Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"

Tag: Dr David Hamilton Wilson

THE HAWK CORNER ROOM: OPENED WINDOW

The Hawk Corner Room 10:22am

M(EYE) Torture, My Life

EYE have sealed off Your Undried Blackness

I have rolled You up

for The World To See

TODAY

POST TUB

September 21st, 2016

The Hawk Queen Bed, Near Midnight

Was there ever really an age

of Innocence?

The Lumps of Years

hardly matter anymore —

was it when My Children

were Children?

was it when I was

knocked out every night

on ten milligrams of Olanzapine

not knowing in the morning

if I dreamed?

Today marks Week Fifteen

since I stopped It

at The Site of a Rainbow

and I was going to write

a letter to London, England

to a man I treasured

when I was three —

My Mother’s Lover —

He is old now

and wonders if He’s written

His Last Book —

He takes care of A Man

He Loves — Who has Alzheimer’s —

takes Him when The Man’s Institution

welcomes a break —

I was going to write

that on Week Fourteen

I bleached & bleached

the growing blackness off My Deck

to make It look like driftwood —

It came out looking like that anyway

and My Daughter was proud —

I was going to write

that I replaced the old gold handles

on My Kitchen Cabinets

with wrought-iron-looking ones

picked out by Eliza

and what else did I do today?

I prayed for a dog.

I cooked Day Six

of Our New Ketogenic Diet

resulting from Eliza’s visit

and I believe I am better

off for It — though

I wonder about sleep —

the low carbohydrate level tends to rev Me up

Eliza suggests warm milk

with one tablespoon of honey

at bed time —

should I sleep in Her Room

again?

The Next Morning:

The Hawk Deck 10:17am

I slept with Hunter

not before two o’clock in the morning

and woke with a dream

of being about to meet

The Daughter of The Man

EYE LOVE

I changed Eliza’s sheets —

Her Comforter is hanging out

on the line —

and I heard The Rooster

again

before I got up

to make The Coffee

 

 

 

WEEK 12

The Hawk Deck 8:19am

Twelve weeks ago I took

My Last Pill of Olanzapine

and I am stable as I was meant to be

but have to deal with continued

sleep deprivation —

last night I got 61/2 hours

on 2 mgs of Ativan

which is better than the night before —

Eliza and Jon will see

My Sculpture this morning

as it sits on the kitchen counter

with Its Left Eye closed

and Its Right Eye

in Another World —

The Sun is out

and I have the freshness of September

coming into play

 

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STOLEN HEART

The Hawk Deck 12:43pm

I had a robbery

of My Family’s Happiness

sitting in a Jacuzzi

in Toronto

with Eliza running around

the edge —

I had a robbery

of My Love for My Husband

My Handsome Capable Carpenter —

The Father of My 2.4 Children

I had a robbery

of My Son’s Happy Childhood

when I told Him at age eleven

His Parents were separating

I had a robbery

of My First Marriage

by a skinny little doctor

who called Me a “seer”

on April Fool’s Day

the morning after

My Sacred Shower Of Silver Lights

which NOBODY

will ever

STEAL

LETTER TO MY DEAR READERS

The Hawk TV Room:

Since writing the poem “No Ativan”  I have had to take it for severe sleep deprivation following the too hasty removal of a tranquillizer named Clonazepam which I had been taking to fend off the withdrawal effects of quitting the drug My Husband is now calling “Evil” — Olanzapine.  Along with coming to terms that not only was Olanzapine making me psychotic for eighteen years, the drugs I was taking after my mother died in 1993 were also making me psychotic and resulted in a twenty-three year romantic fixation on another doctor — the realization of this has just come to me today.  What I thought was true love in my mind, based on a “telepathic message” and a “magical moment” with this particular man, was nothing more than my mind’s own trickery due to anti-depressants  I was taking at the time and which induced a manic episode I wrote about and held to my heart for all these years.  I am no longer doing this.  It is a great relief.

Joanna

LAST LEG

The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 4:30pm

I have come through

an oven of madness

I have been broiled

and poked

for The Life of My Daughter

for My Son since He was five

when I made a pact

with My Self

that I would never feel

the pain of the loss

of My Mother

and found instead

the love that sustained Me

through My Temperature Gage

of Molten Silver

and Highest Reverie

I have spoken

of My Vile Nature

black with burnt offerings

of Salvation

for The Masses

yet to come

I am out

on the table

for dinner with My Starving Family

My Ex Husband I loved

in the sun

of Our First House,

a tiny one

I am out,

reposing

to be eaten now

with Mint Jelly

from the shady side

of My Mother’s Well

 

ON THE COUCH

The Tomato-coloured Couch 12:40 pm

I wrap up My Vulnerability

inside My Thick Grey Robe

holding My Fruitless Heart

close to My Chest

for warmth and reassurance

with My Journal open on My Lap

for the inspiration

of twenty-three years

written into the call

of a lifetime

THIS MORNING’S SEA

The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 9:44am

The Shimmering

The Shimmering —

how can I write enough?

The Dazzle has Me caught

in The Sublime

of My Place

My View

My Completeness