Amnesia

In times of trouble, just Let it Be.

Ronovan Writing , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It’s been some times since I did what a song means to me and I miss those days.

Songs that make you pause, bring hope, peace, melancholy. Some look at melancholy as a completely bad thing, but often times it’s the only time you have to experience peace and reflective moments.  No, don’t get me wrong, this is not to say I am in a state of melancholy. I am simply giving possible emotions a song may bring.

I had another song in mind when while glancing through the extensive list I happened to glimpse Let it Be, written and sung by Paul McCartney with the Beatles.

Paul has said in interviews when asked the meaning of the lyrics, if they have Biblical meanings, that those who listen are to take from it what they like. Much like we here in our poetry communities say. In other words, he wrote the song for himself as he needed to after a dream about his departed mother and as for the definition of lyrics he will simply . . . Let it Be.

For me the song was once a beautifully simple song.,back in my pre-Christian days of not knowing of the Let it Be reference to May and her response to the angel Gabriel about her pregnancy, only one interpretation of the lyrics.

For me now, Let it Be does bring a sense of peace as I deal with with my Chronic pain, Chronic Fatigue, Osteoarthritis, and Amnesia. I am given more medications than I have ever even looked at in my life, I am certain, well almost certain. A bit of amnesiac humor only I can poke at myself with, thank you very much. I lose things daily and gain some only to be lost again.

I lose the memory of friends from Blog World that I have the feeling are of some significance but things don’t click. One day there, and a hard nights sleep or battle with a flare up and they are gone. Fibromyalgia combined with Concussion has brought about some unusual results.

I write, I blog, I live, I love children, I love inspiration, and for all that I cannot control I simply . . . Let it Be.

For trivia minded:

Paul wrote the song after a dream of his mother, Mary who had died of cancer when he was 14, during the time around the recording of The Beatles (The White Album).

The song became the title of the album that was released after McCartney’s announcement of his leaving The Beatles.

There are numerous versions of the song recorded by the Beatles for films, singles, album, and anthologies.

Wikiepedia notes that Kris Allen, Aretha Franklin, Brooke White, Katie Stevens, Boney M., Joan Baez, George Michael, Willie Nelson, Pearl Jam, David Bowie, Fiona Apple, Billy Ocean, Elvis Presley, Diana Ross, Status Quo, Seether, Stereophonics, Rod Stewart, Jennifer Hudson, B5, and Widespread Panic among others have covered the song. This being an eclectic sampling of how popular the song is.

I personally think it odd that the title track of the album is Let it Be and the band has broken up. I believe perhaps it was a message to the fans saying just Let it Be.

What does the song mean to you or what feeling does it bring? Jenna Willett of Jen’s Pen Den does a regular weekly post about music that inspires her during writing, what mood would this inspire for you?

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree
There will be an answer, let it be
For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
There will be an answer, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me
Shine until tomorrow, let it be
I wake up to the sound of music, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be
There will be an answer, let it be
Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

Much Respect

Ronovan

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Dream Helper . . .

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , ,

Losing time for no reason other than pain riddled life
Why have I been given this disease of grief and strife
Have I been punished for a life I don’t know of
Is the enemy torturing me so I deny that from above

Weathered bones and depleted nerves
I wander through the days wondering what this life serves
Pushing my cart of rotting dreams gone bad
Longing for things that I wish I had

The lightning strikes through skull and soul
I lie awake nights as the time slowly takes its toll
I arise each day to be the happy one
As I dread the appearance of the dawn breaking sun

But who will be the one to carry on the days cheer
If I am the one that decides to no longer be here
Yes, I am at times lower than the low
But I know I must pick myself up and continue to go

I am the encourager, the uplifter these are my gifts
My goal each day is to keep people on the path of dreams, no drifts
I have thought my life goal was to share my words to the extreme
But now as I write I know I am here to help you with your dream

dream_helper

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#IfIWokeUpWithAmnesia a contest?

