Poetry Project: Three Poems, and Thoughts of Mental Health and Writing, with Brian James Lewis

Hello readers! Happy New Year! After a short hiatus for the holiday season and personal and family illness, we’re back today to continue the recent celebration of poetry and poets with my Poetry Project series which began its current segment in November 2023. I have two more features left to post, including this one below, then I’ll share an announcement about poetry and its inclusion into the rest of the year.

I also want to take a moment while it’s fresh to say that WordPress has reminded me it’s the thirteenth anniversary of my site this month! I think that’s a huge deal in this age of constant changes and I’m pretty proud of it.

More on that later, but for now, let me introduce my next poetry feature on my friend and colleague, who is an author, poet, and book critic and champion, Brian James Lewis.

Brian has been showcased on my site before and I’ve tried to support his work where and when I can as he’s a needed and often overlooked voice. Brian’s poetry is raw, gritty, intense, but REAL and it bravely showcases mental health and disability struggles. Brian’s work pierces through society and writer normals; is unpretentious and accessible. Brian is also a fabulous person to work with and someone who wants to learn and grow. He’s also been very supportive of my own work and writing, as a person and as a woman, offering so much respect and encouragement. He’s an inspiring person, overcome so much, and I’m happy to call him a friend. Without further clamoring on by me, I’ll let Brian take the page.

Introduction by Brian James Lewis –

Hello everyone, I am once again fortunate to be sharing my work with you thanks to the positive efforts of Erin Al-Mehairi. She’s an overall awesome person who cares about us unique people in the writing community and understands our struggles. If you need editing or promotion for your work, I highly recommend her services.

Being included in her poetry projects over the years has resulted in many more people reading and sharing my work and I’m grateful for that. She’s the reason that I will soon be featured in the Horror Writer Association’s wellness blog, discussing the healing benefits of horror reading and writing for those of us with mental health issues. Stay tuned for that! 

Today, I’m sharing three poems with you. The first, “Again,” is about the too real horrors of chronic mental illness which we’re finding out is much more common than the media or health community is officially recognizing. Too frequently jails and prisons are used as care facilities for people who aren’t going to get any better without regular check-ins with care providers and daily medication. But many of the medications are controlled which makes them difficult to obtain and there is a serious lack of specialized care facilities. General practitioners do what they can, but their knowledge is limited, as is their understanding of what’s really going on inside. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is not a cold or a broken bone that usually has a finite healing time. No matter how much effort you put into your recovery, it’s always lurking in the background waiting for the right moment to rush forth and spew toxic waste everywhere.  

AGAIN 
By Brian James Lewis 

It’s happening again 
The thing I said I was done with 
But anger fuels and rage overpowers 
Every single good wish in the universe 

Like a California wildfire 
Taking down acres of trees 
Flames radiating heat and smoke 
Firetrucks driving through hell 

Look out! You better save yourself 
Because I’m on fire with anger 
Rage boiling over the pot sides 
Like tomato soup left alone 

Stinking, smoking, ruining 
Everything in my path 
You try to hold up your hand 
But I can’t stop this volcano 

People like to throw words 
Like PTSD around to be cool

PMS, OMG, LOL, WTF? 
Pop culture is so damn lame 

Like a slap in the dick 
Poke in the eye with a stick 
Truth is they don’t know shit 
About pain, fear, and that rage… 

That arrives breathing flames 
An out-of-control freight train 
Hot steel screaming off the rails 
Smashing the flimsy wooden gates 

Of those prescription “cool it” drugs 
Ignoring the years of psychotherapy 
Hotwiring the brain for an evil joyride 
That won’t stop until heartache 

Or someone else gets hurt 
Forced to share the pain 
That true sufferers of PTSD carry 
Like spoiled meat, rotten veg 

Deep inside their chests 
Hidden so well, nobody knows 
Until something sets it off 
Releasing the hounds of rage 

(First published in JMWW on 9/23/2022 with this photo above)

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The second poem, “Home Sweet Hideaway,” was acquired by Erin for the Unnerving published gothic horror anthology Haunted Are These Houses in 2018. Sometimes homes are nothing you’d see in Better Homes & Gardens. I spent about ten years of my formative life living directly in front of a huge swamp, which I explored now and then until I began working on cars and trucks in the front yard. It was never not creepy in the swamp and sometimes it was downright terrifying. 

