Tag Archives: Louise M. Hart

‘Mixed Episode’; ‘Care in the Community’ by Louise M. Hart (Poet) FreeSpace #3

28 May

Brain

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Mixed Episode

by Louise M. Hart

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Through the eons of my suffering
And the perpetuity of my pain
Dissociated from the familiarity
Of shared meaning and consensual reality
The spectres of madness
Misery and mislead mentality
Fuelled my moral shame

Lost in the wilderness of unceasing mental flight
And the fight to still the rapid thoughts
That summoned my ecstatic anguish
And melancholic blue delight
Like a whore I surrendered to the tremors
Of the merciless and entrapping night

I dismantled my pedestal
Only to be captured by the arms of jailers
Paid to seal my fate
To be the accused in a never ending trial
Governed by the hegemony of The State

Whilst my body became secured
Within a hospital ward
Policed by nurses and hate
My mind
Formerly determinate and solid
Fragmented into a thousand fragile parts
Each with no knowledge
Of the others
And belying my flailing sick and tired heart

My inner voice externalised into a universal yell
That began
“Help me nurse, I don’t feel well”
And culminated in a needle
In the arse of the hell
Of my enforced unreason
And silence

Thus I was baptised for the second time
Not in water
But in the shrine of my mutilated throat
The shuttered eyeballs of the socially excluded
The flesh of my sacrificial duffel coat

Even my doting Mother could not perceive
The blood and bones
I saw beyond human flesh
The words only I could hear
That inflamed my agitation
And saturated my soul with fear
And ontological distress

I challenged all perception
And claimed that reality was a scam
A grand hallucination
In which existence was woman
And matter did not matter
For I was the only one and true
Living Mad Hatter

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Care in the Community?

by Louise M. Hart

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At any time I could freak
Or stay in bed for at least a week
And they would say
“I bet she hasn’t taken her tablets today”

I could shout or cry
Scream that I wanted to die
And they would say
“I bet she hasn’t taken her tablets today”

But, what will they say
When I take my tablets every day?

Release her like a rehabilitated criminal
From the padded cell of care in the community
Where she will lobotomise every opportunity
That comes her way

And refuse to take her tablets any day
*I dedicate these poems to any readers who feel alone in their suffering. YOU are not alone.

Writing is the scream that cannot be silenced.

You can find more about Louise and her poetry here:
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You can get Louise’s latest book The General Paralysis of Sanity here

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*’FreeSpace’ offers creatives or groups 3 slots on ArtiPeeps which can be taken up in a cluster or in a sequence over a period of months. They can be used for further showcasing, self-expression or for projects.

If you are interested in FreeSpace, don’t hesitate to get in contact via a reply box, or the form on our What’s On’ Page or via @ArtiPeeps

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‘Dear’ & ‘Tread Softly’ by Louise M. Hart (Poet) FreeSpace #2

22 Apr

Maternity by Picasso

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Dear

by
Louise M. Hart

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Mother…
You personify the best and worst of the universe

You bore me naked
Then you covered me up
You believed my existence serendipitous

But I ran out of luck

You nurtured a seed
That bloomed into a weed
Refusing to grow up

For I disavowed a blossoming exterior
In order to feel nearer to you
Than to myself

Mother…
You filled my tears with laughter

My smiles belied a must
To master the unacceptable disaster
Of my uninvited, hidden desires

Thus, I inhaled the air like a choking mist
My life shortened by each deadly hiss
Of lung penetration

Mother…
I like your soul, but not your hair

I eat Mum’s, because I know you care

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Tread Softly

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Invention of my Mother
Who lifts me up
I am nearer to death
Than to love

She will always be more than a memory
Who beckons my mind to follow
Its creative streams
Of metaphorical rivers and symbolic seas

Oceanic under mental foot
Spread beneath passing readers’
Psychical feet
Like Yeats’ immersive, but desiccated dreams

Another day over
A milestone nearer
I cry myself younger

You can find more about Louise and her poetry here:
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Watch out for Louise’s 3rd FreeSpace.  Coming Soon!

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*’FreeSpace’ offers creatives or groups 3 slots on ArtiPeeps which can be taken up in a cluster or in a sequence over a period of months. They can be used for further showcasing, self-expression or for projects.

If you are interested in FreeSpace, don’t hesitate to get in contact via a reply box, or the form on our What’s On’ Page or via @ArtiPeeps

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Do take a look at our ‘The Nine Realms’ Indiegogo Campaign

19 poets, 23 artists, 3 musicians and a Viking boat!

http://igg.me/at/the9realms

 

nine realms8

‘North by West Midlands’ Part 2 by Louise M. Hart (Poet) FreeSpace #1

3 Mar

Angel of the North

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North by West Midlands, Part 2

Except Yourself

by

Louise M. Hart

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I travelled north to learn how to be free
But the shrieking gulls delivered my spirit
To Nemo’s tomb
Buried beneath 20,000 leagues of despair
Under a doom sated sea
A fisher of souls, swept to her watery demise
By waves that tempted my mind
And stung my watery eyes

Lapping the frail shore of my bored
Consciousness
I roared from the depths
Of my soul’s new found distress
And swallowed the sea water’s acrid foam
Like a fleet of melting acid ice cream cones
My thoughts nourished by the taste of its cool duplicity

