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Swirling in the jar

Come here to me you bloody sod
drunken and stupid as a clod
let me tend to your split head
afore ye spill your blood all over my bed
sure they all love you
welcome you with open arms and tell me how lucky I am
to be the recipient of your Scottish charms
A genius they say, and I recognise it too,
your father and I have often talked about you
but what is it make you despise the very gift
that has been bestowed upon you

you drink it away
you ponder all day
and make excuses as to why life never goes your way
and for bureaucracy you have no time of day
pejorative statements is all you make
and hubris on the self, self take

You remind me of Johnny Depp in Finding Neverland
He loved a Sylvia too
The dulcet Scottish tones, the Bowen hue

I loved you best when we were alone
and you were not holding court with all; or just one
pretty girl, who saw you as I did in University
your voice, your claims, your diversity

I shovel the guests away
before they get a chance to see
the broken boy you reveal to me
the tears that stain the pillow as you cried out
who am I supposed to be
I struggle to find this person in me?

Anyhoo, the guests they go,
smiling, laughing, on their way home
invited everywhere, you and I
except here, my dear
They did not know

I lived in your depression
and handed you your pills
many, many days
disregarding me, but I could still see
your lost soul a gift, any day
over those materialistic pricks who
gorge on Time magazine, and the like, espousing nobodies

You are my love, my life, my will
and when the day comes and your breathing still
I will hold your frame close to my face
my cheeks upon your grey haired chest
and inhale your fullness as you rest

For I know in the heart of my hearts heart
that you may well die alone
our friends will come to me to see their will be done
and do the right thing by you
And I again, in your minds eye, so very, very young,
will set your soul on fire and show you where you belong
for we are as much connected as we are undone!

Soaps 9.11.10

Swirling in the jar


Sydney, Australia

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 38

Artist's Description

My ex husband, I often compared him to Ted Hughes, or is that simply because I wanted to be Sylvia Plath. Her words, but not her life! My husband was a genius, we all knew that, and does it really matter anyway, if you cannot make your way in the world? We simply do the best we can with what we know at the time x

Artwork Comments

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