Hope in the Heart - Hiroshima
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Observations in Verse

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Index and First Lines (please scroll down for poems in the following order.)

Heeding the Broken Heart
(I'm a mental health survivor, relieved ex-service user......)

The Secret Art (There's a very special secret that should be common knowledge.....)

Emptying Nest
(My youngest child, my baby, is leaving home today, ......)

Pull Your Socks Up! (You need to pull your socks up. Don't be silly. Get a grip!.......)

Paradox (Why shouldn't I suffer a mental health issue? The world that I live in is mad!.......)

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 Heeding the Broken Heart

I’m a mental health survivor.

Relieved ex-service user.

A graduate of the loony bin.

A mollified medusa.

I look like any wife and mum; short and a bit too wide.

See, we ex-loonies don’t have scars that show on the outside.

But the lines that criss-cross on my heart

Are formed of best scar tissue.

There’s one for every loss, for every devastating issue.

There’s more for the self-loathing

I piled upon the top.

Those multiplied the fastest,

Til I learned I had to stop;

That finding some compassion for the poor, mistreated thing

Was the one most clear and certain way to help my mute heart sing.


There was a time I thought that I would never feel alive.

When, far from living to the full, I barely could survive.

Then I considered suicide a tantalising offer

But just in time life sprang up with a better deal to proffer.

It showed me in that instant that the only way is through.

That I had to grit my teeth and try a method hard and new.

So I turned my scant attention to the inside for a start

And began to get acquainted with my poor old broken heart.


A broken heart’s a funny thing. You think it’s smashed to pieces

But something magic happens when you heed it - it releases

A lifetime’s worth of pain and doubt, a shedload of bad feeling.

When you pay it some attention that’s the thing that starts it healing.


It doesn’t happen overnight. It’s simple, but not easy.

You don’t just press a button and start feeling bright and breezy.

But eventually you notice, for the briefest millisecond,

That you feel a lighter feeling than you ever really reckoned

You might feel, and then you doubt yourself, but then, another day,

You find that feeling’s there again and doesn’t go away -

so soon this time, and while you might still mostly fret and mope,

There’s a bright new stranger on the block; a stranger name of Hope.


Hope is a thing that lifts you; lets you see a better view.

Hope whispers tiny promises of gifts that wait for you.

It doesn’t tell you what they are exactly, but it teases

With a glimpse of sparkle here and there; a fluttering that pleases.

You sense something is changing, and that can seem quite scary

But hope takes you by the hand and leads you, tentative and wary,

Towards the future. It’s OK. Just go at your own pace

And ask for help along the way from allies of good grace.

You’ll see that these will find you if you’re brave enough to call.

They may be human beings, or creatures, large or small.

They may appear in dreams, and then remain as just a feeling:

Something you can’t quite recall that helps you with your healing.

If you can just surrender when there’s nothing much to lose,

You might well find a whole new box of sculpting tools to use.

Then you can start, with trembling hands, to forge a newer version

Of the You you really want to be; an ex-unhappy person.


And all the time be mindful of the tracks across your heart,

Which may smart now and then as you pursue your brave new start.

For the miracle that happens as you toil with such fine grace is

Your heart will grow the strongest in the most scarred, broken places.


And now there comes the secret that not many people know;

That those of us who’ve suffered most are most equipped to grow.

Those who have been to hell, and found their way back to the earth

Are the ones with the potential for the most profound rebirth.


Your mind may try to tell you this is all just tricks and traps.

Your mind is looking out for you; it’s scared for you, perhaps.

If you’ve known disappointments and trusting isn’t easy,

You’re bound to have misgivings; to feel tremulous and queasy.

But just keep taking one small step, and then one small step more.

Stick closely to your allies just to keep your footing sure.

As days and weeks and months go by, and years eventually,

You may find yourself becoming the You you want to be.


Remember every now and then to check your mending heart;

That unique and tender scarring that’s your greatest work of art.

Just feel the love it has for you and for the world around you

Wear its wisdom like a talisman and magic will surround you.

Be certain to hold on to Hope and follow in its wake;

Life yields new gifts to those whose hearts were strong enough to break.

A paradox that’s puzzling, but please do be assured

That the heart that’s borne most suffering can bring the most reward.

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The Secret Art
One of the most profound lessons I have learned, and one which came to me quite late in life, is the importance of compassion, service and giving in the development and maintenance of personal well-being.
     A wise friend once told me that the most healing thing to do for myself when I was at my lowest was to reach out to someone else who was feeling low and ask them how they were and how I could help, thus moving away from my own despair for a time and contributing something of value - a gift to them but also an incredible gift to myself at a time when I felt I had nothing to offer.
     Research shows that giving (not just money, but time and energy) is one of the best things we can do to improve our physical and mental health.
     Of course it is essential to nurture self-compassion and ensure we meet our own needs, but often one of our most basic needs is to connect to others and contribute in whatever way we can. This poem celebrates that life-changing but oh-so-simple discovery.


