Welcome to the Bipolar Poetry Reading!

From: Diana
Subject: poem from 1st hospital stay 19 years ago

There is sunshine and there is shadow as everybody knows.. And it rains sometimes and then there is sun and that is nothing new. An artist uses shadow to make canvas come to life; for it's not the light we need to make the masterpiece. And sunshine is a wander, it makes our hearts sing; but if it is unending then we have aridity. Life is also like a song, with its lows, its highs, and its very strong rhythm and tempo. The varia-tions of of up and down makes harmony. It would be great, some say if life would al-ways be good but then wouldn't that be a symphony of one note?

From: JADE1bird@aol.com
Subject: Poem about Phoenix from One Bipolar to Another

Dear Sister Leslie,
6-29-98

I grant you permission at no charge to publish the following poem
on the Bipolar Planet.  Also, I have more bipolar poems to send you if you're
interested.             Love always -- Sister Irene XOXOX

Circle of Fire
Copyright 1995 by Sister Irene Aliamus.  All rights reserved.

With eucalyptus and kindling sticks
Sticks of sage and cedar
And of redwood and fir
I build a circle of fire
For warmth and light
On the sandy shore
While waves roll in
Their sound echoing ancient history
Sand and silica and sand some more
Silicon dioxide composes quartz crystal
Our ancient ancestors
Parallel in evolution are
Sand dollars cosmically old
From helium to silicon to flesh and bone
From the stars we've evolved
From ashes of the fire the phoenix rises
The secret is in the circle of fire
Firelight
Light this night
All in the circle of fire

From: Jena
Subject: bipolar planet poetry

		What Is It That You're Afraid Of?

	Happiness
	Friends
	Love
	Peace
	Truth
	Kindness

Just let me Go! Do not make me want,or feel,or need--These things are for others;
For me they give no pleasure; only pain, only promises.

There are only hints of each;teasers, to entice me into more-- more that never comes.
Then they're gone; and then there's only me, left even without good memories.

You say,Take this, it helps;Do this, you'll feel better, Say that and the pain will go away.
Change,Change,Change; and then all will welcome you.

I say---Here Iam, take what you see, just let me be, just let me go: that
is happiness, That is peace; That is truth,and love, and kindness.

Why force yourself on me? Why must it be your way? Why are you the right one and I'm the wrong?

jena

From: Joe

Diagnosed at 28


I am one of the one percent
whose past at last makes sense
I ride both ends of the see-saw
and straddle both sides of the fence

From: Josh

i have bi-polar disorder and i wrote a poem about it cause none of my friends understood what it was and i tried to explain it to them but they still really didn't understand so anywya here is the poem

the disease

don't know how i got it
but i want to know why
my life has turned to shit
thats why i cry

i'm happy i'm sad
i am never the same
i'm glad i'm mad
this disease you can't taime

no matter where i am
i can be out having fun
then bam
i want my life to be done

all it takes is a thought
you can't take this with ease
most have no clue of the pain i have fought
for i have Bi-Polar Disease

i hope you enjoy the poem

Josh Uelhof

From: sarahjake

dear sister leslie, i have written hundreds of poems and this is my favorite one by far. i have yet to name it so if you think of a wonderfully appropriate name i will give you the honor.

         NIGHT WINGS

    death becomes me
when i sleep
    for naught do i know
what i shall keep
    and naught do i know
what i shall find
    this poor little sparrow
left behind,
    footsteps trespass
in the dark
    the call of a
dying lark
    a murmur of
the oceans breath
    a shadow overhead
of passing death
    his cold gaze upon
my face
    moon's reflection
through the lace
    his smile soft
a lover's touch
    this sleep enjoy i
way too much
        -sarahjake 1998

From: Ron

"Between Two Poles"
by Sharon Tulley

Moonlight, madness,
Sunlight, sadness,
Shades of blue,
And swirling clouds,
Looking for rest,
Not knowing what's best,
Time to give up the questions why,
Learn how to lead a normal life.

From: SnabiRabi
This is a poem I wrote when the Dr first said I was Bipolar.

Rings Of Saturn

Far and away there is a place,
no one knows about but me.
The hidden caves keep me warm,
and sunlight makes me free.

I love this place, it is my home,
I can’t think of a better place to be.
But because no one knows about it,
I can sometimes get lonely.

When I’m in the cave things go slow,
I become depressed and sleepy.
Then I’m glad no one’s around,
I feel so stupid and needy.

But I deal with this,
because I know;
Outside the cave,
the sun is aglow.

When I go out of the cave,
and into the light;
My mind soars to Saturn,
soars like a kite.

My thoughts tend to quicken,
there’s a bounce in my walk.
My mind gets so flustered,
I can hardly talk.

