Bedlam Museum of the Mind

A visit to Bethlem Hospital
Museum of the Mind this week.
Open Wednesday to Friday 10am-5pm
(unless you’re in a ‘group’).
I find myself struck by the times.

There is a wide range of art
as well as historical lunacies to enjoy
and the staff and ‘service users’
are impeccably informed and helpful.

Here are two of the few photo’s I took to remind me of the visit.

Harriet Jordan

Harriet Jordan

Harriet Jordan (after)

Harriet Jordan (after)

June

We’re finally at the end of the crazy-June! Leaving us still with 2 months of silly season (English summer) to go… Where that will take us who can possibly know?!

June Oh June

With your bitch, full, blue moon.
You run on in pieces
in drips so drab
and break up the fun
that we waited to have.
You tyrannous slut
of a month
– Cat June!

Bringing the promise of sun and fun
to dash them and crush us –
you run on and run.
So you’ll guess I’m not pleased with you;
guess we’re not growing
to love your foul days of rain,
while you hide the suns glowing!

Oh June.
Oh my.
What have you become
now so late and wet
were you once called the sun?
I cry for you, baby
and the tears sting my cheeks!
I cry everyday
through your long blasted weeks.

Beck sun

This is an updated post from 2012…

Sad Tears

Tears drop hotly from cheeks
They run down
Dry before they reach the ground
A store of tears built up o’er weeks

Dressed in coats dragged fresh from the streets
Worn bare
Reveal a heart so rare
Cold golden heart mired in defeats

Through windows high in walls
Open to sky
The saddest song drifts by
On cold hearts sits the saddest song of all.

Polisylum

Standby…
Standby.
Standby you!
Can’t get enough of that magic you do!
Stocks are broke
Oil’s all down the drain
you too get the feeling you’re here once again?
Standby – hold tight –
We’ll shoot when it’s time
wait for the clamour of bangs on the line.

Here’s the latest
broken news
We’ve forgiven Iran
The Soviets too.
Out of their madness and out of their heads
Our greatest have failed
to lead us to death.

Standby anxious
You’re not due yet
There’s time to drop bombs
Our gods hedging his bets
Stately you wait on
The pride of good taste
Please be in no hurry
to rush with the race.

Song from the shops

Juices
Pears
and crazy airs-of-graces
Slew my love
so quick, to call her dead!
Culled so young
and cruelly filled with fluid…
Slid to death –
the slide was in her head.

The Whealing Nature of Time

Warm as love – blood spurts from the fresh flesh wounds of cancers fading shadows! As sharply as the bones of my belief shattered a year ago, so my dreams of idylls splinter freely today. Here, like the glove too tight for comfort (stretches clean and webs in yellow), memories of fun cling longingly to the curves of my lightless brain.

So it is, here among my playful shadows, the blisters of yesterdays scratching; the flake of my worn-dry skin, prove achingly alien to any tender caress… Painfully barren of others touch or kiss, just sore from neglect. Where else could my thoughts wear down such sumptuous solitude? Long since forgotten, left to scar – somehow free through these peels of skin, transparent as the wafer-thin meat itself. Myself!

I am left only with the memories of pain (which hurts more?). So in this ache of reminiscence, and the lurch to escape, time (heavy as my eyelids) hammers out the tune of our minute and ticks me reeling into the arms of my tomorrow.

Avenged Beast

Suffer in silence
insolent pig!
Grovel your sorrows
tragic cow!
Pray for forgiveness
wretched dog!
Show not contempt
pathetic beast!

When you were not so lowly
not cowering on the ground –
you spat upon my helpless corpse
I needed not your curses;
so when your dying starts to bite
how can you expect forgiveness?

Now you are going, insolent pig.
I know not where
tragic cow.
I will not watch wretched dog…
I do not care.
Pathetic beast.