Poetry

Somebodyism

Posted on by Khaya Ronkainen / 22 Comments

Sensitive and misunderstood affliction of the soul
manifests in bewildering ways:
excessive unhappiness
wounded confidence
ego under stress

Tried and tested:
a dose of tears as often as required
some swear egomania offers temporary relief
and awareness soothes the compassionate soul

But F.I.N.E symptoms soon emerge
(Freaky, Irritable, Neurotic & Emotional)

Patient confined with imaginary friends talks about
words, together they coin a new term – talksanity.

Proud of achievements, talks about ME
all the time. An irritating itch
on susceptible wounds

Urgent medical breakthrough needed
as somebodyism continues to infect
inhabitants of the vale.

Note: I have to admit, I found this prompt difficult. I hope I did it justice.

In response to: “Write a poem that illustrates the symptoms of a quirky made up illness” Dark Poetry for the Cruellest Month Challenge.

Poetry

Coloured Flashcards

Posted on by Khaya Ronkainen / 23 Comments

Bring me all your dreams
of splendid restful nights
flashes of inspiration
envy to your friends

Bring me all the flashers
especially the one
with sterling ideas
pinned
prized
a collector’s item
things colourful dreams
are made of

Bring them all!
Let’s create flutter fun
fantasy and nightmare
to dance with fire
for the witch must burn.

Note: We still burn effigies in Finnish countryside. That is, Easter & Midsummer Bonfires; a tradition carried over from pagan days. I found this practice peculiar at first but nowadays I enjoy it, for reasons that have nothing to do with the tradition.

Also, I’m a list freak. I’ve got a number of ‘to-do’ lists going at the same time. I pick colour of flashcards (according to the mood) and write ideas, one-word triggers, one-liners, dialogue from my eavesdropping occupation and so on. They decorate my working space. One day I promise, I’ll peel them all off the wall and throw them to the fire. Imagine what peculiar fun that would be!

Poetry

How Will My Pen Give Thanks?

Posted on by Khaya Ronkainen / 29 Comments

On edges and extremes, singular distress.
A blank page or a capture by a character
with issues, I fumble towards a dark and
stinky mess. What madness! Deprived of
sleep, of nourishment and other things I
care not to talk about. I visit a doctor and
declare I’m zonked out. He tells me to take
sleep; a prescription that fixes problems.
I go home ready to take sleep, and muse
says no: “You call yourself a writer, write!”
Legs cramping and fingers unfeeling, I sit
and I write. As dawn approaches, a voice
screams: “I need sleep!” and the computer
says no. Side effects? I haven’t even started.
This is, the dark side of creativity. And the
luminary still asks, what do I do for a living?