Poetry
Writing to, from, and about the parts within. Sharing to normalize the healing process.
Out Now: How To Write Evocative Poetry
Two Leaves
Two leaves float down a river,
Pulled by the current of life.
Sometimes they take the same path,
Sometimes the river splits them up.
Yet even when apart,
They travel together.
Because all paths lead to the source,
Still, each journey may vary.
Where one leaf faces rocks and rapids,
The other leaf faces calm tranquillity.
Where one leaf feels the warmth of the sun,
The other leaf is beaten by rain.
At times, all leaves get stuck,
Blocked by debris or caught on a bank.
Or pulled under the surface and trapped.
At these times the leaves must wait.
Wait for another to knock it free.
Or for the flow to clear the way.
Or for the slow push of time itself,
To gently alter the river’s shape.
Then the leaves will float once more,
This interruption quickly forgotten,
Because the destination is the same,
No matter which path it took.
This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly
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
blessed with life's baggage
contemplating suicide
is a luxury
i can no longer afford
i am blessed
with life’s baggage
weighed down by love
spurred
by the desire
to prove them wrong
cajoled into action
my inner voice
softly screaming
to be more
than a footnote
of failure
to act
in-spite of doubt
and fear of judgement
to resolve
to do everything
to ensure my legacy
when I die
i will die
having truly lived
This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken
Work Life Balance
Attempting to balance
Work and life
Just seems like another job
I don’t have time
To complete
This poem is from the book Wage Slave, The Unpaid Overtime Edition
Looking In
I close my eyes.
Where once there was vividness
There is now a vague blur.
Stories and visions intermingle
A kaleidoscope of confusion.
Words and non-words alike
Are spoken and responded to.
The allure of reality is lost,
Replaced by the bliss of the abyss.
The joy of not knowing
Is ever more tempting.
Closing my eyes to avoid it all,
To get to where release was once felt.
But no more.
The avalanche of memory greets me.
I cannot escape the pain inside.
I long to let it go.
To let it all go.
capitalistic desire
here’s to the capitalistic desire
to sacrifice our lives
in order to have the
most fancy coffin
just to flex on
our friends
that we didn’t have time for
and to afford a headstone
chiselled with a quote
espousing the value
of hard work
and dedication
to something beyond ourselves
that no one will read