelling time.

Between the bed and the firing line.

There’s a stranger who gets me out of bed.

Washes my face and gets me dressed and fed.

Some Days she holds my hands and cries.

Looks at me through unfamiliar eyes.

I ask her if she will come again?

“Everyday” she says but I forget till then.

For I was born between the wars.

I fought for mine and I fought for yours.

I spend my nights travelling time.

Between the bed and the firing line.

So many friends from days gone by.

Reach out to me to talk and spend some time.

Nobody sees them come and go.

I saw them fall so many years ago.

So I close my eyes and in between.

These darkened hours forget to fight my dreams.

You see, I was born between the wars.

I fought for mine and I fought for yours.

I spend my nights travelling time.

Between the bed and the firing line.



FEAR, UNGODLY FEAR

By Peter W. Morris

Fear, damnable fear

Life altering fear

Anxiety, angst, deplorable depression

As a young man, as a middle aged man

Fear, obsessively degrading, over shadowed

Everything

I was afraid to drive, my wife behind

Always behind, the steering wheel

Why? Fear convinced me I’d crash…or worse

Hit a pedestrian, kill someone

Food, canned food, might contain botulism

I questioned incessantly

The can the corn came in…

Bulging, perhaps? Misshapen, dented?

So much food destroyed, tossed

My work suffered, I couldn’t see

I had night blindness, my mind proclaimed

Inflicting my fear on others

Since I was the boss, easy to accomplish

People might be following me

When forced to drive, I always looked

The rear view mirror capturing my attention

Someone with evil intent, following?

I turned left, right, zigzagging my way

Home

Peace, thankfully, was delivered

Behind closed doors

That strange dog I petted at the mall.

Rabies?

Must visit the emergency room!

Webster says angst, overwhelming angst

“A feeling of persistent worry

About something trivial.”

Mental? Was I losing my mind?

In older age, prayer led me to my knees

Seeking divine help for my pitiful condition

Jesus, thank God

Took pity on this deranged old man

Taking my fear, delivering me

From old patterns

From irrational fear, anxiety, angst, depression

Freedom!

INVASION

By Shahida 

You are amidst the air that I breathe, with me, with every stride and not here to forsake.

You swiftly move with speed like the lightening carrying ghostly whispers over every mountain and lake.

Your invasion within me starts with darkness feeling apprehended and devouring pains of sadness.

Strangers fail to be compassionate as their ignorance and stigma blinds them and assume it’s just madness.

You have no colour; no aroma and you are invisible to the naked eye.

You have no body not even a shadow you never answer or wipe away my tears when I cry.

There is no preference to faith age status or creed.

You visit whom you choose to without remorse hesitation or heed.

You have no written invitation yet you always make your presence known at any time.

You feed of my insecurities the more I give the less I own which is mine.

You plant one single seed that grows and releases multitudes of emotions negativity, self-harm, anxiety and fear.

Diminished is my profound joy of contentment, confidence and happiness once again now that you are here.

The dress and hair that shrouded me with a sense of beauty elegance and pride.

Today the same dress and hair shrouds me with disgust, revulsion, ugliness and I cannot hide.

It’s a struggle to envisage a world that attracts so much beauty gratitude positivity and love.

How can I? When it’s your dismal world that I view in my mind through your consumption with dismay beyond and above.

My loved ones whom I've left far behind embrace me with mercy and understanding.

Their voices I can hear but disappear as rapidly as they are commanding.

You invade my thoughts behaviour and life momentarily with a voice that doesn’t fade.

A constant reminder that even though you are not visible I am still me just a helpless soul this is who you have made.

Your perseverance is mesmerising fixating immensely, powerful and strong.

In a room full of light and hope I am still alone; I don't have a choice with you is where I belong.

When will I be free and expel from this mortal shell?

It’s just another episode as usual only time will tell.

