Poetry
Writing to, from, and about the parts within. Sharing to normalize the healing process.
Out Now: How To Write Evocative Poetry
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
i find myself
i find myself
standing in a river
hands outstretched
struggling
in a futile attempt
to hold back the flow
fretting
over all the water
slipping through my fingers
and the erosion underfoot
threatening to dislodge
my fragile defiance
then
a bird call
a gust of wind
a glimpse of sunshine
a moment of surrender
i let go
and just float
trusting the river
to take me
wherever
i need to be
This poem is from the book Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul
monkey mind
monkey mind
a brain confined
trapped by the past
by conditioning
by words left unsaid
by a childhood unseen
by what could have been
don’t you see
little monkey
you are free
just let go
just move
just step to the side
because though your cage
seems all encompassing
it is just an illusion
one that can be broken
by you
connecting with others
by you
in harmony
with a group
holding space
holding your body
guiding you
to break the cage
you confined yourself to
way back when
you needed such protection
just to survive
but now dear monkey
it’s time to thrive
you are safe
and free
if you choose yourself to be
This poem is from the book Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul
Stupefied
I sit
Stupefied
Seeking solace
From shame
The silence
Is no longer safe
Secrets seep
From the shadow
Slowly I find myself
Surrounded
My sanity siphoned
Into stillness
This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken
maybe
maybe i’m not shy
or introverted
or defective
or broken
or any of the other put downs
my mind likes to offer up
maybe
just maybe
i am exactly who i needed to be
to survive
cautious
careful
considerate
maybe i learnt
to look before i leap
to consider all possibilities
to be sure before allowing myself to relax
maybe that negative voice
only speaks of the version of me
that has his guard up
maybe
just maybe
if you get to know me
if you wait long enough
if you earn my trust
maybe then
i’ll let you in
maybe then
you will see
who i really am
This poem is from the book Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul
a sentence without grammar
i feel like a sentence
without grammar
perfectly legible
yet nonetheless
fundamentally lacking
something
everyone else seems
to have
i feel like a poem
that lacks a rhyme
capable
of functioning
to a high degree
yet nevertheless
unappealing
to the masses
i feel like a story
that was left unfinished
interesting
but ultimately…
This poem is from the book Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul
spilled ink
spilled ink
words to make you think
words to drink
words to talk you back from the brink
words written to your shrink
it’s okay
i too am out of sync
struggling with the the link
between my kink
and those who chose to hoodwink
clearly i need to rethink
cause life is over in a blink
and i’ve got no more time for their stink
This poem is from the book Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul
nightmare
the toxic nightmare
the dream that traps you into believing you’re awake
that lets you live your fantasy for just long enough to taste heaven
but not long enough to be satiated
before you are wretched back into reality
by a chiding laugh laced with criticism
for being so gullible as to believe you deserve happiness
let alone a beautiful dream
This poem is from the book Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul
how am i, really?
how am i really?
do you mean in general
or in the moment of response?
that brief moment
when we must somehow summarise
contrasting the darkness of the shadow
against the brilliance of the light
with just one word
i’m ‘good’
you?
tsunami
i see a tsunami approaching
and i know
if i start drowning
you will help
you will pull me out of the water
at the last moment
you will save me
but i am so terrified
of getting wet
that i am frozen in place
and thus
i can’t build the shelter
to weather the wave
or find the strength
to run
to higher ground
so i’m forced to wait
as my doom gets closer
praying that the
promised help
does indeed come
before i pre-emptively give up
because waiting
for the wave
is no way to live
and surviving it
just to see another
isn’t either
sertraline
medication?
more like calcification
the myopic solution
replacing anxiety
with apathy
losing focus
focusing
on what i have lost
my thoughts
circle the drain
both hope and fear
falling in turn
i am lost
a rudderless raft
left to drift
upon a dead calm lake
fog obscures the bank
fog obscures desire
i am far too calm
to stay safe
life and death
seem equally desirable
i drift
cold rationality
the last remaining
life preserver
the small subtle voice
whispering
that this too shall pass
the sun will shine
the wind will blow
and i will have purpose once more
me at 36
i’m 36
crying and triggered
remembering when i was 8
remembering my stepfather
remembering the warnings that went unheard
remembering the pleas for help went unanswered
remembering the fear
remembering the confusion
remembering the choice to force myself to forget
remembering
crying
writing
remembering
crying
and writing more
desperately hoping that all this is somehow also healing
it’s my birthday and my family are watching me breakdown
i am stoned on weed
valium
memory
and music
tears
my ink
pain
my pen
words
my voice
… it’s time to blow out the candles and make a wish
perhaps i’ll live to wish another …