Ronovan Opinion Articles , ,

There is a contest out, announced by Ryan Seacrest #IfIWokeUpWithAmnesia. You know, I am sure there is more to it than I know. Maybe I’ve just forgotten.

cropped-cropped-cropped-cropped-cropped-ronovan-moving-forward112.jpg

What I do know is that it is part of a contest to meet some boy band group called 5 Seconds of Summer (5SOS). This is the first I’ve heard of the group that I know of.

 

You know as a writer I get writing prompts to get your creative juices flowing, but a contest like this somewhat bothers me. There are a lot of people out there that might just wake up not remembering one morning. Alzheimer’s patients could be one, accident victims another. No, I’m not being over sensitive about this. I know it’s a childish, immature, insensitive idea for a contest to tweet a response to this. You also have to follow on of Ryan Seacrest’s  Twitter accounts to enter.

 

Could you imagine a person suffering from amnesia logs into Twitter to stay connected to friends in the attempt to hang on to those people the best they could and see that hashtag trending, they go to it thinking maybe there was some awareness for what they suffer from, and they find it is a boy band contest by a face that says, and they next contest is?

 

Just imagine that person woke up not knowing their parents, their spouse, their name, how to write, how to speak. Imagine that person a year later who only remembers the people through what they have told and forgets those things as well. Names and memories come in a burst and disappear the next day, frustrating the person and others. Imagine.

 

I bet they would feel sick at their stomach and want to lash out in anger. Or perhaps they would want to tweet about their hurt at it. But then maybe, just maybe, they would log into their blog that they use to keep track of their lives because they suffer from both long term and short term memory loss and decide write about it so they would be reminded of the insensitivity of Ryan Seacrest, who they had thought of as a decent guy, who actually went to the same University as they did and possibly at the same time.

 

Yes, they know it’s a contest with no harm intended but it still hurts. So yeah, I’m talking about myself. I don’t remember my life growing up except what I have written down over the years as a writer. I don’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday. If I sleep for too long I forget what happened the hours before I fell asleep. I have a list of names of people in Blog World I don’t want to forget and I annoy some of them with Tweet DMs and emails and FB messages to keep in contact with them. They don’t know I do it to have that personal connection so I have a better chance of not forgetting them.

 

Well my rant is done. If you are a fan of 5SOS, it’s not their idea for this particular contest I am sure, so don’t blame them. It might not even by Ryan Seacrest’s idea, but he did approve it.

 

Much Respect & Hope to remember you tomorrow, or later today if I take a nap

Ronovan-Amnesia sufferer

Oh and with Fibromyalgia there is a part that is called Chronic Fatigue and I crash at a moments notice and have to sleep or fight it to the point that my 24/7 Migraines spike. So I do hope I remember you later today.

 

 

ron_bloglovin2

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These Hells

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , , , ,

The feeding frenzy begins, as the dark brick wall spins

 

Spiral clouds filled with angel light, laughing tease my denying sight

 

No one ever said life would be fun, but then again no one said demons would overrun

 

My mind feeds on the dark things, it hunts and pecks until torment springs

 

I watch from the corner as it takes hold, shivering in despair as if it were winter time cold

 

Is there a way to break free from this pain filled cell, or am I forever bound to my skull shaped hell

 

Do not try or attempt to placate me to a smile, all you will bring is darkness and bile

 

A cheerful soul you can not produce, all you do is cause to make my hold more loose

 

The waves of this tormented ride, are the path of a coaster not to be denied

 

All I do is float out among the swells, and hope for my sake . . . to reach the other side . . . of These Hells

skull

 

 

LMP

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com

 

Never worry no more.

