At one time I was a member of a poetry group down in Blandford, Dorset. As an exercise one evening we were asked to try and describe an intense emotion or feeling. I decided on depression. This is the result.

Alright, OK, yes, I know… ALRIGHT!

So what next? What? Write a poem?

A poem about what? About this?!

What exactly do you mean by “this”?

I suppose you mean my “PRESENT STATE OF MIND”

Alright, maybe I will

Maybe I’ll show you, maybe I’ll tell you just what it’s like

You’ll know then – you’ll find out just what “THIS” is all about

What it’s like being ME

Find a pen and some paper – paper – paper – paper

WHY IS THERE NEVER ANY SODDING PAPER?

OK, it’s OK, found some, don’t panic

Paper and a pen THAT DOESN’T WORK

SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!

Find a pen that works – or a pencil – or a crayon – or a stick of charcoal

A pointed stick will probably do

I know there’s a pen somewhere – there was one yesterday – I remember seeing it

It was probably there ten seconds ago, exactly as I saw it

But is it there now?

Is it buggery!!!!!!

The moment it saw me coming, I expect it just pissed off, sneaked away

to that place where all the buttons go, and the rubber bands, the clothes pegs, bits of string, dreams and wishes

GOT YOU, YOU BASTARD!

There’s always a pen down the back of the sofa

RIGHT – write – now!

Paper, pen – words – words – words

I know where there were some, I heard them just recently, but now there’s just a murmur of voices saying something that I can’t – quite – grasp

OK – so write the mothers down! NOW! HERE! – in black ink on white paper

Spell the little bastards out

ONE

LETTER

AT

A

TIME

Then you’ll have them – they’ll be yours to learn from, yours to turn from, yours to change, destroy or hide away

So nail them down – smear their reason right across this anguished page

Alright, I’ll try

But, to be honest

THERE

ARE

NO

FUCKING

WORDS

© David Hermelin 2017