POETRY
Living expressions of inner work. Offered as a glimpse of the process towards radical self-acceptance, healing, and growth.
I Am Constant Change
Who am I other than constant change?
Thoughts come and go,
Same with emotion, memory and desire,
I am not who I was a moment ago,
And who I am won’t last.
I am constant change,
I am the thread of time,
Birth to death,
Ever changing,
Ever growing,
Never the same.
I am constant change,
I accept this change,
Embrace it,
Lean into it.
Therefore I won’t delete my past,
It was me,
Just as much me as my desire to delete it,
Who knows what I will think in four minutes?
I am constant change.
Who am I other than constant change?
Thoughts come and go,
Same with emotion, memory and desire,
I am not who I was a moment ago,
And who I am won’t last.
I am constant change,
I am the thread of time,
Birth to death,
Ever changing,
Ever growing,
Never the same.
I am constant change,
I accept this change,
Embrace it,
Lean into it.
Therefore I won’t delete my past,
It was me,
Just as much me as my desire to delete it,
Who knows what I will think in four minutes?
I am constant change.
This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence
Flashback
There’s nowhere you can run to,
Nowhere you can hide,
Not when your problems
Are coming from inside.
You cannot escape them,
You cannot leave,
Now that blood is
Running down your sleeve.
Don’t try to face me,
Don’t try to hide,
Mummy, Daddy,
Why weren’t you by my side?
Do I want to sober up,
Or do I want to die?
Blank memories. Pain.
Watching his hand touch up my thigh.
I couldn’t say no,
I couldn’t flee,
Nothing I tried
Broke his hold of me.
Years have passed,
But his grip remains,
He took my body,
My soul, my brains.
So now I’m sitting here,
Stoned and alone,
Trying to remember
If I have ever felt at home.
This poem is from the book Words On A Page
Pandemic
Our minds are racing,
Our mood oscillating,
Endlessly contemplating,
Ruminating,
Anxiety,
And insobriety,
Spreading through society,
Bored with no variety,
Stay home and wait
Call your mate,
Think straight,
Commiserate,
Pretend,
Online spend,
Try to comprehend,
How this ever happened,
Presidents be acting competent,
Their faces prominent,
Acting dominant,
Imminent,
Woe,
Moving slow,
Just for show,
Really they don’t know,
Still they continuously interview,
Securing their revenue,
Sweet rendezvous,
Hitherto,
Corruption,
Excess consumption,
Designed to function,
Greed and false assumption,
Pull it all down,
Destroy the crown,
And town,
Drown,
Free,
We be,
Living in glee,
If we just agree,
To act as one,
Make it done,
Leave none,
Outrun.
This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry
Rejection
You are not what I am wanting.
Don’t offer to change.
The desire to change yourself
Is itself off-putting.
I know myself well enough
To know what I want;
And what I want is not to be found in you.
This isn’t to be lamented,
Mourned or concerned.
But to be celebrated.
Because if I had you as you are,
I wouldn’t be happy.
If you were to change, you wouldn’t be happy.
By taking you,
It would be as to someone else
Not having you.
This someone would find affection,
Where I see only flaws.
Would find joy, where I see annoyance.
A union should be frictionless.
Two pieces of a puzzle coming together,
Not a round peg, conforming to a square hole.
Don’t get me wrong,
This is not a criticism of you in any way.
You are perfect, but simply not perfect for me.
You are what someone is wanting;
And in turn you are wanting that someone.
But that someone is not me,
And you can never be my someone.
This poem is from the book Words On A Page
Dissociation
I see myself, and I see myself seeing myself;
Trapped in an infinite regress.
Triggered.
I don’t know what I am,
Other than, that I am the ‘other’.
Separated.
I sit in the eye of the storm,
Enjoying the false calm.
Rumination.
Picking the poison to escape my mind;
My father’s curse, passed down to me.
Stoned.
I should lean towards hope,
Look to the light.
Futility.
These words have no meaning,
I am incapable of giving them any.
Numb.
No happy ending, no fresh beginning;
Just nothingness.
Life.
This poem is from the book Words On A Page