POETRY
Living expressions of inner work. Offered as a glimpse of the process towards radical self-acceptance, healing, and growth.
Love Is
Love is a mortgage,
A debt promise of pain.
Paid with interest,
For those you outlive.
Love is making connections
Despite knowing they will be broken.
And it’s the letting go
Of the guilt for doing so.
Love is for the small sacrifices,
That contain the hidden joys.
And the memory that’s both
Blessing and curse.
Love is knowing when to push,
And when you must concede.
The realisation that you’re wrong,
And the leaving of transgressions unseen.
Love is the give and take,
The unspoken word.
The comforts freely given,
And those gratefully accepted.
Love is the discipline to say no,
Through begging, pleading and pain.
And the careful observation,
Of limits reached.
Love is tempered guidance,
A shot at eternity.
And the words of encouragement,
To try once more.
Love is a partnership,
A bonding of the muse.
A step into darkness,
Taken together in faith.
Love is a mortgage,
A debt promise of pain.
Paid with interest,
For those you outlive.
Love is making connections
Despite knowing they will be broken.
And it’s the letting go
Of the guilt for doing so.
Love is for the small sacrifices,
That contain the hidden joys.
And the memory that’s both
Blessing and curse.
Love is knowing when to push,
And when you must concede.
The realisation that you’re wrong,
And the leaving of transgressions unseen.
Love is the give and take,
The unspoken word.
The comforts freely given,
And those gratefully accepted.
Love is the discipline to say no,
Through begging, pleading and pain.
And the careful observation,
Of limits reached.
Love is tempered guidance,
A shot at eternity.
And the words of encouragement,
To try once more.
Love is a partnership,
A bonding of the muse.
A step into darkness,
Taken together in faith.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence
Reflections Of The Self
The world is a mirror to your soul,
Your happiness will be shown
On the faces of strangers,
Your fear will flicker in their eyes,
Your hope will express itself
In the poetry you read, as too will your ills.
The mirror rejects what you are not,
Thus the world will always be you,
In this way you are trapped,
Rejecting love when you need it most,
And the advice you most need to hear.
Yet you are not stagnant,
And neither is the mood of the world,
What happens in one, distorts the other,
Words can scratch, and actions can crack,
So keep a watch on its surface,
And a polishing rag in hand.
Realise that the mirror is in fact imperfect,
Subject to change, manipulation and control,
Those reflections are more than phantasms,
They have a force that can break.
So watch the mirror,
Be on guard against its influence,
But also influence your guard,
For your actions may inadvertently
Shatter someone’s soul.
The world is a mirror to your soul,
Your happiness will be shown
On the faces of strangers,
Your fear will flicker in their eyes,
Your hope will express itself
In the poetry you read, as too will your ills.
The mirror rejects what you are not,
Thus the world will always be you,
In this way you are trapped,
Rejecting love when you need it most,
And the advice you most need to hear.
Yet you are not stagnant,
And neither is the mood of the world,
What happens in one, distorts the other,
Words can scratch, and actions can crack,
So keep a watch on its surface,
And a polishing rag in hand.
Realise that the mirror is in fact imperfect,
Subject to change, manipulation and control,
Those reflections are more than phantasms,
They have a force that can break.
So watch the mirror,
Be on guard against its influence,
But also influence your guard,
For your actions may inadvertently
Shatter someone’s soul.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence
Stop Rushing
Stop rushing.
Take a break.
You are not lazy.
Trust that you will get it done.
You always do.
To perform optimally,
You need to rest.
You need to recover.
You need to heal.
You need to take a breath.
So do so.
Give yourself permission.
Pour the cup of tea.
Feel its warmth.
Taste its subtly.
The world will still be there.
Your work will be waiting for you.
Return to it with fresh eyes.
Embrace it with new energy.
Attack the day.
Stop rushing.
Take a break.
You are not lazy.
Trust that you will get it done.
You always do.
To perform optimally,
You need to rest.
You need to recover.
You need to heal.
You need to take a breath.
So do so.
Give yourself permission.
Pour the cup of tea.
Feel its warmth.
Taste its subtly.
The world will still be there.
Your work will be waiting for you.
Return to it with fresh eyes.
Embrace it with new energy.
Attack the day.
This poem is from the book ‘Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, or Audiobook.
The Fear of Imperfection
Atelophobia
The fear of imperfection.
The fear of not being good enough.
Crippling inaction.
Stuttered words.
No self-worth.
The fear of failure causing failure.
Not inability, talent or a lack of opportunity.
Just fear.
Just anxiety.
Just unattainable standards.
Standards put upon by myself.
