Poetry
Writing to, from, and about the parts within. Sharing to normalize the healing process.
Out Now: How To Write Evocative Poetry
beauty of the sea
i closed my eyes to the beauty of the sea
shielding the fragile part of my soul
that still believed
in the childish notion of an untainted moment
as i walked away
i couldn’t help but hear the crash of the waves
nor could i ignore the subtle fragrance
of echoed memories telling stories
of countless days lost and found
of floating
of sun-drenched smiles
of laughter
and of the salty tears of rebellion against a world that was forcing me to leave
i am crying those same tears now
their slow descent down my cheeks
mirroring a life spent running away from itself
too afraid to taste the saltiness of the water
too afraid to feel the sun or hear the waves
and too afraid to cry tears of departure
that i never allow myself to see
the beauty of the sea that is in front of me
This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry
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
To Purchase The Moon
I sacrificed the sun
To purchase the moon
Working hard
From dusk to noon
But all you see
Is me locked away
Stuck in my room
Unable to play
I’m trading my time
For you to live
It’s the only thing
I’m able to give
I’m so sorry son
I know you need more
You need more of me
Of that I’m sure
I hate how this world
Forces us apart
I long for the days
I could apprentice you to my art
But that would just be
A different kind of pain
What if you didn’t want
To work in my same vein?
Thus my attempt
To lift you high as I can
I want you to become
A fulfilled and happy man
There is no right answer
Beyond a cry and a shrug
Other than to read you a nightly story
And depart with a hug
Just know I’m always thinking
Of you and your brother
I love you both
You two and your mother
This poem is from the book Wage Slave, The Unpaid Overtime Edition
i’m worth keeping
upon waking
i’m dismayed to discover myself already breaking
thoughts preaching
lights beaming
whispered voices that feel like screaming
i find myself fleeing
huddling in a corner
counting heartbeats
shallow breathing
i can actually feel my rationality leaving
whatever i was is now just dissociated dreaming
i long to find meaning
behind these tears now streaming
but all i can muster is passive disbelieving
i thought such pain was leaving
i thought i was a book worth reading
i thought by sharing and speaking
my days would be filled with more than just ink bleeding
time passes and i hear my kids pleading
they want their dad
not some broken mess stuck self-defeating
time to put on the mask and pretend that the world has stopped screeching
that my thoughts are no longer scheming
and that my pain is receding
but then they hug me and tell me i’m worth keeping
they jump and laugh with smiles gleaming
inviting me to play
requesting
repeating
a loving greeting worth receiving
the world softens
stuck turns fleeting
colour returns
that unmovable block retreating
tension releasing
light increasing
clear seeing
i hold them
and commit to continue proceeding
today was hard
but sometimes just surviving counts as succeeding
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.
Sorry My Boy
Sorry my boy
I’ve got something to do
And unfortunately
It doesn’t involve you
Sorry my boy
I don’t have the time to chat
I’m too busy
But you know that
Sorry my boy
I can’t play right now
There is too much on
I’ve done as much as my schedule will allow
Hey my boy
I’m finally free
Want to hang out
Just you and me?
Sorry my dad
I’ve got too much on
With my work and my mates
My time is all gone
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.
Sacrifices
I wonder if
On the day I finally
‘Make it’
I will regret
The sacrifices
It took
To get there