I look up to the sky,
I’m filled with hopes and dreams.
I can reach the rings of Saturn,
I never want to leave.

It’s all fun and games,
until the night draws near.
I go back to the cave,
knowing the pain I will endure.

I like this hidden place,
I never want to leave.
I wouldn’t mind a friend, though,
to really understand me.

We’d fly to the rings of Saturn,
and play in the rings.
And when it got dark,
we wouldn’t have to leave.

We wouldn’t have to go to the cave,
wouldn’t have to take cover.
We’d always be warm,
because we’d have each other.

She’d understand the differance,
between the daylight and the dark.
She’d know when daylight ends,
despair soon would start.

I will slip into a state of depression,
I will no longer see the light.
There will be a dark cloud around me,
it will always seem like night.

She’d keep me away from Saturn,
keep me from doing anything dumb.
I wouldn’t be able to visit anymore,
but I know we’d still have fun.

Though the rings of Saturn,
will sadly be missed;
I’ll never get to repay,
my friends lovingness.

From: Beth

Sister Leslie,

I wrote this during a recent hospitalization when I looked out my very small room window and saw a tall building in the distance. I was cycling at the time, and my doctors were fascinated by this particular writing. Maybe you can use it somewhere.

Jumping Thoughts

What would you think if you jumped off a tall building?
What  would you think before you jumped?
Would you be scared?
Would you ask God to forgive you?
Or do you just take a deep breath and do it?

What do you think on the way down?
"Whee!!!" or "OH SHIT!!" or "Is this going to hurt?" or "Cowabunga!" or
nothing at all...

How do you do it?  A swan dive?  I think I'd pretend I was on some 10-meter
diving platform and do lots of flips and twists on my way down.  Might as well
give people a good show.

How many somesaults could you do on the way down? Do you go so fast you pass
out?  Does it make you sick to your stomach?

Why are these thoughts in my mind?

Do you yell and scream on the way down?  How long does it really take?  How
tall does the building have to be for success?

Whay is my brain doing this to me?

From: Phoenix

Subject: Phoenix

I wrote this some years ago when I was in deep depression and carrying on a long distance relationship (she was also bipolar ):

Goddess,

I ache to worship at the temple of yours thighs;

And come together in such sweet pain.

For we are creatures of neither heaven, nor hell

But born midst the twain;

Where I find a brief moment of happiness,

before  sinking  into a deeper hell

To rise yet again like the Phoenix from his ashen grave.

Phoenix

From: Lauren

hello here is a little poem about how i am feeling today

                           today i am very low and blue
                           I just dont know what to do
                           I want a day where i can smile
                           Even if i have to walk a mile

                           There are days i feel id be better off dead
                           but then thoughts of loved ones come in my head
                           Hopefully soon this emptiness will leave
                           And then i can feel whole again

thank you for your page on yahoo and allowing me to express my feelings.
lauren

From: Jaime

THE RIVER OF HEAVEN AND HELL

The river I speak of can be the most gentle of all. People come far and wide to enjoy its waters. The water is pure and clean. It has the deepest blue the imagination has ever seen. The water calmy drifts over all the rocks that is in its way. The river is so spectacular that if a person was to fall in its arms it would use its current to help them to safety. Artists come to paint its spectacular hues and Martyrs speak of its incredible miracles. There is no dams that can hold it back and no poison can pollute its waters. It flows through the greenest meadows and the deepest forests. The water spawns wildlife of tremendous beauty. The river is the paradise that man dreams of and women fall in love with, For the river is perfect in every way and becomes so perfect that it suddenly flows to a place that no one ever goes. Suddenly and eruptly the river turns into mans nightmares and womens greatest fears. The water becomes poisonous and revolting. The water begins to flow so rapid that it destroys everything in its path. The sounds of its roar become so lound that it deafens those that are near. It bcomes violent with all that it can and even goes out of its way to make others miserable. Its waters become dirty and grey and its spirit becomes null. It then flows through the worst hell a person can imagine. To the point that even the river wished its own destruction. As time surfs by in calculating prediction its water begins to flow to the bottom of hell and then miraculously it rises up once again with amazing recovery to the way it used to be. The river is always one way or the other and never just a normal river. The river of heaven and hell is my life and one that I live with every day. I can predict the way my river will be every 4 months and that is the way it will always be. Even though the so called river specialists have provided chemicals to make its waters normal, I can not stand not having the paradise that the river brings. For one to have heaven one must live through hell.

From: Shelley

Yes, please do and thanks!