Standards forced upon me by the world.
Others can fail.
Others can be imperfect.
Others can have fun.
Just stop.
Please don’t placate me.
I know ‘no one cares about that stuff’.
I know ‘we all make mistakes’.
I know ‘I’m only human’.
Reason doesn’t stop the thoughts.
By definition a phobia is illogical.
My only solace comes from the diagnosis.
Knowing that I am not alone.
Perfectly imperfect, together.
Atelophobia
The fear of imperfection.
The fear of not being good enough.
Crippling inaction.
Stuttered words.
No self-worth.
The fear of failure causing failure.
Not inability, talent or a lack of opportunity.
Just fear.
Just anxiety.
Just unattainable standards.
Standards put upon by myself.
Standards forced upon me by the world.
Others can fail.
Others can be imperfect.
Others can have fun.
Just stop.
Please don’t placate me.
I know ‘no one cares about that stuff’.
I know ‘we all make mistakes’.
I know ‘I’m only human’.
Reason doesn’t stop the thoughts.
By definition a phobia is illogical.
My only solace comes from the diagnosis.
Knowing that I am not alone.
Perfectly imperfect, together.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence
What Moves You?
What moves you?
What do you enjoy?
What do you wish existed?
What puts you into a state of flow?
What do you do for fun?
Focus your efforts there.
Money, fame and rewards may come.
How much is enough? Always more.
A fickle dream that can never be reached.
Thus, you will never be satisfied.
Instead, you should embrace the process.
Let your actions speak for themselves.
Let the art take center stage.
Open yourself to the muse.
Let it work through you.
Let it guide your hand and
Buttress you with self-imposed discipline.
Success is an internal state.
No level of external reward
Can replace your inner truth.
So have fun.
Lean into the projects that bring you joy.
Make your work another form of play.
What moves you?
What do you enjoy?
What do you wish existed?
What puts you into a state of flow?
What do you do for fun?
Focus your efforts there.
Money, fame and rewards may come.
How much is enough? Always more.
A fickle dream that can never be reached.
Thus, you will never be satisfied.
Instead, you should embrace the process.
Let your actions speak for themselves.
Let the art take center stage.
Open yourself to the muse.
Let it work through you.
Let it guide your hand and
Buttress you with self-imposed discipline.
Success is an internal state.
No level of external reward
Can replace your inner truth.
So have fun.
Lean into the projects that bring you joy.
Make your work another form of play.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence
Searching For Meaning
Folly be to those who act blindly,
Who move before they look.
Confidently striving,
Never questioning.
Doing what feels right,
Because it feels right.
Binary decision making,
Disguised as rationality.
Running towards death,
Believing in their process.
Never asking the important questions,
What if I am wrong?
Who am I?
What is Rightness?
What is the point of this life?
Does such a thing even exist?
To search for meaning
We must challenge all assumptions.
Taking the time to think
Beyond mere pleasure and pain.
Training our minds to contemplate,
To detach and focus.
This is not easy.
Discipline is needed.
A sharp focus,
Gazing towards the eternal.
Embracing life’s pleasures,
But not at the cost of the search.
A knowledge that we must seek truth,
Because nirvana may be within reach.
Folly be to those who act blindly,
Who move before they look.
Confidently striving,
Never questioning.
Doing what feels right,
Because it feels right.
Binary decision making,
Disguised as rationality.
Running towards death,
Believing in their process.
Never asking the important questions,
What if I am wrong?
Who am I?
What is Rightness?
What is the point of this life?
Does such a thing even exist?
To search for meaning
We must challenge all assumptions.
Taking the time to think
Beyond mere pleasure and pain.
Training our minds to contemplate,
To detach and focus.
This is not easy.
Discipline is needed.
A sharp focus,
Gazing towards the eternal.
Embracing life’s pleasures,
But not at the cost of the search.
A knowledge that we must seek truth,
Because nirvana may be within reach.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence
There Is No Rush
There is no rush,
You are already there.
It is all around you.
It is in the moment,
And it is the moment.
There is nothing to be done,
And no one to do it.
No words spoken.
No rituals performed.
No sins cleansed.
Just an opening,
Just a realisation,
Just an acceptance.
Of silence,
Of the present,
Of reality.
As it is,
For what it is.
There is no rush,
You are already there.
It is all around you.
It is in the moment,
And it is the moment.
There is nothing to be done,
And no one to do it.
No words spoken.
No rituals performed.
No sins cleansed.
Just an opening,
Just a realisation,
Just an acceptance.
Of silence,
Of the present,
Of reality.