The Secret Art

There’s a very special secret

That should be common knowledge

It isn’t rocket science

Or a fact you learn in college.

It’s the thing we all keep looking for

The thing that will provide

A warm fulfillment to replace

The emptiness inside.

It’s really very simple,

And that’s the cosmic joke;

We wonder what we need to get

In order to evoke

A feeling of belonging,

Relief within our heart;

What we don’t realise is

That if we want to play the part

Of bright, contented being

With a glorious life to live

The question's less what can we get;

Than what we have to give!


“What do I have to spare?” you cry

“I don’t have grand possessions

Or endless wealth, or power.”

No need for such confessions.

The treasures that will make you rich

Are all contained within

And if you’re feeling willing

And ready to begin,

You can start the process right away.

No need for preparation.

Your humble generosity

Will be your own salvation.


The treasures that are worth the most

Are not, as we’ve been told,

Antiques or artworks,

Fancy cars or objects made of gold.

They are not strings of diamonds

Or clothes of latest fashion

But love and kindness,

Empathy, acceptance and compassion.

Along with these come courtesy,

Respect and gentle grace

Tolerance, affection, an open, smiling face

And arms outstretched in greeting

No matter who you meet;

Your own well-being is defined

By how you learn to treat

Your fellow human beings,

And all of life on earth.

If you nurture your compassion

You will never find a dearth

Of satisfaction in your life.

You’ll find it full instead

Of happiness and wonder

And you will want to spread

These ever-wider, knowing now

That sharing your resources

Will manifest great riches

And superhuman forces.

You may begin to realise

That now you’re more complete

You no longer think so much about

The needs you have to meet

In your own life. You’re happier

Because you have dismissed

The shallow thoughts that in your past

Comprised a surly list

Of wants and stark ambitions

To be the best and smartest.

Instead you’ve learned the art of love

And love that you’re an artist

Who paints your canvas wild and wide,

With vital, vibrant, hues;

The colours of the universe

Laid out for you to choose.

You know that you cannot return

To that world left behind,

And your gratitude is boundless

For the bounty that you find

In every waking moment

And in your dream-time too.

When compassion is your way of life,

Your life takes care of you.





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Emptying Nest
My youngest child, my baby,

Is leaving home today

To start a new adventure

In a city far away.

I’ve watched this day approaching

And prepared as best I could

And I’ll go with her to her new home

And act the way I should.

I will not keen or beg her

With arms around her knees

To stay and not abandon me

I will not steal the keys

To her new place and super-glue

The locks so the replacement

Will not fit and I certainly

Won’t lock her in my basement

And say I don’t know where she is

And why she didn’t show

For her first important lecture

Do you think I’d do that? No!

I will be a nice, sane mother

And I’ll kiss her on the cheek

Then I’ll stumble through the doorway

And my eyes will start to leak.



Or ....

Perhaps I’ll try a different tack

Perhaps I’ll find it’s nice

When my tidy rooms stay tidy

And the shopping’s half the price.

Not being woken up at five

After the clubs have shut

Might be a thing I quite enjoy.

Of course I’ll miss her, but

I think I might get used to

A bit of peace and quiet

I’ve never been a hands-off mum,

Perhaps it’s time to try it!



I recall I used to wonder

When my friends bemoaned the fate

Of empty-nest depression

Why they got in such a state

But the change from being full-time mum

To ordinary being

After 30 years is daunting

And I find myself agreeing

That this is a rite of passage

That should not be taken lightly.

It requires some reflection,

And a box of chocolates nightly.



But there’s more than just a flicker

Of excitement as I think

Of the many new things I could do -

Like dye my hair bright pink.

I could go and have my nose pierced

Learn to kite-surf, start to jog,

I could dive for buried treasure

I could write a saucy blog;

Eat only ice cream for six weeks

Siesta every day

Buy lots of fabulous antiques

And give them all away.

I could take up bungee jumping

I could have a bold tattoo.

I could turn up at Heathrow and buy

A ticket to Peru

Or persuade my patient hubby

That we should move to Paris

And become a street performer

There’d be no-one to embarrass!




But the thing that is most likely

Is that I’ll go home and be

The latest version of myself;

The post-child-rearing me

With only grown-up children

Whom I love and still hold dear

Even though they may live far away

My heart will keep them near;

And I’ll feel my way in this next stage

And see what seems to fit

And if something grabs my fancy

I might have a go at it.



The time’s come to remember

The wings I hid away

In the chrysalis of motherhood

And this could be the day

To wriggle out of my cocoon;

To turn to face the sky

Then shake them out and show the world

How beautifully I'll fly!


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When I was in the midst of my mental health crisis  people often suggested that if I'd just get a grip, everything would be fine.
Now, why didn't I think of that?!

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PULL YOUR SOCKS UP!

You need to pull your socks up.

Don’t be silly. Get a grip.

If you just find a good job

and a nice relationship

You’ll be OK. You’ll wonder why

You made all this great fuss.

You just need to pull your socks up

Be more like the rest of us.


I know you’re feeling gloomy

And you can’t quite face the future

But that’s because you haven’t found

The lifestyle to best suit ya.

If you pull yourself together

And try a little harder

You’ll be happier than Francis Drake

Defeating the Armada.


But you need to take your finger out.

Don’t wallow in self-pity.

Think positive and get involved

In all the nitty-gritty

Of adult life. You’re not a child.

So pull yourself together.

If you keep being negative

And courting stormy weather

You’ll never see the sunshine

Or live a normal life.

With a normal job and household

as a normal,proper wife.

If you don’t pull your socks up

You’re never going to be

A nice, plain, normal person

Like nice, plain normal me!


So do try to make an effort.

Don’t be silly. Get a grip.

Find a hobby. Join a book club.

Do a painting. Take a trip.

Stop bringing everybody down.

Your company’s depressing.

We’d like you so much more

If you were bright and effervescing.


Just pull yourself together.

You can manage it with ease.

And we’d all feel much more comfy.

If your socks stayed round your knees!

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I find that a high proportion of the people I come into contact with whose mental health is fragile are spiritually-aware sensitives who care deeply about the world and often experience profound distress about the way it is being disrespected and destroyed, and frustration at their impotence to make a difference.
     Their distress reflects the distress of the world, and is coloured with compassion and empathy; both more natural human responses to witnessed suffering than the denial and disconnectedness often shown by those who are deemed mentally healthy.
     Poor mental health is being cited as the latest global epidemic, with one person in four expected to experience mental health problems in any given year in the UK and this number widely reflected on an international scale. Much consideration is being given to the possible reasons for this. Here is one theory to contemplate. . . . . .

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Paradox

Why shouldn’t I suffer a mental health issue?

The world that I live in is mad!

Aren’t famine, recession and fracking sufficient

to render me angry and sad?

The ice caps are melting, the forests are dying,

the Japanese ocean is boiling.

So why isn’t everyone raging and crying

when this is our planet we’re spoiling?


Our media values duplicitous greed.

It wants us to value the same.

If strong medication’s the thing that I need

to resist it, can I be to blame?


Or could it just be that those more robust folk

who meander through life unencumbered

by concerns for their world and affairs that provoke

me to ponder should really be lumbered

with the label that follows me through all my days;

“Mental Health Problems”, whispered discreetly,

because surely it’s madder to live in a haze

of denial and shutting out neatly

all the gross inconsistencies, lies and betrayals,

the tragedies unfolding daily

In front of our noses as our planet ails,

and continue to trip through life gaily

than to holler and keen at the rabid machine

as it poisons humanity's future,

as bureaucracy rules, making leaders of fools,

while wounds fester for want of a suture.



Perhaps like the fairy tale in which the youth,

when he saw the grand emperor nude,

was the only brave subject to utter the truth

though the others considered him rude,

those who find themselves ravaged

and can’t play the game

of pretending that everything’s well

are the heralds of truth

who illumine the shame

that our earth is descending to hell.

And today’s epidemic of mental ill health

that is puzzling society so

if perused in perspective would offer a wealth

of rich wisdom we all need to know:

That to weep for a world that is daily subjected

to rape, exploitation and ruin

and to live in a way that this truth is reflected’s

the natural thing to be doing

while contributing to the destruction and vice

or existing with head in the sand

and believing you’re sane is a very high price

to pay out for the life you have planned.


For your plans cannot flourish,

the world can’t be well

and our shared mental health won’t repair

until we're all willing to wake up and tell

that the emperor’s fine clothes are not there.

So the quarter whose health is too fragile to cope

with a life where so much causes pain

could in truth be the empaths, the prophets of hope

and the quarter who truly are sane

while the other three quarters who trundle along

and insist that the king’s finely clad

are the ones whose lucidity’s really all wrong,

or in other words, totally mad!

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Photos from Thomas van de Vosse, that one doood, juliocrockett, Sirsnapsalot, Valerie Everett
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