POETRY
Living expressions of inner work. Offered as a glimpse of the process towards radical self-acceptance, healing, and growth.
dear little part of me
dear little part of me
you are safe and you are free
i know for years i didn’t see
just how much you kept my safety
you acted bravely
you kept watch gravely
forced to wield the sword and the shield
and the armour of a lady
but i need you to know
those times have now long past
we can breathe and break our fast
we can live and love and laugh
we can finally rest at last
that it’s safe for you to let go
safe to play and safe to be free
it’s safe for you to be you
and me to be me
i know for years I didn’t see
what you did for us
what you did for me
but i do now
so you can release
but i do now
so we can walk together in peace
dear little part of me
you are safe and you are free
i know for years i didn’t see
just how much you kept my safety
you acted bravely
you kept watch gravely
forced to wield the sword and the shield
and the armour of a lady
but i need you to know
those times have now long past
we can breathe and break our fast
we can live and love and laugh
we can finally rest at last
that it’s safe for you to let go
safe to play and safe to be free
it’s safe for you to be you
and me to be me
i know for years I didn’t see
what you did for us
what you did for me
but i do now
so you can release
but i do now
so we can walk together in peace
This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry
Trippin
My days are slippin
I be trippin
Over myself
Over my words
Sentimental thoughts
I’m mental
Mental state
Lost forms abate
Can’t wait
I overcompensate
I’m lost
Searching for you
Looking for new
A preview in lieu of success
I’m a mess
Such stress
Much duress,
Brain’s compressed,
Into something different
I’m indifferent
Maleficent
A power against the world
Against myself
I’m self-destructive
Creative in chaos
Constructive in harm
Persuasive self-pity
I be trippin
This day be slippin
Now I’m lippin
My thoughts
Onto paper
No sense
Just nonsense
A flow
A recompense
From the memories
From the pain
My days are slippin
I be trippin
Over myself
Over my words
Sentimental thoughts
I’m mental
Mental state
Lost forms abate
Can’t wait
I overcompensate
I’m lost
Searching for you
Looking for new
A preview in lieu of success
I’m a mess
Such stress
Much duress,
Brain’s compressed,
Into something different
I’m indifferent
Maleficent
A power against the world
Against myself
I’m self-destructive
Creative in chaos
Constructive in harm
Persuasive self-pity
I be trippin
This day be slippin
Now I’m lippin
My thoughts
Onto paper
No sense
Just nonsense
A flow
A recompense
From the memories
From the pain
This poem is from the book Words On A Page
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.
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.
You can purchase a print of Two Leaves here
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
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
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
Lifeblood
Not yet dead
The demon
Writhes
On the page
Lacerated
By the light of attention
It stares
Horrified
As it’s lifeblood
Becomes the ink
Of its own
Eulogy
Not yet dead
The demon
Writhes
On the page
Lacerated
By the light of attention
It stares
Horrified
As it’s lifeblood
Becomes the ink
Of its own
Eulogy
This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken
monkey mind
monkey mind
a brain confined
trapped by the past
by conditioning
by words left unsaid
by a childhood unseen
by what could have been
don’t you see
little monkey
you are free
just let go
just move
just step to the side
because though your cage
seems all encompassing
it is just an illusion
one that can be broken
by you
connecting with others
by you
in harmony
with a group
holding space
holding your body
guiding you
to break the cage
you confined yourself to
way back when
you needed such protection
just to survive
but now dear monkey
it’s time to thrive
you are safe
and free
if you choose yourself to be
monkey mind
a brain confined
trapped by the past
by conditioning
by words left unsaid
by a childhood unseen
by what could have been
don’t you see
little monkey
you are free
just let go
just move
just step to the side
because though your cage
seems all encompassing
it is just an illusion
one that can be broken
by you
connecting with others
by you
in harmony
with a group
holding space
holding your body
guiding you
to break the cage
you confined yourself to
way back when
you needed such protection
just to survive
but now dear monkey
it’s time to thrive
you are safe
and free
if you choose yourself to be
This poem is from the book Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul
Uncontainable By The Bondage Of Words
Uncontainable
By the bondage
Of words
Its nature
Is unexplainable
Nameless
And
Formless
Yet more whole than
The even most perfect
Analogy can imply
To say it acts
Is a lie
To say it is
Is a lie
Even to call it ‘it’
Is a lie
Yet it acts
As it is
And as it does
In its way
Unfathomable
And unknowable
To everything
Other than itself
This
Despite its
Impact being
Forever felt
By everything
Or
perhaps not
As its very nature
Invalidates these words
As well as your interpretation of them
Uncontainable
By the bondage
Of words
Its nature
Is unexplainable
Nameless
And
Formless
Yet more whole than
The even most perfect
Analogy can imply
To say it acts
Is a lie
To say it is
Is a lie
Even to call it ‘it’
Is a lie
Yet it acts
As it is
And as it does
In its way
Unfathomable
And unknowable
To everything
Other than itself
This
Despite its
Impact being
Forever felt
By everything
Or
perhaps not
As its very nature
Invalidates these words
As well as your interpretation of them
This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken
Suffering Without Hope
One day I will wake
To find you hanging
Above a letter
I won’t need to read it
I already know why
You tell me daily
Different words
Same truth
Suffering without hope
I find myself
Silently mourning
A death
That’s yet to happen
Unable to stop
The inevitability
Of your choice
Despite knowing
You are making it
I should do more
But there’s nothing more I can do
Other than wait
One day I will wake
To find you hanging
Above a letter
I won’t need to read it
I already know why
You tell me daily
Different words
Same truth
Suffering without hope
I find myself
Silently mourning
A death
That’s yet to happen
Unable to stop
The inevitability
Of your choice
Despite knowing
You are making it
I should do more
But there’s nothing more I can do
Other than wait
This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken
Stupefied
I sit
Stupefied
Seeking solace
From shame
The silence
Is no longer safe
Secrets seep
From the shadow
Slowly I find myself
Surrounded
My sanity siphoned
Into stillness
I sit
Stupefied
Seeking solace
From shame
The silence
Is no longer safe
Secrets seep
From the shadow
Slowly I find myself
Surrounded
My sanity siphoned
Into stillness
This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken