Poetry
Writing to, from, and about the parts within. Sharing to normalize the healing process.
Out Now: How To Write Evocative Poetry
Adulting, Would Not Recommend
Adulting, would not recommend.
There’s just too damn much to comprehend.
Work, work, work, work, no time for my friend.
Now look at that, my life’s about to end.
I do not rate,
My current adult state,
Always running late,
Trying to put food on my plate.
Money, money, money, I never have enough.
Not for the rent, bills or any fun stuff.
There’s no wonder why we are all so gruff,
Yelling on the inter-webs, acting so tuff.
It’s just back pain,
And weight gain.
It’s rushing all day,
With no time to play.
It’s the not knowing,
Yet having to keep going.
It’s our parents’ lack of understanding,
Of what our world is actually demanding,
Of our real struggle to maintain our standing,
No chance to get ahead, no interest compounding.
Boomers think they know the score,
They’re just lucky to be born after the war.
A time of prosperity let their incomes soar,
Making them think there will always be more.
Criticising us with self-righteous impunity,
For squandering a ‘glorious opportunity’.
In a world of growing disunity,
How can they expect such immunity?
Thing is, we can’t fight back,
There is no true enemy to attack.
Just another generation protecting their own,
And yelling from the safety of their home.
Besides when would we have the time to fight?
The third job’s got us up all night.
Adulting, I would not recommend.
But please let’s no longer pretend,
That our problems are gonna magically mend,
By venting with an angry tweet send.
You could protest it on the street,
With the 99% speaking with their feet,
Or perhaps a BLM meet,
Yell, scream and hope to defeat.
But the problem is that they have the power,
They can wait a longer hour.
They can direct the tear gas shower,
With the riot police to make us cower.
Also did I mention, the world is warming?
There’s racist divisions and politicians performing.
Economic collapse from COVID’s storming,
And European war is transforming.
Too many problems to simultaneously comprehend,
Let alone act with any hope to end.
There’s no opportunity to transcend,
Only ways to further offend.
Adulting, would not recommend.
A Flower
A flower blooms,
Its beauty unrecognised.
No depth, no feeling,
Only cold calculation, a knowing.
This is life without meaning,
Two-dimensional reality. Fact.
Who am I to deserve this?
Who am I not to?
The flower dies,
Its decay unrecognised.
Just another shade of grey,
Colouring this dull world.
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.
The Barrier
Everyone is talking,
Yet I can’t comprehend a thing.
I hear the words. See their lips move.
It falls on deaf ears. It makes no sense.
I nod and smile hoping to get it right.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
I hope that was correct, not that it matters.
I can’t empathise with their displeasure.
They all speak in fast-forward,
Gibberish and rhyme.
It’s hopeless. The entire message is lost on me.
From the gist, down to each subtle nuance.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
There is a barrier between us.
An invisible wall,
Filtering and coercing the message.
Are you talking to me?
What are you trying to say?
I put on my mask and begin to act.
It’s working, they believe me!
I’ve almost convinced myself.
Then they ask a question.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
I am perplexed at their every word.
There is no context, no reason, no flow.
They come to me for advice, seemingly
Wanting me to act and put on a show.
What are they asking?
Why would they ask me? How can I respond?
I try to understand.
I ask questions and give advice.
I hope this is what you are wanting.
I hope it’s what you need.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
Suddenly they are yelling at me,
Upset and displeased.
I can’t remember what I have done, or why
I’m wrong. I just know I am.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
I see disappointment and shame in their eyes.
How can I fix this? How can I make it better?
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
Attempting to explain is useless,
A waste of time.
I can’t understand them, nor they me.
I beg and plead as best I can,
Praying that they give me another chance.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.