Being caught between the to and fro
Of my unique soul’s existence and human homogeneity
I had become invisible, both on land and sea
Like a single splash of water on a pier-less shore
Depositing no residue of my life or piteous form

One day, I stepped into troubled waters
Where I witnessed rising from his/her liquid bed
Like Poseidon’s changeling son/daughter
The angel of the north
Who spoke to me, “It’s not so bad, up here, with the haggis
And the local beer
Better rain upon a sunny head
Than sun shining beyond a mind
That is dull as lead”
“Like mine,” I screamed
“It is not your home location,” S/he equivocated
“Inducing your mental rot
Your soul is sick
For existence has failed to offer you a role
In this season’s production
Of the dominant model
Of the anti-social whole
This is not how life should be…
This is not how life should be”

Angel of truth
Lancelot, inhabiting a nautical incarnation
Of Avalon, for the guiltless generation
Riding against the tide, with limbs of lace and leather
Your presence warmed my heart
Like rays of sun in wintry weather
Words slid from your tongue
Like a gentle elixir
I drank them slowly
And let them fix me

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Part 1 is here

 

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You can find more about Louise and her poetry here:
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Louise will be returning for her second FreeSpace on Wednesday 22nd April.

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_________________

*’FreeSpace’ offers creatives or groups 3 slots on ArtiPeeps which can be taken up in a cluster or in a sequence over a period of months. They can be used for further showcasing, self-expression or for projects.

If you are interested in FreeSpace, don’t hesitate to get in contact via a reply box, or the form on our What’s On’ Page or via @ArtiPeeps

Weekend Showcase: Louise M. Hart (Writer/Poet)

16 Jan

Spotlight

Every Friday, 1 creative, letting their work speak for itself.

 

Louise M. Hart

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sunrise

 

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North by West Midlands

by Louise M. Hart

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I journeyed north in pursuit of happier thoughts
And a deep fried mars bar
But, blind were the eyes, watching me arrive
And burnt was the mars bar

My baggage was heavy with burdens
Beside me, were a loving Mother and my black (and white) dog
It had been a long, exhausting ride
Whose terminus,
Under the conceit of summer sunshine, concealed the cloudy thoughts
That burst inside my mind

Thus, I regressed to a developmentally former time
My awareness of my impending pain
Like the cries of a virgin bride
Hidden from world view

Cradled in the comfort womb of the Scottish landscape
“It’s beautiful,” I cried
I could never distinguish calculated deceit from honest lies
And, thus, unpacked my luggage, as though
I was holidaying in a land of enlightenment and fun

And the sea called to me, “Run”

So, we turned our backs on reality and ran
Billy, my beloved dog before he was taken and I
Hugging feral fingered trees in the name of city slickers
We blamed ourselves for our inability to defeat the bourgeoisie
With our indiscreet charm and our inadvertent attempts at infamy

But, soon the sun was gone

And the trees were as bare as my face
Expressing thoughts as toxically as fumes of human waste

I realised that my end was nigh, when I could no longer cry
My life collapsing, like The State’s self proclaimed fiscal cliff
Into the gluttonous foam of the North Sea’s residential home
In which my austere soul sprayed stingy piss
And fired blanks thoughts with life denying regularity

I became undone

And, then winter’s chill arrived
Articulating its intent in my mind’s shrieking descent

Into gloomy thoughts and conspicuous insanity
I entered a race I was born to lose
Whose other competitors existed as alien forms
So prolific that I believed mine to be the only existing human face
That interpreted the unnatural selection of human rejection
And the death of universal subjectivity

A belief in fate’s omnipotence
Became my faith, my anti-God delusion
Of confinement secured by thought intrusion
And mental institutionalisation

Wintertime thrust me between the thighs
Of a system I summoned, but despised
Whereupon a nurse knocked my gentle door
For I had slept not, the night before
Rising before the portents of a spreading dawn
And staring blankly at the dark and silent screen of my television

There are clubs, up north, especially created for the chemically inferior
Staffed by people who, even before the humiliation of an introduction
Know every member’s name
For in their eyes, we all look the same
Sporting diagnostic labels and medicated shuffles
Our identities socially constructed and acted out in vain regard
For the needs we espouse
And contradicted by the nature of the pills
We consume to reinforce
And legitimate the acute angles of the pain we survive

They wiped my arse, but closed their ears when I spoke
Offering computerised basket weaving and messages of no hope

Ooh, there’s trouble up north
When identity crumbles, like ideological rubble
For I had fallen and been captured by a beast with two faces
One face that soothed my heated brow
The other, functioning as subjectivity’s adversarial sacred cow
Cock, bull and ball breaker of all fleshy nuts of bone and brain
It destroyed meaning, like the presence of a double negative
In a sentence, articulated in the open parenthesis of pseudo-silence
And intellectual non-sense

Eventually, I wrote a book
And defected to the way out west, to try my luck-
The mid land of nowhere

Life had knocked me down
But, creativity lifted me back up

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You can find more about Louise and her poetry here:
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If you would like a Weekend Showcase please do get in touch via the contact form on the What’s On Page or via the comment box.
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