Atonement – (old post)

I wandered a broken man,

Devoid of soul,

How my diamonds did roll,

And slice my barren hands.

 

On white hot sands, of changing lands

I wandered amongst ghostly dunes.

With haunted eyes and muffled cries,

I hummed a quivered tune.

 

And met was I, by an echoed cry

Of a dog I know by name,

Red eyes glared, as mine froze scared,

His eyes a ruby blaze.

 

With a matchbox fumble and a liquored tumble,

I fell to my prayer-less knees.

And there I kneeled, with no strength to yield,

No words to muster my way.

 

It was at that moment, in the search for atonement,

The injury had become my own.

And there in the rain, the beast lay slain,

Alas, my truth had run me down.

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

OCD, Anxiety, Depression, and other reasons I am not an Astronaut: Part Deux.

 

So now it is 2018 and the worst of all of the above is behind me. I am still not an Astronaut, but I feel that the more mental the world around me turns the less mental I feel.

Gone are the days when I felt a great deal of irritation around this whole “mental health awareness” thing, I felt very annoyed when I saw slogans like “its ok not to be ok” no, you mean “society and Instagram have determined through a series of hollow quotes that now it is ok for everyone else to be ok with your mental health problems”. The stigma is still there though, I remember when I used to wrap my hands with plasters in front of the full view of people I work with because I washed my hands so much they cracked and bled. In some cases, that was met with strange looks. I am not surprised, it was mental. But, I felt like saying “this is what my mental health problems are, it’s not all pictures of sunsets or someone doing push ups and being triumphant with a dreadful hollow quote underneath which are mainly always posted on Instagram on a Sunday when everyone is bored or hung over and all of a sudden feels deep” ….or something along those lines. People who don’t understand mental health I think on the whole have limits to their acceptance and accept it when it is not in their line of sight.  I may be being unfair but it stirs passion in me. Mental health is very fashionable these days, or the idea of acceptance surrounding it is. If it helps people then fine but I find some of it a bit hollow. I am probably bitter because when I was growing up mental health was a dirty secret and then all of a sudden someone printed an article in vogue or something and everyone now is very much “let’s have a chat about it” ever since. (I have just noticed how I started this paragraph Gone are the days when I felt a great deal of irritation…..in fact no, those days are not gone. It still grinds my gears. Moving on.

I am still not perfect. I have a resigned feeling that I never will be. I am still pretty selfish and impatient. I don’t tell my fiancé I love her enough, nor do I take much interest in what she has to say sometimes when I am tired or too wrapped up in myself. But, I am working on it. I am work in progress to my core, like many others, I will get there, wherever there is?

What else?

I need to get fit again, for my mind mainly. I would be lying if I said being fit wasn’t a great feeling. At the moment aesthetically, I feel like a crap version of myself 5 years ago.

Still writing the poetry in the background, second book coming out soon April / May. Looking forward to Spring to get back out in the garden. I am very rock n roll like that and it is the high adrenaline rush I get when gardening that keeps me coming back for more.

 

That’s it for now.

 

Cheers

Coming Morn

Upon the ink my needle is spun, upon a white virgin crest,
Spun from heart and tattered cuff,
And cast from naked chest.

 

From the rubble, the hellish struggle, I feel a turning tide,
All the while, comforts the smile,
My burning ember bride.

 

The tunnel is long and you would pot holes to stray,
And though the light be as needle prick,
It only seems so far away.

 

Use your meditation, by take of whatever form,
Use it to stand-fast,
Hold strong against the storm.

 

So with pen and page, and sight no longer forlorn,
I say goodnight to the dark,
Hello the coming morn.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Inner Truth

What is your locked inner truth?
Hidden within your locked house,
Its most secret roof.
Behind the locked doors, the shuttered windows,
While outside a howling wind blows,
And owls warn the bowing moon.

 

What hovers over you in the grainy slumber?
When the entwined take flight and leave their lovers arms.
In the black of night, when creeping cats creep,
The tired eyes sleep,
And all the children dream.

 

We all have our crosses to bare, skeletons that stare,
And keep our closets grave.
Perfection is as dust is to dust,
As it collects upon the skull
The head be bowed by a mournful lull,
And ashes, our dying shame.

 

We fear the judging crowd, their bleating too loud,
Wool be the secrets as wool be their shroud, and tossed to a flawless breeze.
Their tar and tainting brush no grey area touch, walk upon mirages of mountains to plains.
But their cotton be rotten, their fields be trodden,
And black as a threatening cloud.

 

Time will always tick her wilting clock and buds we all but are,
Shortest time to flower, before the cloaked scythe does tower, and cut,
We flower no more.
Do not let your truth stay hidden,

Nor remain in the saintly prison, before the final call.