DON’T SAVE ME

By Garima Sachdev Kapoor

She didn’t need to be told what to do …

She only needed someone to listen 

At the most, a reassuring gaze and his hand on hers

She withdrew when he offered a resolution

She was not looking for that; it was her cross to bear

Not to carry her weight or to calm the defeaning noise

Her battles were her own, she did not expect a saviour

She knew her inner turmoil was hers alone

She hoped his smile would remind her she deserved more

Even if she was broken.

She looked for a friend, not a protector

She needed to navigate her own inner world. 

But she hoped he would stand, even if at the door



A HEART IN DARKNESS

By Francis H. Powell

Don't smother me with scorn and hate

or lead me to the razor's edge

nor flash the sword of a samurai

cut right through my inner eye

Don't tie me to a stake

for any any words I might have said

because words often stray from my mouth

drifting from the shadows

Don't drown me with your bitter tears

nor disturb me with your inner fears

of which I know are plenty

Never strain a muscle to leave your bed

or douse the fire in your head

write some words, that can't be said

Don't reveal to me your hollow soul

or grind me down to the bone

with your heart in darkness

Don't follow me beyond the grave

share your torment and your rage

Casting shadows upon my name

or send me sprawling to a deep abyss.

SCARS ...

By Donna McCabe

My scars have become precious

They are proof of how much

I've overcome and survived.

THE UNATTENDED PARTY

By Duane Anderson

The party had just begun,

but I was not invited, and stood outside

where the party was taking place,

watching as each guest entered,

wondering why they were invited

while I was not?

I am waiting my turn.

Will an invitation be sent, or will it be

another map to a dead-end road?

I KNOW

By Angus Shoor Caan

I know you're totally unaware

I know you're in there somewhere

There's no recognition

Not even a suspicion

Makes me feel like I'm not there.



BEEN SHOOK, BUT I CAN LOVE

3 Haiku

By anonymous

Projecting my fears,

from ones I wasted my fears,

as betrayal stings.

Not seeing my love,

some tossed me in a trash can,

as the injured rest.

But I can still love,

so if the trust shakes and quakes,

repair is needed.

MASKING

By Mark Andrew Heathcote

What are we masking from

Who are we masking from

Do we even know, do we even remember? 

Who do I see in the mirror 

Who do you see in the same mirror? 

Is it me you perceive to comprehend? 

How can you know me any better than I do? 

How can you be judge and jury over me? 

I am like the salt in the sea.

It can be extracted in sorts, 

But that isn't nearly me either. 

It can be pleasant to your hungry palate or not.

It can be a foil of delight or a poison vial.

What is it I am masking, 

What is it you are masking, 

Why is it offensive to lock eyes?

And engage in little pleasantries with you.

What are you hiding from? 

Who are you hiding from? 

Don't you know it is deceitful to hide your true intentions, 

Am I nourishing heart food or prey? 

Which is it today? Am I friend or foe, 

Am I a lover or thief, a confidant or sworn enemy? 

What is it you want from me? 

When you don't even know what you want for yourself. 

Why am I on trial here, please go, 

And take a long look at your many individual selves.

And when you've stopped masking; 

Then you might make heads or tales of me. 

And, see, we are all part of the same reflective illusive sea.

Only yours, at times, is the polar North opposite to me.

ABOUT MARK: Mark is an adult learning difficulties support worker. His poems have been published in journals, magazines, and anthologies online and in print. He is from Manchester (UK) and is the author of In Perpetuity and Back on Earth, two books of poems published by Creative Talents Unleashed.

DUST

By Paul Parker

The dust of years shroud the light of memory.

Indistinct and broken views of a lost innocence,

With only the relic of recall to emerge from the

Fog of the past.

Only emotion remains.

The dust of years begets the shroud of experience.

The dust of years lays heavy with the weight of loss.

A loss of innocence upon the soul.

A resonance of conscience, a resonance that comes

Whole in mindfulness.

In resonance, a pulse of knowing, that seeks revelation.

The dust of years brings the indistinct, the unhallowing,

The unravelling.

The battleground of the soul.

The dust of years.

ABOUT PAUL: Paul is a 69 year-old retiree and military veteran. He lives with his wife in a village near Shrewsbury in England. He has been reading and writing poetry for many years. He was diagnosed PTSD in 2006, as a result of his military service. Writing Poetry calms his soul - it is a great coping mechanism.

