Hey guess what! My poem, ‘My Mind is Mad’ made Under The Silver Tree poetry competition’s national shortlist.
The judge said it ‘had wonderful clarity that serves so well to illuminate the subject of mental decline’. Um, I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.
Here is the poem for your metrical pleasure.
My Mind is Mad
It isn’t me It’s my mind that’s mad She invents horrors And plays them for me On a screen so large and loud and close I cannot tell it's a film My mind is mad She does not let a thought drift by But leaps on Wrestles Gets knotted in the skeins Of this could happen Of that could be Until I can't unravel My mind is mad I wander the house of my dreams Hear cackling in the attic Rocking, rocking Never sleeping It’s that crazy old crone, can’t you see? She’s the one who’s mad Not me