“The confessional vulnerability in Ari Whipple’s first full-length collection of poems leads readers on a journey of self-realization in a mindscape where reality may not always be what it seems. Full of Now weaves a powerful narrative from the perspective of an individual accepting their bipolar disorder. The poems ebb and flow between states of mania and depressive lows, reflecting the shifting nature of self-acceptance, diagnosis, and treatment often associated with the condition. The persona, through poetic storytelling, paints mental health battles metaphorically as manifestations of enraged ghosts, cacophonies of jangling bones, and nostalgic tales of a “world beyond” told by Mercury. Whipple’s collection acts as a painter’s dynamic canvas as the persona discovers their role in reality, reveling in being alive despite “the demand to keep moving these tiny souls inside us.”
– Donny Winter, author of Carbon Footprint
The Ghost
The ghost whispers a lot
of things past and present
selfishly I guess
Is it selfish of a ghost
to ask to exist
in a house with rooms
“I haunt the world”
asks the ghost
turning into wind
Blowing the grass
petals in the breeze
just a flower really
until there’s nothing left
except dead air
Go no farther
What Am I Doing?
What am I doing with my life?
Where am I going?
What will I be in a year?
In five years?
In ten years?
I feel so overwhelmed at times
about the big picture
about what’s to come
I think
“What if I don’t live that long?”
Hell, I didn’t expect to live this long
and I feel confused
Lost on my track
It all fell apart
Now I’m trying to pick up the pieces
slowly
Nothing makes sense anymore
I’m just trying to live a regular life
just like everyone else
(whatever that means)
My psychosis is frustrating
Brain fried
Tongue tied
See the world through world weary eyes
See the world through eyes of an alternate reality
Nobody sees the cars like you do
That lead you up to the apartment
Nobody hears the messages from the radio like you do
You’re walking on that path alone
Don’t totter off and fall again
Oops too late
Back inside
Up the meds til you get your head on right
Maybe
Then it’ll be alright
Sort of
Brain fried
Tongue tied
Start all over again
See the world through weary eyes
They don’t see what you see
And don’t understand when you speak
Dream Dirge
Time for sleep
off to slumber
Rest your head
let dreams take on new meaning
Rise into the clouds
Fly into the sky
and take on tomorrow
There’s a dream waiting
to be fulfilled or not
Shaken upon waking
Left in the bedding
That drifts onto the carpet fibers
and rolls between your toes
Like sticky sludge when you stand up
Carry it with you
on your soles all day
Bearing the brunt
until you lay down
Then peel themselves off
and take flight into the clouds
Like birds with the geese
Going north
into the mountains
Squawking their sad song
Another Fight
This dreaded cycle again
You on your end
and I on mine
Fighting cats fighting
Old scars old wounds
You’re done with me this time
Throw me out with the trash
“Find your own way”
You’re onto better things
supposedly
Motherhood
and lovers
and seasides
Possibilities
While I wither away in artisthood
alone and dying
I’ll die before I’m dead
having gone nowhere
and done nothing
these bones turned to dust
dried up
blown on the wind
then they’ll bury me
in a bipolar grave
early too soon
“That’s what’ll happen to you”
She said
Alien Buddha Press 