endless

endless waves

endless water

endlessly raging

against an ever changing shore

endlessly hoping

for a peaceful end

endlessly beginning

again and again

then suddenly a splash of cold reality

green and white with a hint of blue

out of my mind and into the sea

physically wet but happy to be

nature showing endlessly more

as endless waves

crash

against the endless shore

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

burn these pages

brevity may be the soul of wit
but destruction is the soul of poetry

observe

in your hands you hold nature’s majesty
reduced
to mere sheets of dead wood
marked
by the transient thoughts of one blind to the moment

hoping to inspire a fraction of the awe that its life once gave

burn these pages
and feel the flames as they touch your soul
deeper
than any collection of words ever could

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

The Cave

Once
When I was a young boy
You yelled at me

Objectively
It wasn’t much
But it was enough

That night
I built a cave
Inside my mind

One that overlooked
A lake
Whose water
Perfectly reflected
The beauty
Of the nature
That surrounded it

The cave was secret
And strong
And safe

The lake was still
And soft
And serene

I quickly learnt
To hide in that cave
And to gaze upon the water of the lake
Loosing myself
In the reflection
Of a false reality
Made real
By fear

You never yelled at me again
In fact
We never really spoke
At least
Not about anything that mattered

As you pulled away from me
I found solace
Sitting in the cave
Whose creation you inspired

I’d look at the lake
Wishing
You’d appear
Wishing you would
Say
‘Son, won’t you come swim with me?’

But you never came

Later
When I left home
You didn’t fight for me
You didn’t speak or even acknowledge
My absence

But you did leave a mark on my mind

That cave
Is now haunted
By the silent screams
Of the words
You left unsaid

And that lake
Still has ripples
From the rocks
We never thew
Together

The beauty of nature is obscured
By your indifference

And
I no longer
Have anywhere safe
To hide

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

inner child’s plea

the body keeps the score
but the mind holds the key
if emotions are messages
why the fuck do you ignore me?

shine light on your shadow
and search your body for truth
why do you keep pretending
the blind can guide the youth?

the mirror is a liar
only one question left to ask
take a breath son
who doth lie behind the mask?

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

a thousand eyes reflected

i am a multitude
that speaks with one voice
broken apart
through lack of choice

the face i wear
closely mirrors yours
how else can i survive
when the world itself abhors?

used to think i was acting
but now i see the truth
another day wasted
on the folly of youth
a thousand eyes reflected

in a broken mirror’s gaze
quick swallow this pill son
this is all just a phase

there’s no-one left to question
the slow passing of time
nothing is permanent
‘cept my ink forming rhyme

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

The Derelict

The first thing you notice are his bare feet,
Black and dirty.
Lacking a chair, he squats.
Lacking a home, he squats.
The second thing you notice are his eyes,
Sunken and hollow.
Desperate.
You walk.
He sees you seeing him.
You walk faster.
He smiles wide.
His teeth are as broken as the dwelling he guards.
Shattered windows for a shattered soul.
He calls out.
You walk faster still.
His sunken eyes suddenly grow sharp.
He recognises an opportunity.
You wear things of value.
You are something of value.
A second voice joins the first,
And then a third.
They point.
They chuckle.
They stand.
Your wealth represents their high.
Your body represents their high.
You run.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

my shadow bleeds ink

i’m frozen
reading the words
scratched upon my soul
long before
i knew
how to read

but now that i’m baked
i’ve got a new take
a new way to remake
and rewrite the wake

so many tears
for so few words

it is on me
to see
and send love
inwardly

my shadow bleeds ink
yet i hold the pen
with these words
i begin again
for my story will be long
with chapters anew
and these words
were so few

the body keeps the score
but the pen holds the key
the paper is the door
so love what you see

begin again

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

Forever Cursed To Sing

Can’t you hear
My silent screams?
Can’t you see
The rope’s sway?

My head is too heavy
To cradle in your arms
I’m loathe
To drive you away

The bridges we
Walked hand in hand
You returned in secret
To burn

Thus my fate
Is bound to yours
Now the mirror’s eye
Has learnt to yearn

I was blinded
By the shine
Of your porcelain
Handshake

Fooled into believing
That nothing
Would ever
Cause us to break 

The memory
Of our time apart
Like the returning
Of a playground swing

Pushing against
Fate itself
Forever cursed
To sing

Oh how
I’ve learnt
To hold onto
All those toxic tears

Created and then
Faced together
You and I
Embodying each other’s fears

The embers of
Last night’s fire
Lie discarded
In their pit

Smouldering
As we dance around
No chairs left
On which to sit

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Seed

Sometimes,
I feel like a seed.
A potential inert,
A possibility to succeed.
So just put me in the dirt
And give me what I need.
How else can I avert?
How else can I exceed?

Other times,
I feel hurt.
Just a societal weed.
A potential victim on alert,
Nurtured only when I bleed.
I don’t mean to be curt,
How else can I plead?
How else can I divert?
How else can I be freed?

I am the hurt seed, the weed that’s only freed by the blood that it bleeds. Put into the dirt just wishing to exceed. Inert without encouragement, unable to succeed. Thus, I plead; Be alert to my need. Don’t divert or think me curt, I just want to succeed.

So just burry me
And perhaps this seed
Will grow
Into a weed.

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

music of the ever present moment

a single blade of grass
dances in the wind
to the beat
of the ever-present moment

i sit
and listen
to the song
until nothing
but the song
remains

wind rustling
traffic rumbling
heart beating
dogs barking
birds chirping
people talking
brain thinking
eyes blinking
body breathing
mind perceiving

just sitting
just watching
just listening

just being
here
just being
now
just…

now
now
now
now
now
now
now

a wisp of smoke rising
more substantial
than rock

the knowing
the knower
and the known
are one
all labels fall away
i never was
yet
it always is
there is nothing
but the music of the ever-present moment
there is nothing
but now

freedom from form
freedom from i
spy the lie the moment i die
what’s left but now?
no one to wonder why
listen closely to the sigh
of the inner eye
as it fails to find the individual i
oh my!
don’t cry
this is all there ever was my guy
awaken
the dream is over
there is no one there to be shy
and nothing to deny
you never existed
it was all a beautiful lie
a cosmic joke
played by the eternal i
testify to the truth that words can only imply
there is nothing but now to clarify

---

This poem is from the book Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul