A simple question asked,
Not a complicated answer,
But with distance now tasked,
He'd rather die slowly of cancer.
Emotional and physical withdrawal,
With no opportunity to discuss,
He'd rather chaw on uncooked chawal
Than watch spoken words repercuss.
Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged absence, affection, cathartic, poem, poetry, relationships, sauna poem, vulnerablility
It was maybe foolish, and ill-advised.
Now my brain won't stop 'till I'm penalized.
Seek solace in song, make air column hum:
Tunes ne'er before played, on euphonium.
Was not enough, I still want time machine
To avoid ill side effects: intervene.
Pluck metal strings o'er resonant wood frame,
With acoustic bass, minor blues tune, tame
My heart and my mind with what-ifs now racked.
But the time is too short to pacify;
And dark images, not yet past grim, fly.
Now to the page the turmoil can be tracked.
Tomorrow I must face the unknown score.
Resolution unknown, check back at four.
Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged anti-tear, anxiety, cathartic, emotional health, heart, introspection, kathartic, poem, poetry, risk, sauna sonnet, self reflection, self-control, shame, sigh, solace, song, sorrow, therapy, unnecessary risk, wistfulness
"Are you doing okay?" she asked with caring eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I gave the oft repeated lies.
It was neither the place nor time,
To get into my sorrow, to make saline rivers sublime.
I'll tell the truth, should she again ask,
When we're homeward bound.
I'll tell her of how sometimes, behind my mask,
I feel I don't belong, I shouldn't be around.
Or perchance I'll let her choose:
Does she want the strong façade
Or the vulnerable truths?
The tender heart, or full bravade?
I won't say something she uttered was the trigger.
But she didn't ask, so I'll stand by my rigor.
Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged cathartic, consequence, coping, i am a rock, kathartic, love, memories, Parable of the Good Samaritan, poem, poetry, rejection, relationships, resilience, saline rivers, sonnet in length and style, therapy, timing, word crimes
"Come and play with us!' His fellows called out.
"Come dance with us!" Peers tried to remove doubt.
He put up no fuss, nor yet did he yield.
They knew not the reason future revealed.
Me, now, options weighed, I'd like to have played;
I'd like to have leapt and danced through the glade.
But, uncomfortable in my own skin,
I had saline rivers to cross.
For the victor is the field,
But also for the beaten down.
Both, one day, will wear a crown.
And know ye that I ye kin?
I float no better on fresh tides than salty currents;
My welcomings of the same, recurrent.
Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore
“the liquid coolness of things drawn from the bottom of springs,” said Thoreau, of the song of a wood thrush.
A song I’ve yet to hear, but I’ve been told I should, paired with a wonderful singing voice, awaits out in the future night. Or perhaps it will be day when I hear that lay.
Will that song remind me of drawing water from the well of spring? (A task I’ve never done.)
Or will it evoke the heat of campfires on bitter winter nights?
Take away my breath as I plunge into a glacial lake not yet warmed by summer sun?
Restore it; a rescuer’s timely arrival on the scene, as waves wash my breathless body on the strand?
Will anticipation sour the grapes? Or sweeten the long awaited musical embrace?
I’ll pray I’ll hear it someday, even if only by His grace.
Copyright ©️ 2024 H.K. Longmore
Posted in prose
Tagged birds, cathartic, delight, Henry David Thoreau, interconnected, intervention of grace, kathartic, music, singing, song
Author’s note; I wrote this a while back, but decided enough time has passed, that it was time to dust it off and put it out in the visible universe.
Apart so long,
His heart began
A mournful song,
For his tears to gan.
Desire to see her
Once again, intensifies;
Until similar features
Trick his eyes:
Others, he knows,
Are not her,
Yet seem for a moment
They could be.
These hold his gaze
Until at last
He is satisfied
They are too dissimilar.
But it seems
The greater his longing,
The less similar
Another must look;
At what degree of dissimilarity
Will his eyes cease their tricks?
What is the threshold to keep them
Statistically significant?
©2023 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged affection, bliss and glad life, cathartic, coping, desire, love, memories, poem, poetry, relationships, wistfulness
Dark the night sky,
Fell, the foul zephyr.
Brackish black water
Broken by two beady eyes.
Iago has returned.
Creeping up the coast,
He seeks to insert himself
Where least welcome is his self;
They’d prefer him to roast.
He hears a patrol
Coming down the lane,
Hides among barrels of petrol;
They’ll not have his mane.
The patrol stops,
Blocking his intended path.
