
Teenager
Look out the wind-blown window
Through the evergreen tree gone bare
Sun unseen lights the grey sky
Of air so cold even time is slowed
Until a bitter, vengeful gust
Threatens to take down the tree
The snow-covered roof of the house -
All which is on the horizon;
Try to sink deeper under the covers
And feel secure in knowing this
Is the most peaceful moment of the day
Madness
For Suds
Einstein defined insanity
as doing the same thing
over and over again, while
expecting different results.
Yet here I am in the same predicament
I hoped to avoid
before, during, and after
becoming an adult.
Answering the call, I cater
to a ravenous, raging creature—
a starving need that cannot be sated,
only made hungrier by more, more, more—
bloated by excess with no escape
under the guise of helping myself.
The only thing
which keeps me sane
is the other life I live
during a few treasured moments
and the dream that one day
it will be the only one.
The New Normal
The world reaps a harvest of desolation -
sickness and ruin are all around.
As you cocoon in the name of health
you grow obsessed by a cinema of thought.
You have nothing but time to rehearse
all you have ever said and done.
The director running the scene yells,
"Cut!", and you replay it from the top.
No matter how many takes
you just can't seem to get anything right.
Yet it is safer to stay in this nightmare
than to live the reality going on outside.
You are haunted by the past, terrified
of the present, and can't imagine a future.
Then comes the turning point -
you try to escape the trap you created.
But, just as you think you are free
the hellish screenplay loops in your mind.
Such is how you pass your hours.
And the hours become days.
The days become weeks, the weeks
become months, without any resolution.
Panic
Your heart pounds against your ribcage
hopelessly trying to break free.
Your brain and eyes ache from the pressure
of blank thoughts beyond focus.
Your hands shake restlessly.
Your stomach churns and turns
as if you had consumed
something sour or tainted.
Your muscles tense until cramped.
Your hands and temples bead with sweat.
The harder you try, the harder it is
to catch your panting breath—
as you run an internal race
you cannot imagine ending
while to all external appearances
you are merely sitting still.
Recovery
It took oh so long to get myself straight
Doubtfulness delaying all the right things
Herbal teas, mysticism, oral fixations
Wise words written by those from before me
Take lots of advice, some good, some not;
Whatever you do don’t try to heal too fast
Except if you accept or grin and bear it
Growth and change are inevitable
Played the fool by truth that was yet not truth
No one will take pity on feeble attempts
Such contrived representations: unless you
Want them to, and you don’t want them to
Picked myself up and dusted myself off
Chose to contradict - to deny my demise
Sang my song out loud without audience or reason
Smiled and laughed and revelled in it all
Ready to live for the here and what’s next
Forsake the past, the need to make right by
Fulfilling adolescent fantasies
Made of cathartic Hollywood endings
I had to look within while I was doing without
We all need to find one another but
The key to my recovery lay in
The discovery of what makes me me
Notes on Prior Publication
Among other publications, “Teenager”, “Madness”, “Panic”, and “Recovery” were published in The Other Life by Mosaic Press in 2020.
Among other publications, “The New Normal” was published this year in The Long Defeat by Mosaic Press.
Return to Journal
Patrick Connors first chapbook, Scarborough Songs, was released by Lyricalmyrical Press in 2013, and charted on the Toronto Poetry Map.
Other publication credits include: The Toronto Quarterly; Spadina Literary Review; Sharing Spaces; Tamaracks; and Tending the Fire.
His first full collection, The Other Life, was released in 2021 by Mosaic Press.
His most recent chapbook, Worth the Wait, was released in 2023 by Cactus Press.
His latest collection, The Long Defeat, is newly released by Mosaic Press.
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