OH RIVER

By Tandra Mishra 

Oh river, Excuse me, please. 

Oh, earthly bliss!

I have some talks with you.

Can I sit beside you? 

Oh please, 

you are always in a hurry.

Oh, what keeps you so busy? 

Where are you gliding from? 

Where is your real home? 

On the top of the rocks, in the misty whites? 

Or at their foot in wide blues?

What pushes you to go ahead, 

Or something draws you to infinity, oh torrent? 

On the stony bed you flow like a devoted. 

Ignoring your admirer 

You are always a pathfinder.

EXPERIENCES

By Simon Drake

I want to pull the knife out 

Relieve the horrendous pain 

Petrified I might not survive 

My heart won't take the strain 

For too long have I suffered 

Unnoticed in screaming silence 

Fingers pressed tightly to my lips 

A unique pain compliance 

Hurtful Experiences scarred me 

Cutting me deeply to the quick 

Pressure won't stop the bleeding 

Or make the stitches stick 

Never able to control my triggers 

Destined to always be burned 

An eternity of hurtful lessons 

Attended but I never learned 

ABOUT THE POEM: "This is how I felt at many times throughout my life continuing to suffer from painful experiences that raised their ugly heads when I least expect it."

EARLY MORNING HOSPITAL VISIT

By Tim Boardman

Early start

marmalade and butter 

In a small plastic tubs

I think we’re 

Going on holiday 

to Crete.

My headache thinks I am

an early morning start

Packed cases 

waiting for taxi

Last minute check 

Sunglasses, books, and tablets

But no knife

To butter the toast

At St. James’s hospital 

Waiting for further check ins

A beige raincoat 

Hung on back of chair 

And pyjamas on 

ABOUT TIM: "I’m a teacher that has now taught students with individual needs for the last 25 years, I have taught art, English, maths, living skills, tai chi and mindfulness. It is an odd profession it takes over your life and it affects your life and view point of the world. For the last four years my dad has had dementia and this has put a huge strain on everything and everyone. These poems are about this time. Writing and making art has always been a way for me to get emotions out, and a way to talk about issues and anxieties; it’s not often talked about but it affects so many people. Any mental health issue needs to be talked about and opened up, we need depression and anxiety in the cold light of day, not hidden away."



ELEVENTH HOUR

By Joan McNerney

Wrapped in darkness we can

no longer deceive ourselves.

Our smiling masks float away.

We snake here, there

from one side to another.

How many times do we rip off

blankets only to claw more on?

Listening to zzzzzz of traffic,

mumble of freight trains, fog horns.

Listening to wheezing,

feeling muscles throb.

How can we find comfort?

Say same word over and over

again again falling falling to sleep.

I will stop measuring what was lost.

I will become brave.

Let slumber come covering me.

Let my mouth droop, fingers tingle.

Wishing something cool…soft…sweet.

Now I will curl like a foetus

gathering into myself

hoping to awake new born.

ACCEWPTING YOURSELF

By Christine Botros

Have you ever felt like you don't know who you are 

You have changed yourself thinking that you would be happy 

But it feels like you have went too far 

It's like you want to go back to the old you 

However you don't know how to anymore

And it's like how much you try to go back 

You can't seem to open that door.

It's like sometimes you like your new you 

However other times you feel like you lost yourself 

You lost yourself from the person you once were

Sometimes it can be so hard to bare

Because you made a mistake 

That you wished you didn't make

You used to be full of life and happy

How ever circumstances changed that 

And now you wish to find that happiness again 

You wish you can turn things around and feel sane. 

You sometimes feel the world has turned against you 

In ways you have never imagined it would

Sometimes you wish you didn't change 

You would give anything to go back if you could.

This is your new However you haven't accepted yourself yet 

And you are beating yourself I bet 

However start small changes

Till you start getting closer and back to your old self 

You are still amazing regardless of who you became 

The person you are and the person you once were are both the same.

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