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , , , , , , ,

Normally I wait until after a piece to tell you the inspiration. Not this time. Fibromyalgia is bad. It can hurt so much you feel like you are going insane. Every emotion is magnified to an incredible level. Therefore depression can be bad, very bad. When you read this, it’s a Bluesy or Soul sounding thing, slow, pausing at the end of each line. I guess you could think of some of Alicia Keys work. I think you will get  feel for it maybe, or you can just read it like a poem. Depression and a brutal broken heart can feel the same way. I’m there tonight.

cropped-black-sight.jpg

 

My heart’s still poundin’ though you’re gone

It never really mattered what was wrong

I only wanted to be with you  for so long

And that was to be forever ever and ever and ever

 

But now I sit her all alone

Darkness closes in on me in my fears

Never have I been so filled with so so many tears

Now I can’t see anything through the bleary eyes of  what you’ve done

 

Oh Oh Oh Oh I’m never gonna forgive you this pain

You drove the stake through very vein

Why Why Why Why did you even even even . . . learn my name

But I only have myself to blame

 

There are ways to forget

There are ways I have left yet

There no reasons for regret

I’m just going to gamble on a bet

 

Never Never Never Never oh never call me again

Tear drops falling like a tornado filled with rain

Simple truths are simply made up lies

You fooled me once  and twice and more with those eyes

 

Oh baby just let me die.

Oh Oh Oh Oh I hate this time ever came to me

Why did you even ever have to be

Now I follow a path to eternity

 

Kill me once kill me twice and maybe I will forget

Oh baby you always knew just where to hit

You cut me with those words like a blade

Go ahead and cover my body with that old rusty spade

 

There are ways to forget

There are ways I have left yet

There no reasons for regret

I’m just going to gamble on a bet

 

Now I can rest and never worry no more

 

LMP

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved by ronovanwrites.wordpress.com

The Lost Minded Heart

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , , , , ,

The Lost Minded Heart

by: Ronovan

 

Depressed Man in Dark Room
gettyimages © Original Photo by Michael H

Oh this mind I have.

It seeks to tear itself from my skull,

And scatter its sanity across the wind.

It denies me all things that I crave.

Long sequenced words to form thoughts,

Escape behind a mesh door, seen but unattainable.

This mind knows it is a piercing pain of storm and fury.

How I hate it.

It laughs and runs and races and calls and shouts and screams and twists.

Do I mind?

Ha! What mind do I have to mind with?

But how does one without a mind each day continue on?

How does the mindless give, how does it give hope?

How does the less minded give encouragement?

 

The Lost Mind still has heart.

 

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com

Lost: Death of a Creative Mind

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , , , , ,
Depressed Man in Dark Room
gettyimages © Original Photo by Michael H

 

 

Why did you do it

Take my mind away

I can’t even maintain focus

Fore even one day

 

You drove the lightning

Deep into my brain

My creations out of my reach

Slowly driving me insane

 

I once could write with ease

The thoughts were defined with clarity

You took it and shook it

Now my mind reads with jealousy

 

Short words in short rhymes

Are all I can manage

Because of the pain

Of this body with damage

 

I had a thought

It came yesterday

Then I fell asleep

That’s when you took it away

 

Don’t worry, no Sir

This is not me making a complaint

It’s not casting blame

It’s just me losing my restraint

 

I’ll be okay tomorrow

After the sun rises

When the moon is gone

My world is full of surprises…again

 

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com

Moments are Worth

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , ,

Ron Overlook 2

There are delicate moments in time

They are fragile in their forming

And in their care

We carelessly disregard their existence

 

What happens when your moments are shattered

When they are taken and broken and battered

When you have none to even hold onto

When cracks are formed for them to escape through

 

We take our precious pieces for granted

Never giving them a second thought

We rely on them to be there

But one day an attempt to find might be for naught

 

Have I loved

Do I have friends

Do I have someone who loved me

Will they find me in the end

 

What if they don’t reach out

What if I continue to drift

I will never even know

What pieces I have missed

 

Moments are worth remembering if they are worth having

Take heed of what you do with them

For in a  split second of time

You just might lose . . .

 

2014 © Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com

Electrocution of the Lost Mind

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , ,

Electricity Tesla

Electrocution of the Lost Mind

 

Electricity split his skull, into a cobweb of blue and white.