As it is,
For what it is.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence
Your Actions Are A Prayer
Your actions are a prayer,
To the Gods of functionality.
Your mind, your body, your spirit.
Honour them.
Wake early.
Sit in silence.
Then move,
Attend the iron church, or run, or dance.
The Gods smile upon those who act.
You are what you do.
So study your craft.
Work on your craft.
Share your craft.
Take criticism and praise in the same breath,
You are neither as good or as bad as they say.
Embrace the daily grind.
Work when nobody’s looking.
Work when nobody cares.
Work when you are doubting yourself.
Work, because to you, work is play.
Push through all resistance.
The lights are never all green.
There is always a reason to stop.
Don’t.
Your actions are a prayer.
You are what you do.
So act like the best version of you.
This is the true power of
Faking it until you make it.
Of embodying your true calling,
Of greatness.
This change will take time.
There is a lag between action and reward.
And when it does come,
It won’t be announced with fanfare.
Growth will be incremental.
Small gains,
Tiny improvements,
Minute advancements.
This is as it should be.
So act.
Act as a prayer to the Gods of functionality.
And have faith.
Faith in the process,
Faith in the future,
Faith in yourself.
And remember,
You are what you do.
Your actions are a prayer,
To the Gods of functionality.
Your mind, your body, your spirit.
Honour them.
Wake early.
Sit in silence.
Then move,
Attend the iron church, or run, or dance.
The Gods smile upon those who act.
You are what you do.
So study your craft.
Work on your craft.
Share your craft.
Take criticism and praise in the same breath,
You are neither as good or as bad as they say.
Embrace the daily grind.
Work when nobody’s looking.
Work when nobody cares.
Work when you are doubting yourself.
Work, because to you, work is play.
Push through all resistance.
The lights are never all green.
There is always a reason to stop.
Don’t.
Your actions are a prayer.
You are what you do.
So act like the best version of you.
This is the true power of
Faking it until you make it.
Of embodying your true calling,
Of greatness.
This change will take time.
There is a lag between action and reward.
And when it does come,
It won’t be announced with fanfare.
Growth will be incremental.
Small gains,
Tiny improvements,
Minute advancements.
This is as it should be.
So act.
Act as a prayer to the Gods of functionality.
And have faith.
Faith in the process,
Faith in the future,
Faith in yourself.
And remember,
You are what you do.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence
Mantra
Be present,
For now is all that exists.
Grow, enjoy, and act morally.
Drop your ego, listen,
Empathise and forgive.
Trust your intuition and be compassionate.
Nothing more is within your control.
Let it go and just feel.
Accept yourself.
Be present,
For now is all that exists.
Grow, enjoy, and act morally.
Drop your ego, listen,
Empathise and forgive.
Trust your intuition and be compassionate.
Nothing more is within your control.
Let it go and just feel.
Accept yourself.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence
Writing Therapy
Writing Therapy.
Just words on a page,
Or something more?
The page listens,
The page absorbs,
The page doesn’t judge.
The page can be discarded,
The page can be shared,
The page can be reread.
The act of writing heals.
It pulls the demons out.
It exposes them to the light.
It reveals them for what they are.
Fabrication.
Rumination.
Improbability.
Regret.
The act of writing instructs.
It informs our current state.
Shows our inner workings.
Forces us to be precise.
After writing comes the review.
By looking back we see the truth.
Of how far we’ve come.
Of our varied and ever changing moods.
Of different aspects of ourselves.
We see that we are more complex than our current mental state can possibly comprehend.
So write.
Write without judgement. Without pause for grammar or spelling. Without thoughts of what is appropriate or right. Without care for its readability. Without concern for the judgement of others.
It is the act of writing that counts, not the quality that you produce.
No one has to see it.
So just write.
Writing Therapy.
Just words on a page,
Or something more?
The page listens,
The page absorbs,
The page doesn’t judge.
The page can be discarded,
The page can be shared,
The page can be reread.
The act of writing heals.
It pulls the demons out.
It exposes them to the light.
It reveals them for what they are.
Fabrication.
Rumination.
Improbability.
Regret.
The act of writing instructs.
It informs our current state.
Shows our inner workings.
Forces us to be precise.
After writing comes the review.
By looking back we see the truth.
Of how far we’ve come.
Of our varied and ever changing moods.
Of different aspects of ourselves.
We see that we are more complex than our current mental state can possibly comprehend.
So write.
Write without judgement. Without pause for grammar or spelling. Without thoughts of what is appropriate or right. Without care for its readability. Without concern for the judgement of others.
It is the act of writing that counts, not the quality that you produce.
No one has to see it.
So just write.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence