Tag Archives: mental-health


Heading for the abyss,

Some things that he will miss…

Having will

To pay his own bills,

He might have to give up this.

Hearing different speech,

From folks trying to reach…

Emotions unstable–

You are if unable–

To hold still while they preach.

Expected to respond,

In ways that lead on…

Progress made

With some aid,

So you can carry on.

Why does he think he’s failed

If of mental help he’s availed…?

For his wife will it be


To know her husband quailed?

He’s  known some of this,

Working within the abyss…

Not so hard

Someone else’s dance card,

When personal–we resist.

Sailing the great unknown,

Will we ever find our way home…?

Are we secure

Being not sure

Not doing mostly on our own?

–Jonathan Caswell



Amazing  when you think of it,

What mental illness wreaks…

But I’ve a friend from “lock-up”–

Opening her letter as we speak.

She cannot read my handwriting

Even if I print….

Only my wife will try it,

So I type anything sent.

She begins to send me poetry

From her own fine pen…

Her latest I may print up,

For suitable illustration!

–Jonathan Caswell



From talking about Presidents,

To warning of the presence…

Of aliens here,

That we should fear

And speculate on, hence!

That is radio late night,

Listening when you turn out the light…

Spectral things

For which the phone rings

Would be a frightening sight.

Politics gets in as well,

But sometimes it’s hard to tell…

If politicos care

From all the goodies they share,

And seeing their egos swell.

If the subject seems too deranged,

Channels can be changed…

Your bugaboos found

Can stay underground

Till alien troops are arranged!

–Jonathan Caswell

(My sincere apologies to the late night folks–what else can I listen to on the way home from work?)




One day I started work early,

Standing at my post…

Along came a skinny client who

Said my dimensions were the most.

I THINK he was being affectionate,

As he gave my belly a pat…

In all my years on this earth

I’ve put up a lot with that!

My Mother saw me in Choir

Back when I was young…

Though she controlled my intake,

She called me a pregnant nun.

On a trip to the Dominican Republic,

Where personal ministry beckons…

I was rehearsed for a dinner

To ask: “may I have seconds?”

At the trip’s end at the hotel

Pleased people patted my bulge…

I’d helped encourage a young woman,

Something rarely divulged.

But food is the tool I’ve suffered

Comments are not always kind…

It’s been a long row to gain control

In the process of renewing a  mind!

–Jonathan Caswell