HOME SWEET HIDEAWAY
by Brian James Lewis

Used to be my summer nights were spent 
sitting on a lawn chair and staring off 
into the swamp behind my trailer home 
But these days, I’m a much busier man 
Now frogs sing in a madness choral 
while fireflies dance in misty gloom 
All of us waiting for the spirits to arrive 
in the eerie moments under a blood moon 
Giant shadows glide silently between 
the pines, hemlock and poplars 
Leaves wagging like tongues in the 
gurgling breezes that bring 
Raw smells of the ancient ones 
Huge, flapping dinosaurs and others 
without names that held the pointy 
headed nuts of the KKK at bay 
Blam! Blam! The beavers’ tails report 
As they cruise on patrol of the stagnant 
creek where jack lighters dispose of 
deer carcasses and assorted filth 
Used condoms, beer cans, panties, wallets 
and even cell phones adorn the muck 
beside the old bridge that crosses over 
a bone filled body of greasy water 
Deer move silently in the growing dark 
feeding here and there as I watch 
motionless in my chair as anticipation 
fills my mouth with sticky juices 
Don’t move! The swamp shadows are 
creeping closer-Air crackling as more fire 
flies join the dance-picking up speed 
until it flares like chain lightning 
I’m not lonely as the dark closes in 
This is a busy place, with barely 
enough room for the living as the 
shadows crowd around laughing 
Before this home sweet hideaway  
I didn’t know where I fit in-But this lot 
full of clapped out cars and derelict 
trucks needs my mechanical madness 
The food I catch here at night is tasty 
Someone is yelling in the darkness, but
I only see flesh-So I just chuckle and 
keep on rending, tearing, and stripping 
No time to waste-There’s much to do 
With a snap I release my knife. Hah! 
Demons, bring around my rusted hearse 
The evening hunt is on! 

(First published in Haunted Are These Houses – Unnerving on 9/14/2018.)

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This third and final new poem is about dealing with the constant pain of physical disabilities that aren’t going away pretty much ever. I finally made it out of the wheelchair I was stuck in for numerous years, thanks to an accident that left me with permanent spinal and nerve damage. Early in 2023, I had been hopeful that I’d finally be able to have corrective back surgery. I lost weight and went through the prep only to have my hopes dashed by a well-meaning surgeon. Turns out that there’s a high risk of permanent lower body paralysis which would put me right back in that wheelchair forever. And no bones about it, he was correct that if that happened, I would most likely commit suicide or go seriously off the rails that I’ve been trying so hard to spike back into place. So, I’m stuck taking pain medication on the daily to keep myself functional. Some people, including my blood family, seem to think that this must be a whole heck of a lot of fun. They’ve even been so bold as to say this to my face. Here’s a clear eyed view from the front row.  

SILENT ENEMIES
By Brian James Lewis

There are days when 
all I want to do is 
kill myself 

Wash away the pain 
forever and just  
be totally free 

Of what I’ve become 
Fat and addicted to drugs 
meant to manage my 

Pain but they only 
dull it a little and 
turn my brain to sludge

Then drive me crazy 
because my face itches  
like it is full of a 

Million tiny bugs 
that are trying to eat 
the inside of my nose 

I wipe and wash 
scratch and poke 
But it’s no use 

Damn it! 
I just want a razor 
sharp knife so I can 

Peel away the 
skin of my face in  
thin bloody sheets 

Just to get rid 
of the maddening itch 
The crawling prickle 

That keeps me awake 
at two in the morning 
ruining any chance  

Of sleep-My dreams 
invaded by the horrible 
sensations that rule me 

Pain pulses and 
flares, forcing me 
out of my own bed  

To face the itching  
that make one’s 
fingers enemies that  

Attack in the night 
like silent killers 
from another land

The aim of writing poetry like this isn’t about making people feel sorry for you. It’s about expressing oneself in a relatively positive fashion and letting others who are fighting the same fight know that they’re not alone. Most times the medical community doesn’t have the best approach and even the kindest physicians can make us feel like freaks. But we’re not and we sure as hell didn’t voluntarily sign up for this.

The one thing that helps me to get away for a while is writing. Especially when I get immersed in my characters while working on a story or express myself via poetry. That’s something that we can control and laser focus on, even if for just short bursts. During that time, we’re not hostages, we’re escapees running for the border. Some naysayers may tell you it’s dumb or you’re not making big bucks. Do not listen to them. They’re just bitter because they cashed their dreams in a long time ago for the dubious concept of security. Never stop writing, it’s how we breathe.

Brian James Lewis, Biography –

Brian James Lewis is a disabled writer with PTSD who writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction that often straddles the line between horror and literary. He enjoys using old manual typewriters that he has brought back from the dead, including one originally owned by Rod Serling. Brian is blue collar to the bone and has been a mechanic, truck driver, veterinary kennel attendant, library clerk, and a janitor.

Most recently his work has appeared in Trajectory, The Siren’s Call e-Zine, and JMWW. He is looking forward to being published in 2024 by Smoking Pen Press, The Iconoclast, and a new, close to his heart short story “Gonna Be A Long Cold Winter” that balances hope and reality on the edge of a curb, which will be coming out in the next issue of Trajectory. After midnight Brian often transforms into his horror reading undead alter-ego, Skull, and reviews books on his Damaged Skull Writer blog. Pop on over when you have a chance, he’d love to have more followers.

You can read all Brian’s past poetry on my site, as well as his essay on mental illness and writing, here, and why he started writing plus more poetry, here.

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Thanks once again to all those who are taking the time to enjoy and support the Poetry Project. I know the poets appreciate it as much as I do. Please help continue it by sharing with others.

If you’re interested in past Poetry Projects, you can find the links to an insane amount of excellent poetry on my site here.

I hope 2024 has set off on a good foot for everyone and best wishes to all.