 

So in your final hour, before the hooded tower and the gleaming scythe pauses the last hand.
When the calling wind howls fall to grass and hush,
When silenced be the owl and with sunrise eyes it warns it’s warning no more.
Be sure your demons are buried,
And truth, has opened your door.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Bastard Page

I do not seek your acceptance; I do not ask for your forgiveness nor offer my repentance, to ones I do not love.
For all the wrongs of my blinded rage,
They were mine to write across my life, its tortured page,
Albeit turned and fresh anew,
On whitest white and written with ink,
Of forgiveness blue.

I held the chickens wishbone stick and could break it with a quick turn, an idle flick, no wish to make, no prayer to drip,
From my godless black spit tongue.
I held the bird aloft, skin of pale, light and down as feathers were soft,
And fading were its dying eyes.

I was the beast in the dark, with darkest stare and silent bark,
And black was my ink-stained page.
Written in hate, bled in rage,
On carved lines I wrote my bastard page.
Words of hate filled by malice did empty and spill from my coward’s chalice,
And how the poison did flow, and course my quivering veins.

Now I write upon my tear-stained page,
Repentant I orbit my bastard page,
Through tears, I call, I cry, to clearest moon, to darkest sky.
I’ve paid my debt; I have served my time, locked in this guilt prison,
Bound by its sentence, created by mine,
My hands of blackest blue.

I am no longer the bastard on the page,
I have no more hate, no more rage,
Flick back a few to see this bastard’s page,
His imprint try to look past,
His clay be broke, his mould be cast,
And left a broken man.

With now my kind eyes are hazed in their sadness dew,
I kneel with head bowed, forgiveness be cast down,
Remove my periled shroud, my burning crown.
Of what was reaped let now be sowed,
And haunt my thoughts no more.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

Atonement

I wandered a broken man,

Devoid of soul,

How my diamonds did roll,

And slice my barren hands.

 

On white hot sands, of changing lands

I wandered amongst ghostly dunes.

With haunted eyes and muffled cries,

I hummed a quivered tune.

 

And met was I, by an echoed cry

Of a dog I know by name,

Red eyes glared, as mine froze scared,

His eyes a ruby blaze.

 

With a matchbox fumble and a liquored tumble,

I fell to my prayer-less knees.

And there I kneeled, with no strength to yield,

No words to muster my way.

 

It was at that moment, in the search for atonement,

The injury had become my own.

And there in the rain, the beast lay slain,

Alas, my truth had run me down.

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

Burn On My Friend, Burn On!

Burn your internal light,

Use its warmth, its guiding light

 

Burn that flame, flaming bright,

Burn worries soul, her lingering plight

 

Burn the flame in you whole,

Burn into your unconquerable soul

 

Burn the moon and the stars,

Burn your worries, your memories scars

 

Burn the pain and the plight,

Keep that match burning bright

 

And in the dark of coldest night

Watch your demons cower and flight,

For you have fire in your eyes

Watch your fire burn and rise.

 

Burn on my friend, burn on.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

Sullen Return

It wasn’t a surprise when you came back today,

Black eyes that turn me milky grey.

Black as burnt coffee

Oiled ocean scar

Cat’s eye slit,

Back into my troubles pit

My worries jar.

 

The day had started not a care in the world

Hope was returning my burdens uncurled,

Like toes on a soft rug, a slight bend, a gentle tug,

This was my day of peace to be found

All burdens were lost

Free and unbound.

 

I was up and feeling good

Steadfast my being did stand,

No executioners hood to blind sight of wooded trees

Or burdens anchor

Pulling me to my blackened knees.

 

Then I felt a subtle spot while standing on my happy plain,

I could have sworn I felt a drop

Of burdens unhappy rain.

A drop is how it starts, a fine haze,

Then quickly the deluge

Becomes a burning choking blaze.

 

I twitch like a bird on feeders hanging seed

I curse and spit my frustration at calms exiting speed,

I wash my hands to clear the blood

To cleanse myself of this sticky mind mud.

Ill see you tomorrow my happy plain,

It was fun before that spot of rain.

 
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

Racing Fear

The fear won today

got one over

cast me aside

with the slightest kick

and the wink of an eye.

I will try harder

to set the pace

fear only won

today’s meaningless race.            .

Ill be back tomorrow

at the blocks

hope in mind

knuckles of rocks.

Everyday a gun start

with will in my eyes

and grit in my heart

I embrace this race

I embrace each start.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.

 

 

 

Somewhere In Between

Somewhere in between

half way across swollen stream

half awake from happy dream

I walk the way

in between.

Dragging feet

solemn stands

holding soul

heart in hand.

Stumbling across

uneven pavement

uneven land

sinking deeper

into sand.

I’m nearly there

some day’s worse

return the spell

a mind cursed.

The drop greater

than any low

happiness a brief

passing show.

I walk along

in between

my happy time

rarely seen.

As soon as it is there

it is gone

leaving this haunted man

to wander on.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.