Shelley
Sister Leslie wrote:

> can I use this on the page?
>
> At 11:11 am 10/30/98 -0500, you wrote:
> >    Darkness and pain doesn't justify the moods.  Emotional stability is
> >not a conscious choice.  Confusion and fear lays within the
> >subconscious. Death becomes an option as a way out.   The world and
> >people in it become strangers.  A thick foggy glass wall becomes
> >emotional shelter. Waves of anxiety steal sanity.  Sleep becomes a drug
> >of escape.
> >    The world is wonderful,  full of bright colors and high senses.  To
> >concur anything is simply within the ability to believe, it has no
> >boundaries.  Choice be not a burden, it all fits in to place. Tomorrow
> >is a day that isn't thought of , the moment is now.  Sleep is a waste of
> >time, so much to accomplish.   Life and all people in it are beautiful,
> >everyone can be trusted.
> >     Medication is the warrior of chemical imbalance.  Stability, belief
> >and faith are found within a small ray of light creeping through
> >darkness and self hatred.  The people we love  and love  us understand
> >without logic.  Hope is an angle guiding us through the destructive maze
> >of highs and desperation.
> >    We are the ones who have lived life to the highest and the lowest
> >teasing us with a sense of stability.  We are the ones who can create
> >beautiful things, love with passion and empathy.  We are the ones who
> >gain strength, we can move on.  We are the ones who have lived hell and
> >heaven and are still here to experience the in between.
> >
> >Shelley

From: Sally

THE BIPOLAR CYCLE (my only poem tha'll fit here)
I breath into my lungs and soul  -  The wind
     beneath the bright blue sky.
My spirit stares into the sun  -  And burns its 
     passion on my mind.
Through unseen tears I watch myself   -  Speak
     lines drawn from a comic play.
From dark warmth depths I tear my heart  -  And
     Place it, bleeding, on your tray.   -Sally

From: BECCA G.

JUDGEMENT

Judge me not for the color of my SKIN…
(that would be a sin)

Judge me not for the color of my HAIR…
(that surely is unfair)

Judge me not for the things I have DONE…
(to err is human)

Judge me not for the things I may DO…
(we do what we have to)

I ask only this….
(Judge by heart and by soul)

BUT before passing it upon ME…
Look upon a mirror and truly SEE..
(judge him before me)

BECCA G. “99”

From:
Subject: My mother has been bipolor for almost as long as I can remember.

Hello,

I am 44 yrs. old and my mother has been "manic depressive" for as long as I can remember. Supposedly her first incident occurred in December 1954, when I was 3 months old, following the death of my 2/almost 3yr. old brother.

My mother has had many ups and downs, good days/weeks and bad ones. She has had more than 50 electroshock treatments (ECT) and has been on every medication imagineable. I could share memories that would make you cry or ones that would curl your toes with fear. I've just about seen it all.

I ran across your web site "Bipolar Planet" today, read the various writings and checked out each link. Thank you for this service.

I am compelled to share a poem of my own, that was written in June 1994, following a hypermanic incident, where I had to forcibly hospitalize my mother for treatment. This was a very difficult decision and task to pursue. My mother was very angry and had told me and everyone else that she didn't have a daughter any more. I wrote this poem in hopes that it would explain some of my feelings.

                                I  Remember . . . 

                    I remember the times you held me close,
                            and wiped away my tears . . .
                    Of happiness and sadness,
                            we've shared throughout the years.

                    You wonder if I love you,
                            and question every move.
                    Depression is a tragic fate, 
                            and one I hope you lose.

                    I remember summer days,
                            and the walks that we would take. . .
                    Of playing Jacks on the floor,
                            and the cakes that we would bake.

                    Depression clouds the special things,
                            that we should ne'er forget.
                    Instead it causes family strife,
                            and this I do regret.

                    Oh, that I could wave a wand,
                            and make it disappear . . .
                    And all your fears, just fade away,
                            never to reappear.

                    I remember rainy days,
                            and how special you could make them.
                    Whether reading boods or playing games
                            your love was not mistaken.

                    I remember sad times, too,
                            when you were so very ill.
                    A high window . . . . bars intact . . . 
                            forced to stay against your will.

                   You made a purple octopus of yarn,
                            that became a special toy . . .
                    And the day, that you came home to us,
                            filled my heart with joy.

                    I remember a cruel joke,
                            my friends had played on me . . .
                    And as I wept and trembled,
                            you took care of me.

                    Oh, how proud I was, of you that day.
                            You took me by surprise.
                    I would never have dreamed, you'd call them,
                             to confront their every lie.

                    I remember all these things,
                            Each circumstance seems clear.
                    They influenced who I am today.
                            Each one, to me, is dear.

                    I love you, Mother, and always will.
                            Please know that this is true.
                    My love for you will forever be,
                            as fresh as the morning dew.

                                    With Love,    
                               Ó P. Arrel Tidwell
                                  June 22, 1994

Modified February 13, 1999.