His eyes glowed in their sockets, but all only visible to his inner sight

 

Everyone looked at him as if he were an invalid, mad, or  insane.

Their eyes held pity, but there actions spoke shouting into his brain.

 

His darkness crept around him, from inside to the out.

Then whenever his brain exploded, no one heard him shout.

 

Faintly prancing little feet dancing into his way.

Dainty little  jade green eyes saying more than anyone could say.

 

Reality would never stay in his land for long.

In truth if it did he would forever say it was wrong.

 

Peace and quiet were to far and fleeting gone.

If he ever thought to rest, his mind would slip out in a yawn.

 

 

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Another Day Down

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , , ,

Another Day Down

bleeding_hearts_flowers.jpg

Another day down

Another drop of the heart fails

No one really understands it

I speak but they then begin with their own tales

 

 

I am in pain toda . . .

Oh, I understand I feel that way too

My Migrai . . .

Oh take this and you’ll feel better in just a few

 

 

Another day down

Another drop of heart fails

People all around me

Think that they were the blazer of my trails

 

 

I fell and hit my hea . . .

Oh, I’ve been there and done that

Sounds drive me insa . . .

You’ll be fine and okay it’s a fact

 

 

Another day down

Another drop of heart fails

You forget what I am now

Your words are like nails

 

 

I love yo . .

Oh, I know, nothings changed, we’re fine don’t be insane

But you don . . .

No, you just don’t understand my words because of your brain

 

 

Another day down

Another drop of heart fails

Another day of missed out

Another day of misunderstanding Hells

 

 

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Answers Escape Me

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , , , ,

Answers Escape Me

Copyright-All rights reserved-©RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-January 28, 2014.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wonders never cease,

While questions abound around,

Answers find escape.

 

Copyright-All rights reserved-©RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-January 28, 2014.

Stop my Mind from Wandering. It means what you make of it.

Ronovan Videos/Music , , , , , , , , ,

Do y’all ever wonder if you’re wrong or right? Or maybe if your right where you belong? Do ever get the lyrics to a song wrong? Yes you do. Admit it.

The classic is Iron Butterfly’s Ina-Gadda-Da-Vida. It is 17 minutes long in its original form and is the entire second side of the album by the same name. It went on to be the first album to receive Platinum status. What do you think it says? In A Garden of Eden? In The Garden of Eden? In A Garden of Evil?

 

I’m not here to talk about Iron Butterfly or misunderstood lyrics. Instead, today I want to talk about lyrics and what they mean to the listener. One of my favorite songs is about a leaking manhole and crazy fans. Doesn’t sound like a very good reason to like a song, does it? And especially not a good reason to be reading an article.

 

For me the song takes on another meaning entirely. The song was recorded by the Beatles in 1967, written by Paul McCartney. It appears on the album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. An album with many reasons to be written about and one of which I will delve into one day for y’all.

Continue reading →

Confusion of not knowing the Known

Ronovan Poetry , , , , ,

Confusion of not knowing the Known

by: Ronovan

 

Twisted Confused Metal Sculpture

 

Is not knowing

Better than never having

Or is it better to have and know

And to have lost it while still knowing

Than to not know if you never have

 

 

The experience is a sensation

Of heart and of mind and of soul

But what if you don’t remember

What if you just had to be told

You still don’t know

 

 

But you realize it was so

Now you must think on this

To love and lost or not at all

What if you loved and lost

And did not know at all

 

 

Which is more painful

Knowing and knowing

Never knowing the known

Or realizing but not knowing

That what you know you don’t know

 

 

gettyimages © Original Photo by Marie Hickman

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-July 01, 2014.

Church Playground Memories

Ronovan ML Auto Bio, Writing 101-Blogging University , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Church Playground Memories

by: Ronovan

 After I came home from the hospital even I knew something was missing, but I didn’t know what. I just felt incomplete somehow. For a person suffering from amnesia that probably doesn’t sound unusual, but this was something that I just knew was missing, I could feel it.

