I want to relate/understand how fall invites/signals death and darkness of all manner of things. When I went to Alki Beach the other night around 7 it was so dark and quiet, the contrast so great from the brilliant chatter which used attend there day and night, I thought of you and your struggle. Everything that makes the life there seemed to have disappeared. It was like a light switch. Then today I found this quote from another great Northwest writer, Tom Robbins: "It was autumn, the springtime of death." So, I think you are saying that bipolar means you are constantly faced or could be with death or something like it which, of course, is terrifying. Because in the end bipolar has no real tie to season or it is continuous.
Fall brings excitement and and a beautiful eagerness to my soul. Bright colors in nature, insulating layers to hide in and peek though. But then it is gone so fast as winter shows up and the beauty and excitement turn old and tired.
Thank you for sharing your perspective. Although I don't share it, some of my people do and your perspective helps me see what they feel.
This is a terrific reminder that while some of us enjoy a seasonal change, others dread it. Thank you for sharing the both and....the beauty and the terror.
Sometimes I can't find a way to comment, not because there aren't thoughts and emotions triggered by a poem, but because there is so much magic that I am convinced my words would break the poetry. When I was a little girl I read an introduction to a book of poetry. The introduction was written by a wonderful writer, one of those writers who are really poets even though they write in prose. A writer was speaking about a poet. It started: "when you speak of a poet, you have to whisper" I've always remembered that quote. Some poems require whispers. This poem requires whispers...maybe even silence.
A thought proking poem for me - I love the changes of color in the trees. I don't like the bare limbs when the leaves, as you mentioned, become compost. And your last line of a dance - I had to smile as I prepare myself for a season of a moveless dance of wrapping myself in a thick, soft blanket, then sit on the sofa to stare at the flames in the fireplace. Thank you for sharing your gifts of poetry and storytelling.
Doom is a many splendored bird. I had a friend whose wife bought a raffle ticket so he could have lunch with Tom Robbins in La Conner, the hippy haven of the world. Actually, I think it is split in half by an Indian reservation. He was a psychologist, so of course, they divorced. My question is: will your raffle ticket require me to have lunch in your car? And does your console have a cup holder? I would very love to have lunch.
I used to auction for private home readings to benefit non-profits but I'm in recovery from my Messiah Complex so I won't be doing that stuff for a long time if ever again.
I love the progression of fall to fallen in your title. Fallen is such a loaded word, and it reminds me of Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily" and that reminder--not so subtle if you've read the story--that we all must change and that change is part of the human condition (often one we fight against with the most enthusiasm).
I like this poem. The contents of the coat pockets was both recognizable and strange-- yes, yes, what? Ghosts!? As someone else has mentioned, "fallen leaves/are bright and brutal" is great. And the final word of the poem, doom. The "oom" just keeps on giving.
fall. Everyone loves it but me. Besides I just got a very sad e mail from a friend in San Miguel de Allende. Too many things die in autumn. The days of the dead. It’s a gorgeous day here. Makes me tired.😷🎃
I have always loved the Fall. The yellowish sunlight and amazing colored leaves that were only green before. I was born with a biorhythm that is without large peaks and valleys, that is perhaps why I can't write poetry for crap.
Note that the leaves are most radiant before they die--bright and brutal is a brilliant line. Could "incandescent laughter dance ecstatically with doom" without bipolar vision? Or would the whole world be neutral? The beauty is paired with the pain and soars.
I hope this time you find not just forgotten dollar bills in your pockets, but also the strength to fend off your demons.
Sending love in any case.
A frightening poem, really--yet oddly exhilarating.
That's a good definition of bipolar mania.
I want to relate/understand how fall invites/signals death and darkness of all manner of things. When I went to Alki Beach the other night around 7 it was so dark and quiet, the contrast so great from the brilliant chatter which used attend there day and night, I thought of you and your struggle. Everything that makes the life there seemed to have disappeared. It was like a light switch. Then today I found this quote from another great Northwest writer, Tom Robbins: "It was autumn, the springtime of death." So, I think you are saying that bipolar means you are constantly faced or could be with death or something like it which, of course, is terrifying. Because in the end bipolar has no real tie to season or it is continuous.
God! Can I ever relate to this poem!
I'm happy it connected for you.
Fall brings excitement and and a beautiful eagerness to my soul. Bright colors in nature, insulating layers to hide in and peek though. But then it is gone so fast as winter shows up and the beauty and excitement turn old and tired.
Thank you for sharing your perspective. Although I don't share it, some of my people do and your perspective helps me see what they feel.
This is haunting. ( And beautiful). Thank you for sharing from the depths of your being. May you and all who experience bipolar disorder find peace.
Thank you, Colette.
This is a terrific reminder that while some of us enjoy a seasonal change, others dread it. Thank you for sharing the both and....the beauty and the terror.
Thank you.
Sometimes I can't find a way to comment, not because there aren't thoughts and emotions triggered by a poem, but because there is so much magic that I am convinced my words would break the poetry. When I was a little girl I read an introduction to a book of poetry. The introduction was written by a wonderful writer, one of those writers who are really poets even though they write in prose. A writer was speaking about a poet. It started: "when you speak of a poet, you have to whisper" I've always remembered that quote. Some poems require whispers. This poem requires whispers...maybe even silence.
I feel like I need to whisper my reply. Thank you.
A thought proking poem for me - I love the changes of color in the trees. I don't like the bare limbs when the leaves, as you mentioned, become compost. And your last line of a dance - I had to smile as I prepare myself for a season of a moveless dance of wrapping myself in a thick, soft blanket, then sit on the sofa to stare at the flames in the fireplace. Thank you for sharing your gifts of poetry and storytelling.
Thank you, Toni.
Doom is a many splendored bird. I had a friend whose wife bought a raffle ticket so he could have lunch with Tom Robbins in La Conner, the hippy haven of the world. Actually, I think it is split in half by an Indian reservation. He was a psychologist, so of course, they divorced. My question is: will your raffle ticket require me to have lunch in your car? And does your console have a cup holder? I would very love to have lunch.
I used to auction for private home readings to benefit non-profits but I'm in recovery from my Messiah Complex so I won't be doing that stuff for a long time if ever again.
Yeah, well, quarter -pounder-with-cheese is a game changer.
I love the progression of fall to fallen in your title. Fallen is such a loaded word, and it reminds me of Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily" and that reminder--not so subtle if you've read the story--that we all must change and that change is part of the human condition (often one we fight against with the most enthusiasm).
I really love the poem!
I like this poem. The contents of the coat pockets was both recognizable and strange-- yes, yes, what? Ghosts!? As someone else has mentioned, "fallen leaves/are bright and brutal" is great. And the final word of the poem, doom. The "oom" just keeps on giving.
Thank you so much for the close read!
I’m not bipolar but I can’t stand x
fall. Everyone loves it but me. Besides I just got a very sad e mail from a friend in San Miguel de Allende. Too many things die in autumn. The days of the dead. It’s a gorgeous day here. Makes me tired.😷🎃
Always found that I stare in wonder at the excessively colourful leaves with a smile and an impending sense of doom. Is that what Fall does to us?
I have always loved the Fall. The yellowish sunlight and amazing colored leaves that were only green before. I was born with a biorhythm that is without large peaks and valleys, that is perhaps why I can't write poetry for crap.
Hahahaha!
Note that the leaves are most radiant before they die--bright and brutal is a brilliant line. Could "incandescent laughter dance ecstatically with doom" without bipolar vision? Or would the whole world be neutral? The beauty is paired with the pain and soars.
Bipolar creates confusing emotions. Is it sadness or depression? Is it joy or mania?
Polyphonic