Phobiaphobia

The fear of death, arachnophobia
the fear of falling off the edge
of life, the threatening spectre
only you, left on your own to hedge
the demons dancing on your shoulder
weighed down by stomach muscle spasm
at sight of such amazing speed
of hairy beast so very small; that chasm
into which you fall, that’s bottomless,
and will never have a safety net
to rest you from eternity of black
and no way back, drowning, wet,
unprotected from the howling wind
sent by a solar storm, whose heat explodes,
our planet earth, a tiny speck of dust
for which all life, both great and small implodes.
 
And yet, we found our art and came to be
so fearful of the Gods, whom we revere
just so as to fool ourselves that we
will always have control and never fear
– that fear that drives us out of dread, and
makes us rise from bed each day
as slaves, not masters, with disabled minds
for which a simple beauty once held sway.

© 2012 John Anstie

[This was written as a contribution to ‘Poeticaphobia’ at dVerse Poets Pub, hosted this week by our friend Stuart McPherson, on the subject of fear and phobias!]

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About PoetJanstie

As a young man, John was fit and sporting. Playing Rugby Union for over twenty years, encouraged in the early days by a school that was run on the same lines as Gordonstoun, giving shape and discipline to a sometimes precarious early life. This fitness was enhanced by working part time jobs in farming, as a leather factory packer and security guard, but probably not helped, for a short time, by selling ice cream! His professional working life was spent as a Metallurgical Engineer, Marketing Manager, Export Sales Manager, Implementation Manager and Managing Director of his own company. Thirty five years spent, apparently in a creative desert, raising a family and pursuing a career, probably enriched his experience, because his renaissance, on retirement, realised a hidden creative talent as a blogger and poet. He also enjoys music, with a piano and a forty-five year old Yamaha FG140 acoustic guitar. He sings bass in three singing groups: as a founding member of a mixed voice chamber choir, Fox Valley Voices; a member of one of the top barbershop choruses in the UK, Hallmark of Harmony (the Sheffield Barbershop Harmony Club) and a mixed barbershop quartet, Needle & Fred. He is also a would be (once upon a time) photographer with drawers full of his own history, and an occasional, but lapsed 'film' maker. In his other life, he doubles as a Husband, Father, Grandfather, Brother, Uncle, Cousin, Friend and Family man. What he writes is autobiographical and very often pins his colours to the mast. In 2013, he completed an anthology of the poetry (including his own) of an international group of nine poets, who met on Twitter. He produced, edited and steered the product of this work, "Petrichor Rising", to publication by Aquillrelle.
This entry was posted in Death, Fear, poem, poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Phobiaphobia

  1. kkkkaty says:

    I like ” and yet we found our art”….Your covered it all pretty much and the ins & outs and back and forths are effective..

    Like

  2. ” that fear that drives us out of dread, and
    makes us rise from bed each day
    as slaves, not masters, with disabled minds
    for which a simple beauty once held sway.”

    Nothing to fear but fear itself! How well your word choice and form have captured this. Very nicely penned, John!

    Like

  3. brian miller says:

    really interesting take…i guess some fear is not bad if it gets us up and out of bed and moving each day instead of sitting there and letting it waste away….as long as that fear is not what always drives us….i would like to think some positive outcomes do as well…i like how you kinda zoom in and out in this….from the smallest creature to the universe…

    Like

  4. Sabio Lantz says:

    Loved this line:

    so fearful of the Gods, whom we revere
    just so as to fool ourselves that we
    will always have control and never fear

    Like

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