Times change

I felt the need to express how I was feeling and facebook didn’t seem the appropriate place. As for talking to people/friends well that means getting into a conversation, and then me sounding all woe is me. So, instead I figured here is better, it’s short, concise and you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. 

I used to find solace in my academic work, but now it’s just getting me down.
For one, this year has been so rushed there has been no time to enjoy learning it’s all been one massive cramming session, and that includes the present. Also I guess there are more exciting things to be doing in life whereas two years ago there wasn’t particularly (is this because I’m not as interested in this work, or because the majority of my social circle do not study and having a job is a lot less time consuming than studying). Having to say goodbye to friends, hopefully see you in the future but who knows, quite frankly sucks.

Outlet of Nature

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Just let go
Hold onto nothing
Let life embrace you
And you embrace life

You can be upset
And cry like the rain
There’s no need to fret
You will still be sane

You can be angry
And screech like the crow
Into the night sky
Exhaling the pain

This is life
And its denotation
Encompasses every emotion
So hold onto nothing

Jenna Grabey © 2008

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Free My Mind

 

Out of sight
Out of mind,
For a night
Or two bind

This with time,
Thus it’s true
Still all mime
Because you

Came then went
Without trace,
It’s not fate
Now your face

Lingers on
All cause I
Saw you,
No good-bye.

I don’t cry
I’m hoping
You’ll see me
And we’ll lie

As we did
Once again,
Now to rid
Of this pain

That is you,
I’m astute
Any route
I find you,

Out of sight
Leave my mind,
Day and night
Now unbind.

Jenna Grabey © 2011

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A Dedication to Emilie Autumn’s ‘The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls’

After reading Emilie Autumn’s semi-autobiography The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls which by the way I highly recommend although it is not easy to get hold of a copy. I thought I would post this poem which I wrote back in 2009 because it strongly relates to a poignant point Emilie makes. For those of you who have a copy of the book then the page that I am particularly referring to is 220. I hope you enjoy the poem.
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Psychology: If it’s so popular they why the stigma?
Mental Illness affects one in four people: Fact
.
You demonised me into being victim
Like I chose that- are you sick?
Just because the fromage I wouldn’t lick
And wanted to resemble a stick

Or to be violently sick
Left alone to be depressed
Though I had nothing to confess
Suicidal thoughts I caressed

All these years attempting to express how I feel
Shut down and shut up every time, by you
I would have told you till I was blue
In face if I thought you’d have listened

People, unlike you did listen
And act, support, didn’t “shut up”
I talked freely, drinking coffee,
With bars, on the window
I owe them my life.
The ability to laugh and not care
What anyone else may think
To be drunk and to be aware,
Emotion doesn’t mean, you need to see a shrink
It means you are alive, and living,
Interacting with everything around you

A slave, subjected to emotion
A victim of expression
Terrified of my reflection
Surrounded by oppression

I was sick.

All negative blood tests
That is always best.

Can’t see anything wrong
Just “come back if symptoms persist”.
Was ten years too long?
Were you waiting for rig-amortise?

In body, physically a child
In mind, psychologically a child
Listen to Blake as he whispers, Innocence
Epitomising youth in his assonance

Dry cries for help
Invaded 1999 to 2009
All without tears
Just pure anger and fears

I owe you my existence
My life belongs to me
Sick of submission
And a victim of emotion

Jenna Grabey © 2009

The image above is taken from the book. I do not own any rights over it only what is written above.

Mistletoe

Ice and snow cover the Earth,
Nature says, ‘stay at home
By the fire of the hearth
Now is not the time to roam.’

So on this frosty Yuletide eve,
We burn the Cailleach Nollaig*
And song and laughter we weave
In the light of the Christmas Hag.

We feast and drink sweet mead,
As we relish on the sacrificed Earth
Whose now in death but we know will seed
Once awakened into rebirth.

Under Druid blessed mistletoe
We kiss as the Sun begins to grow,
Because on the deepest, darkest night
We celebrate the rebirth of light!

