Poetry

               STILL LIFE

I have

drifted into
schizo consciousness.
Eyes closed,
hands crossed,
the curtain's
drawn.

Beyond the pane,
a few thin shadows roam,
on this motionless bridge,
transfixed with the still rage
of self effacing souls.

Eyes of weeping willows
etch impalpable shadows,
sketch an impossible cry,
extracted from sorrow,
exempt of intent,
or want of ''I''.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

All poems Copyright(c) @ValerieMarzac 

Many thanks to Colin Piret for the picture

This is one of my favourite poems. I wrote it in England, I was in a pub overlooking a bridge and some weeping willows. It was a very difficult time. This poem is about my then boyfriend who suffered from schizophrenia.

      SOLITUDE

Behind you the door closes significantly,
this empty shell is left hiccupping with pain,
while frothy twirls of solitude
sicken the air.
When all words fail, doors close remarkably well--
not a squeak, only superhuman perfection,
eye to eye with solitude.
Crunched up memories
doodle around every wall,
patching corners.
Desolate landscapes,
thirsty plants,
shedding no tears
across the floor
with every dropping leaf.

All poems Copyright(c) @ValerieMarzac

Many thanks to Englin Akyurt for the picture.

This is actually one of my early poems written about 30 odd years ago. No, I’m not a hundred years old yet, or am I? 🤔 But it was published by Poetry.com in a book in 2003.