sit. stay. good boy.

Always a New Day 08/11/2011

Always a new day

Ever a hope

Dog on a chain now

No time to mope.

Look to the future

Too far to see –

Look to the past

Learn, go, move on, be.

Live in the moment.

Breathe in.  Breathe out.

Take hold of hope

No place for doubt.

The path isn’t cast;

Life is to live.

Strive for your hearts goals.

You get what you give.

Nov 2011


Marionette 26/07/2011

Filed under: Poetry — jillnottelten @ 8:24 pm
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This was written at a time when I was feeling exhausted and spent; dangling as though on a string like a marionette.

Some laugh at the world – but what’s to laugh at?

It used to be so easy – but I can’t remember how.

A ghostly chuckle in my ears –

A relaxed, contented smile before my eyes:

My voice. My smile. My ears. My joy.

They seem so distant to me now; plunged in the depths

of self-pity, loneliness, frustration and depression.

The wells of my eyes are barren.

There is no relief for the dryness of my heart

as it cracks and I dangle from a string.

If I refuse the string, I could live a life

of sheer and utter relief;

Relief from the barrage of emotions that storm me

from minute to minute…

hour to hour…

day to day.

In the depths of the gully I would gladly surrender

the thrill of soaring the heights.

At the heights I would wish me more string.

In the middle – I pause and wish for moderation –

But what the cost?


Reality? 05/07/2011

Filed under: Poetry — jillnottelten @ 9:54 pm
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This poem was written during a time when I was exhausted, but not depressed – long before my initial encounter with Depression.  I was disenchanted with many things and felt like I was being torn in a lot of different directions by the demands in the household I was living in, my work, my Church and my own emotions.  I was in phase of experimenting with free verse as well as some old English language.  The reference to beauty and truth draws back to Ode on a Grecian Urn by Keats which I studied for my HSC.

The poem reflects the way I have often felt in more recent times when progressing toward becoming unwell.

Reality bites?

Bites?  Nay – it gnaws.

It grinds me away with its powerful jaws.

There is breaking and tearing –

Yet taste, yet flavour.

Mastication, taste, digestion, excretion –

Where is reality?

Where is truth?

Is beauty all truth?  Or truth beauty?

Which portion –

Which fragment

of that which is truth…

is reality?


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