bipolarpoet

The intention of this universe is set

The arresting tide, it rains, it snows

The breath of alchemy as it rises

The breath of alchemy as it falls

The chest is full

The chest is empty… waiting ;

A labyrinthine light skates across a stone floor

A fire promised, it rains, it snows

A breath of alchemy arises

A breath of alchemy descends

A chest is still

A chest is heavy… waiting;

To be born a pinpoint of light

To grow in pain and woe, it rains, it snows

To grow in joy in contrast

To find ourselves still

To find ourselves held…. waiting.

This poem was built around a metaphorical picture using the fire fighting practice of setting controlled fires to avoid huge forest fires in the future.... as a parallel for how I felt as a high functioning Bipolar1 on the antipsychotic meds I was taking at the time... no judgement toward anyone who is benefiting from the use of antipsychotics in their treatment (my BP is not everyone's BP), what follows are my experiences, my feelings told through the metaphorical lense of a controlled burn. I hope you enjoy... and share your own poetry and inspiration today... ❤

Controlled Burn
By Alizon Kiel
Copyright 2010

I’m going for a controlled burn
Lamps lit far away
Fell on the floor and rolled out to a field which found a forest which waits for me
My back against the river
Back-burning
To leave nothing
Nothing else to eat

I’ve gone swailing again
My back against the river
Setting little fires along the bank
A baker’s dozen to back-burn
Leaving nothing
No fuel when the big blaze comes
Nothing else to eat

I still have seed shells popping out into the ether
My back against the river
Back-burning little seeds
They must burn to must grow
With no choice but the flame
The glowing growing flame
Growing my face red
My back slick like the river
Facing flame backed up on nothing
Nothing else to eat #bipolarart #Bipolar #bipolarpoet #bipolardiaries #bipolarartist #theVanGoghComplex

16

And there was the summer that wouldn’t sleep
When the day pushed up against my eyelids poking in little tents pitched in some high hill that was not my mind and not the summer and not the open window or the shirt stuck to my skin

There was a bottle that I painted over and over until it turned gray with blue flecks and pink flecks and speckles of bleeding red and how I loved orange

Friends were afraid of me and I loved the moon and soon my breath would float before me heavy held as rain
Heavy-held-rain was self-same-rain the anti-climax that wouldn’t come and so stuck to my room to hang an awning that I had a certain thought was green
And it would not let me sleep

Blue purple pushing sky green and pops of turquoise made donuts in my eyes and coronas that pretended it was day even in the dark

My tasks that tasked me and have-to-dos that had no to-do and catalysts fell silent as soon as I cornered them in a corner where I hung a pair of blue jeans torn away that I had covered in paint with my bare hands when the brushes had broken and the sides of acrylic paint tubes popped and colors bled from their sides calling me to a summer

And that was the summer that wouldn’t sleep

-Alizon (CR 2015)
#bipolar1 #bipolardiaries #Bipolar1Disorder #bipolarartist #bipolarpoet #Neurodiversity #neurodivergent