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CicelyRobinLaing©2014
I had a nightmare just before I woke up this morning.
 
As I lay there half asleep… my mind filled with thoughts. Thought that made me feel bad about myself and the things I do. I was sent down the slippery path of wondering why I don’t get to do certain things that I want to do, or why I don’t feel accepted for who I am, or could be if given a chance. Or why I can’t be a better person for those that I love.
The nightmare made me wonder if every nice thing anyone’s ever said to me, were just empty acts of kindness. That I don’t really see the truth about myself. I don’t see the way others see me and the way I truly am. In my head every voice that ever said “Why did you even bother showing up?” was out in full force. And my little, childlike self confidence just curled up into a ball and rolled under the bed. This kind of mental crap is the real waking nightmare…
 
The mind can be incredibly mean sometimes. Depression can sneak in and spoil things that should be successes. The social pressure to be humble (but great), the selfish needs of the ego and the “aloneness” of being a human, conspire to knock that fragile kite of happiness out of the sky. Even in a strong positive wind a kite can spin out of control and smash into the ground. The wind that holds up my kite is full of the support of kind people. People who have said nice things to me, or shown me love and friendship. And I have been buoyed by the short lasting gusts of life experiences. Experiences that have given me a chance to grow as a human. But that wind can only hold up my kite if the attached string holds tight. And I feel like my string is full of knots and frayed ends.
 
I know I am not alone in my kitemare. There are lots of struggling kites up in this very cloudy sky. And most of us don’t even know what is anchoring us to the earth. But knowing you are not the only one doesn’t really help with the fear. The terrifying fear that comes when you feel the wind drop, and you get that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. You don’t even tell yourself to hold on, cause there’s nothing to hold on to. And you try to drum up your own wind. One that’s just strong enough to carry you on until a real wind blows again.
 
But maybe, just maybe, that wind that we make for ourselves is more like a whistle. One that summons a sunny gale or a dark storm. Either way it lifts us up and keeps us going a bit longer. And maybe, our string is stronger because it’s all tangled up in the strings of others. Hopefully those others are entwined friends and not the messy knots of crazy-makers. I hope that I will always have enough breath left to whistle a little.

 
I don’t have a cure for my nightmares or my kitemares. I can’t see a way to make it better because I am already doing the best I can do. And maybe that’s enough. My father told me to do what makes you happy. But I learned soon enough by watching him that life is never just “happy”. “Happy” is often sandwiched in between struggles, grief and pain. You can’t always control things, maybe you can’t control anything. You can try to control yourself, but even that is not always possible. So, there are no answers, only questions and a great deal of effort. I cherish my happy sandwich, even if I wouldn’t mind less bread.
 
So… I guess I finally understand that life is a picnic.
Ants and all…
And if I fall asleep for a nap, I may have a nightmare.
Okay…
Thanks for letting me talk it all out at you.
 
Anyone want to go fly a kite?

In My Dreams by Cicely Robin Laing.


Words & images by Cicely Robin Laing © 2017

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She was a crafty creature
Shy and full of quick wit
I watched her across the meadow
Wishing I could be like her just a bit
Beautiful red hair and shiny bright eyes
She danced through the grass graceful and swift
I watched as she hunted her prey unaware
Then she stopped, held still, her whiskers sunlit
In a flash she leaped high up in the air
and for moment seemed suspended up there
Then down with a thump she landed so quick
And her lunch she gobbled up with a nip and a snick

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Day 30 of National Poetry Month

Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing © 2017

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Caught…
It was
them against us
and us against them
The Red malevolence
A cold war new dance
Secrets and war heads
Double cross and you’re dead
Reagan playing cowboy debonair
Mikhail G. dancing with his bear
All whispers, whispers of the end
99 changes floating mid air
Red balloons no longer there
Traitors trespass on U.S. soil
Newsmen spin sweet tart turmoil
Dirty secrets so dearly fought
Lover’s lies cleverly caught
We win whatever the cost
Patriot’s love forever lost
It was us against them
and them against
us
finally
caught

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Day 28 of National Poetry Month  –  Love Lost

Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing © 2017

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I went to the playground with an effing big stick
I planned to hit Joey, but he brought a brick
John brought a razor
And Terrance a taser
Officer Dunn brought a gun and it ended damn quick

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Day 26 of National Poetry Month  –  The Enemy

Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing © 2017

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“Know yourself!” my mother always said
And I try to go where she led
I listen with care
To all I hear there
To the voices that scream in my head

..

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Day 25 of National Poetry Month  –  Being Close
Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing © 2017

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Rusty lay by a field of corn
Sightless eyes cracked
Left behind
Weed entwined
Field mice ransacked

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His upholstery foam unpacked
Windshield pitted and lined
Paint peeling
Hinges squealing
Wheeless, tireless, resigned

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Once he was the friend of mankind
Now vines are concealing
A sight forlorn
No one to mourn
Time forever stealing

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Gone are his days of freewheeling
No voice in his horn
Rust attacked
Insect packed
Seeded and slowly reborn

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Day 24 of National Poetry Month  –  A Roundabout Poem

Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing © 2017

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The hunter engaged and ready for the chase
The hunter engaged and ready for the chase
A twitching tiger hidden inside a dreaming
A twitching tiger hidden inside a dreaming
Dreaming inside a tiger, twitching for a chase
The hidden engaged and ready the hunter
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A quiver rumble, a demand and a comfort
A quiver rumble, a demand and a comfort
Holds one tight in slumber nose to tail
Holds one tight in slumber nose to tail
A slumber in demand holds comfort tight
One nose a quiver and a tail to rumble
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Of mice and men who are lost to frightening eyes
Of mice and men who are lost to frightening eyes
Birds of emerald locked in broken flight
Birds of emerald locked in broken flight
Of emerald eyes locked, and of birds in flight lost
Broken, frightening to men who are mice
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One emerald broken holds in slumber men
Ready to comfort, a demand eyes engaged
Of mice and birds and to the hunter of the chase
A hidden nose and tail a quiver in twitching flight
A frightening rumble for who are lost
Locked tight inside a dreaming tiger

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Day 23 of National Poetry Month  –  A Paradelle

Words and Image by Cicely Robin Laing © 2017

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