But I only had the feeling when I went to the doctor’s office, or some type of testing. My clothes were laid out for me. I had my wallet, keys (although not allowed to drive), a 10 dollar bill, and a pen. Apparently I always carry a pen.

My belt was in place, all of my clothing was the way it should be. It really bothered me though. I put it down as possibly my not driving. Maybe I just wanted to be the driver since I always drove everywhere. Perhaps I just was not accustomed to being on the passenger side of the car looking around.

Then one day it hit me. There was a burning in my pocket. I noticed each time I left the house, not actually my own house, that my right pants pocket felt lighter than it should. There was a spot that didn’t feel right. Even looking down at my pocket when seated there was something odd about how it appeared.

A flash of yellow came to me. And that made me think of the word, ‘pecan’. I wasn’t able to speak yet but I quickly wrote it down and shoved it toward the driver. She looked at it.

“Do I have a pecan?”

“Yes,” she said.

I held my hands out and shrugged.

“I don’t know where it is,” she said.

I quickly scribbled down my flash.

“Yellow toy box.”

“Yes. I know what you mean, beside your chair.”

A few days later it arrived.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a pecan before. They are oblong and pointy on the ends, but not this one. This one glows and looks like polished wood. When the light hits it there is character and grooves you don’t see in a normal pecan shell.

When I touched it for the first time again, the smoothness of the shell was comforting and familiar. I instantly held it to my ear and shook it. I could hear the rattling inside.

My eyes closed and I ran my finger tips around the shell slowly and could feel the ridges that you normally didn’t realize were there. Maybe they normally weren’t. Then I slipped it into my pocket and the weight was right. My balance was right. Just a few ounces but it was right. When I sat down, the sight was right.

My mind tingled with it with me again.

“For you, Daddy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I found it for you.”

Of course the smile crossed my face and a big hug was given. “Then it goes right here and never leaves,” I said. I slipped it into my pocket. The smile crossed his face.

A pecan as a prized possession may sound a bit odd to some, but six years earlier my little son had walked up to me with a smile from the church playground and given it to me. To him it may have been just a find that day.

The grey shell had turned into polished brown like the finest piece of furniture. But this hadn’t been done by a machine. This had been done by years of being in my hands through the day, and living inside my pocket forever being polished.

My Pecan - Copy

Now that I had it back I was more at ease. Every night he comes to me and asks “Do you have your thing?” “Yeah.” “Okay.” He now knows how special it is to me. He knows I remembered it. He knows I know him. He knows I don’t want to lose it.

Some prized possessions may have monetary value to them, even family heirlooms, but for me, a moment of innocence that can never be captured again . . . that’s my prized possession. The pecan is a reminder of it, but the real possession is the memory of it. That’s what I have, that memory. Memories of your children can bring you back to life. That’s what happened to me.

Maybe you have a memory. Perhaps riding along with your child in your lap in a golf cart, or smiling up at you with such love in their eyes at an ice cream parlor, or giggling when you tickle them. Those are prized possessions.

Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites©.wordpress.com-June 27, 2014.

Finding Freedom

Ronovan ML Auto Bio, Writing 101-Blogging University , , , , , , , , , , ,

Finding Freedom

by: Ronovan

Think about a person you hate. It doesn’t have to be someone you personally know. Seriously think about that person. Now think of the sucking of emotional energy from your body the mere name of that person does to you.

It’s similar to that feeling of falling in love in high school or even now really, and aching for the person and then it not happening. You feel like you have the flu you are so drained. Every part of you aches and you have no energy left.

Losing your mind of memories takes that away. As to how I know about how it feels . . . I’ve been writing for 20 years. I have a lot of notes and novels to look back through on that draining feeling. And . . . well . . . I go through it every day. Not the hate part though.

There is a blessing in having a Lost Mind…you have Lost Hate. I literally hate no one.