To avoid the cops
He’ll have to subdue his wrath,
And take an alternate route.
Sneaking down a back alley,
He has no time to dally;
When bright lights remove all doubt:
He’s been followed.
Spinning ’round,
He sees the patrol closed in behind;
In front lie the hounds,
He sees he is confined.
“Welcome to my table,”
Greets the queen,
Gesturing to that of fable,
Round and now white and green.
Ambushed.
At the Siege Perilous,
Sits formidable foe:
Sir Galahad looks ready to row.
Iago takes a seat, voice querulous.
“At this table, all you have to say is heard by all,”
the queen instructs.
Iago’s face falls:
This rule his scheming obstructs.
“You are now cursed to always meet at this table,
Every time you set foot upon our shores.
Think not that you are able
To remove this curse from your core.”
His vitriol laid bare,
He tells the reasons
For despair;
But it’s not his season.
“So you have naught but speculation
To lay before this confabulation?
Each of your points in turn countered?”
The queen sees his plan has foundered.
“Then you are dismissed,
Thank your for your time.
Now back into the brine,
Return to the abyss.
You’ll not be missed.”
©2021 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, cathartic, iago, othello, poem, relationships
Wounded, I limp back from the shore
Where Iago and I dueled a week before.
Though I see no scabs nor scars,
Infection festers under my skin.
Simple suggestion,
Not banshee wail,
Was his effective weapon.
What cure is there for my ail?
I sought an answer from the sea,
But there was no reply.
I requested knowledge
From the rolling hills,
An answer faint
Floated away on the breeze.
The city streets I pounded,
Pleading for release,
But it was temporary,
Ill effects of Iago’s dart,
Wolf pack of lies
Still closing in around my heart.
There are labors to perform,
So I gather my strength;
Wounds mention but not at length,
Mostly I ignore.
Floating o’er the ether,
Slipping through the speakers,
Dulcet sounds envelop the space.
No siren song luring away,
No piper’s call to come and play;
No healing light in which to bathe.
Naught but work and banter.
Yet it’s what I needed,
It seeps inside;
Finds the wolves,
Turns the tide.
I’m ninety percent there
But the day is done;
I try again the city streets.
Still no cure, but I quicken my pace.
Almost home, bits become current,
Current transduced into a familiar song;
Strength taken from the bridge:
But if you’ve got the angst or you’ve got the ardor
Blues Traveler, Stand
You might faint from the fight but you’re gonna find it
For every challenge could have paradise behind it
Elation finds me
And takes away
The remaining tinge;
My skin feels whole again.
© 2021 H.K. Longmore
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, cathartic, iago, othello, poem, relationships
I don’t need a friend turned foe
To spoil my peace of mind.
I have my own Iago
Residing inline.
Over analysis
Takes all that is fine,
Turns it to paralysis
Or removes the spine.
A message viewed,
Then changed just one line,
Becomes a mental feud,
Of relationship fey a sign.
“Especially on days like today,”
Gone from the vine,
Iago says, “You overstayed,
You should just resign.
“Ignore the compliment that still is,
Without that last bit, it’s in decline.”
And with these words of his,
I carve apart some writing time.
Put pen to paper,
Fingers on home row align,
Turn to vapor!
This foul cancer turn benign.
What was skimmed
Weakened the line,
‘Tis why she trimmed:
For a better shine.
Parry, thrust, stab, and slash,
Make Iago withdraw into the brine.
Final push, and with a splash!
Iago’s gone—until next time.
© 2021 H.K. Longmore
Author’s note: I wanted to end this on a positive note, but TBH, Iago will be back. I’ll have to do a part 2 sometime; maybe that will have a happier ending?
Posted in poetry
Tagged bliss and glad life, cathartic, iago, othello, poem, relationships
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Musings of a Kunderian Monster 
The Impact of Therapy on Creative Writing
I often write poetry as a form of therapy. But, I have found in recent months that, some events or feelings for which I would have written a poem, instead I have made a note of it, under a heading “to bring up with my therapist.”
It need not be this way. Longer ago, further back, I would write the poem, and then discuss the poem with my therapist.
One such event that I took to therapy without writing a poem happened at the end of October, after a concert I performed in, involving the delay my brain sometimes has in processing inputs. I talked about it with my therapist at my next therapy session. But as a result, there’s no poem. I’m going to rectify that soon, and will add the link when I do.
(Or, I’ll add the link a year and a half later: https://hk.longmore.org/2023/03/01/out-to-lunch/)
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Posted in commentary, journal
Tagged cathartic, communication, therapy