*The burning of the Cailleach was the ceremonial burning of the Winter Solstice. A piece of wood was carved roughly into the shape of an Old Crone to represent the Spirit of Winter. This was then placed into a fire to burn. As people gathered to watch they would be mindful of the symbolism, that was the ending of all the bad things that had happened the previous year and a fresh start for the next one. “Nollaig” in Scottish is used to refer to Christmas. In Irish it means “December”. “Cailleach” refers to the prototypical Crone figure and thus the old wise woman in Gaelic.

Through A Druid’s Eyes

Through a Druids Eyes

Who would I be if I could not see the beauty before me?
And what would I be without truth?
How can I live without the moon?  The goddess that pulls the tide.
How can I live without the sun?  Where Lugh and Brigit reside.
Why live without the inspiration of bards?  They weave the world into language.
Why live without a love for nature – life?  Without this we only exist.
How can I live without the sky?  That forms the triad with sea and earth.
How can I live without the stars?  The Egyptians knew their worth.
Where would I be without trees?  Their language inscribed as Runes.
Where would I be without animals, my equals?  Watch the Shaman commune with the Racoon.
How can I live without justice with no malice?  Responsibility is our keystone.
How can I live without peace?  There would be no release.
And what would I be without those I cannot see?
Who would I be without history and my ancestry?  Where would I be?

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.
November 2010

The Tale of Constance – A Broken Ballard

The Tale of Constance

In the depths of the misty moor
Stands a castle from ancient lore
Shrouded by the tangible night
Stars hang emitting crystal light

Barn owls chase shrews and mice to kill
Across the rolling Exmoor hills
The castle built from local stone
Is enchanted with the winds’ moan

This castle has no space for time
Is the elements greatest crime
Centuries pass all unknown
Yet see how the ivy has grown

Laying on the dungeons cold floor
A girl holds no key for the door
Thrown in there by her misery
Now she’ll cry till she finds the key

History of blood and bandages
Haunt her on her dream’s fringes.
In the tower a prince is found
Loneliness is what keeps him bound

To the castle, to the tower-
Every single hour, tastes sour
His past wisps like the dusty wind
What he did- could it be a sin?

For she knows the prince will save her
From the fearsome dragon, he’ll lure
The beast away, break the bars
And take her to see the stars

Hills become veiled in darkness,
With alluring music playing
From the prince the involved witness,
The songs keep the princess hoping

Silencing the pain from the chains
That bind her wrists and fists
Manacles for imprisonment
The lock, a gaping hole there lies

A fire, restricted, silenced
Chains of spears burn through her thoughts
Dissolution runs through her veins
Her logic has crumbled and cracked

To be continued …

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Corset Sword

The Corset Sword

Blood breathes in an ancient bowl
Jewels are tossed with a splash
Rings form and grow reaching out to the soul
Outside winter winds sing their cry and dash.

Around the bowl candles burn at ease
To the left lays a corset
And to the right a sword
While above a caged dove sings.

And so which do I, will I, am I to love?
The question met with malicious silence.
By the ceasing of music from the trapped dove
Thus in C minor the orchestra commence.

This fills the air with ubiquitous passions
And depressions, in a dolorous harmony
A manner that allows no illusion
Anticipating the great epiphany.

The blood trembles at the orchestral sound
And the cage shatters and feathers scatter
Flying high beyond the notes the dove is unbound
And swoops down to grasp the hilt.

The corset burns as the candles tip
And into E flat major the orchestra slip
The dove unclasps the blade; it plummets into the bowl
And dissolves as the answers evolve.

The dove fades into the winter wind
And with this the orchestra silence
Realising what is now to be a personal oath
So for this life which am I to love, well both.

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Metamorphosis in Time

Metamorphosis in Time

As in death
So in time
You slowly
Fade to rhyme

I can mime
No longer
My sublime
Body cries

Self-expression
Has died
Yet my soul
Is an endless

Hole filling with
Prose yet now
You’ve contorted me
To your rhyme

So now I mime
Your rhyme
As my prose
Has died

So as in death
And so in time
We have slowly
Faded to rhyme

© Jenna Leanne Grabey 2012. All Rights Reserved.