After losing my mind of memories a great many things became clear to me. I know that sounds a bit odd but having a mind clear of preconceived ideas was and still is something . . . liberating. Just think for a moment of that person from earlier. Do you have it yet . . . that feeling inside?

Now . . . imagine that name has no meaning to you. Imagine there is no emotional history attached to it.

The sad part is that I am reminded of what people are to me, or what they have done to me in the past. That information doesn’t go in my notebook. You may remember that I have a notebook where all the important memories go. I leave out the bad things and immediately begin to think of something else as soon as I can . . . kittens, puppies, hula dancers.

When you lose something you often think negatively. For me the initial loss was negative but even out of something that bad has come something good. I lost my memories but I found a freedom few people will ever be able to find. I found the freedom to live each day knowing people as they are and not how I think they should be.

 

Much Respect

Ronovan

Fixing A Hole-The Beatles. I hope you enjoy my anthem.

Ronovan Life , , , , , , , , ,

Yes, I have a sense of humor about my life and situation. I know I am a Beatles fan. So here is my offering of one way to look at my life.

 

The Most Interesting Person I’ve Met This Year is…

Ronovan Life, Writing 101-Blogging University , , , , , , , , ,

The Most Interesting Person I’ve Met This Year is…

by: Ronovan

 

He walks a little slower than most with his head down in avoidance. You’ll see him move his head quickly, almost jerkily at a movement entering the edge of his vision. He cocks his head to listen for sounds that he won’t hear but does all the same.

 

People look at him oddly as he walks through the store. It’s not that he looks that differently than anyone else, but they can tell something is not quite right. If they could see his shaded eyes they might be able to see more than they would care to.

Sunglasses Continue reading →

A Loss of…?

Ronovan ML Auto Bio, Writing 101-Blogging University , , , , , , , , , ,

A Loss of…?

by: Ronovan

Loss: The experience of having something taken from you or destroyed.-Webster Dictionary

 

Everyone loses something in their lives. Sometimes there are happy losses, like you lost that hideous sweater your aunt gave you for Christmas one year, actually your mother’s aunt so you had to wear it, until it mysteriously was ‘lost’.

Most often the word loss brings about feelings of sadness. I’m no different, in a way. This is a story of something I lost.

August is unbearable in the South. The sun burns through the walls of your house to tickle your skin with a glisten of perspiration. I’ve said in poetry that the sun is a jealous lover, and I say that with knowledge.

Early Sunday mornings are for relaxation and rejuvenation in most small southern towns. You make sure your clothes are straight and unwrinkled and you sneak in the back door of the steepled building with seconds to spare before the opening prayer of your class.

That’s an ordinary Sunday.

August of 2013, the first month of my life, wasn’t an ordinary Sunday. The sun had taken its toll on me over the course of the previous week and it was about to take revenge on my having enjoyed life in spite of her.

My Sunday sneak in for prayer did not happen. My brain ached, my world spun, and I needed a splash of cold water on my face. Or so I’ve been told. Mistakes are made without warning. You walk down a hallway you’ve walked down thousands of times before, passing slowly from the bright white walls lit from the living area through the grayed area midway and into the dark.

 That is when IT happens.

 Broken Glass on Floor

gettyimages © Original Photo by Matej Michelizza

Was it passing from the bright lit walls to the dark? Is that what turned my mind from light to dark? Was that passage what made me lose my mind?

A few hours later I was in the hospital with strangers around me. Everyone was a stranger.

Days went by as white coats came and went along with brief hopes that quickly vanished. I say I write through the eyes of a Lost Mind. That’s what I lost that day. I lost a filled mind. It is empty now, except for brief flashes of what might be memories.

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”
― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

 

© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 05, 2014.

Sun no More

Ronovan Poetry , , , , , ,
Amnesia Man
Through the Eyes of a Lost Mind

Waiting in a fall

Against the ever deep of pain

The sun dims in sight