Tomorrow

Tomorrow,
The time to get everything done.

Tomorrow,
A time that never comes.

Tomorrow,
When things will be better.

Tomorrow,
When new problems arise.

Tomorrow,
A hope for a change.

Tomorrow,
More of the same.

Tomorrow,
A new beginning.

Tomorrow,
Just another day.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Spiralling Into Darkness

The clarity of the past is blinding,
With ill-conceived words
And deeds now binding.

Longing for a change inside and out,
All I’m left with now is doubt.

Spiralling into darkness,
The void is all I see,
The world is falling down,
Dropping on top of me.

Any feeling is a good feeling,
Bleeding just for the sensation,
Bleeding to feel alive again.

I’m sick of all the trying,
Sick of all the crying,
Sick of everything that I ever was.

All I want to do is let it go,
Not let it show and forget about the rest.

Spiralling into darkness,
The void is consuming me,
The world crashing down,
Tumbling towards me.

What is right or wrong no longer matters, Black and white look the same in darkness.

You think I care, but I don’t,
You think I’ll cry but I won’t.

The problems we once shared
Mean nothing to me now.
Your vanity is shameful,
Your ignorance boundless.

Spiralling into darkness,
The void has engulfed me;
The world has been brought down
And is now smothering me.

Take me away, get me out of myself,
Just one moment of respite is all it will take.
I can only be stretched so far,
Pushed until I break.

To the memories that shape me,
To the memories that remind me,
To the memories that haunt me
To the scars that remain

I’m done.

---

This poem is from the book Words On A Page

Laughing

I don’t want
to be
where
I am.
I could move but
there is
nowhere
I can go.
I am trapped
inside
my cursed
mind.
It follows
me
everywhere,
laughing
at my
pain.

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

Scrying Thoughts

Bong hit
smoke eyes.
See life
fathers’ eyes.

Different pain
new disguise.
Hot take
fresh lies.

Core aspects
I despise.
Diverted focus
Stoned highs.

Scrying thoughts
child cries.
Look close
perpetual demise.

Broken dreams
sharp knives.
Self-worth
clichéd rhymes.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Let Me Be Me

I look different from the inside.

I know what you see,
But you don’t know what I hide,
You think it’s just smiles and glee.

Really I don’t feel safe to confide,
Cause’ I’ve got demons you see.

They cajole, sow doubts and chide,
Making me question what it is to be me.

Showing my faults, destroying my pride,
Highlighting how I act differently.

They remind me of when I cried,
And make me think all fuzzy.

They suggest I shouldn’t have tried,
Confusion they guarantee.

I just want to be free,
To be and to be me.
To not worry about what you see,
Or wanting to flee,
Or to fit some unspoken decree.
What’s the key?
Can thee enlighten me?

Or should I hide inside,
Bide my time and chide?
Swallow my pride and wish I’d simply died?
Please confide, be my guide,
And give me what I’ve been denied.

Ah, I see, you lied.
You see me as debris.

You barely even tried,
Before making me feel crappy.

‘Cause you were the one who cried
And spoke with such irony. 

Like it was me who beat your backside,
And me who raised you absently,
And me who caused your family to divide,
And me who acted grotesquely,
And me who failed to provide,
And me who never gave an apology.

No, I’ve said sorry.
My actions weren’t justified.
But I am not them and I will never be.

Don’t you see?
You need therapy.
I’m not being snide,
Because in this, you are just like me.

Confide in an expert.
Tell them your story.
Share what you were denied,
Open up and actually let someone inside.

Ah, I see you lied.
You don’t want recovery, just an excuse to hide.
I have tried, and it didn’t work,
So please set me free, and
Let me be me.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Searching For Meaning

Folly be to those who act blindly,
Who move before they look.

Confidently striving,
Never questioning.

Doing what feels right,
Because it feels right.

Binary decision making,
Disguised as rationality.

Running towards death,
Believing in their process.

Never asking the important questions,
What if I am wrong?

Who am I?
What is Rightness?

What is the point of this life?
Does such a thing even exist?

To search for meaning
We must challenge all assumptions.

Taking the time to think
Beyond mere pleasure and pain.

Training our minds to contemplate,
To detach and focus.

This is not easy.
Discipline is needed.

A sharp focus,
Gazing towards the eternal.

Embracing life’s pleasures,
But not at the cost of the search.

A knowledge that we must seek truth,
Because nirvana may be within reach.

---

This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence

Play

Watching him play
I disappeared.
And in that space,
The world opened up.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

There Is No Rush

There is no rush,
You are already there.

It is all around you.
It is in the moment,
And it is the moment.

There is nothing to be done,
And no one to do it. 

No words spoken.
No rituals performed.
No sins cleansed.

Just an opening,
Just a realisation,
Just an acceptance.

Of silence,
Of the present,
Of reality.

As it is,
For what it is.

---

This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence

The Darkness Fuels Them

The battle lines are drawn
I turn inwards
They snarl
Bearing teeth
All too big for their mouths

They curse
They cajole
They threaten
They remind me of their brethren
The victors of the last war

The darkness fuels them
My fear fuels them
They surround me
Attacking from behind
Infiltrating my defences

I fall
My mind closes in
All seems lost
But then I remember
I have been here before

I know their tactics
I know their weaknesses
I know their game
Just deception
Just intimidation

I turn and face them
Staring them down
My gaze is illuminating
Golden rays of light
Shatter their advance

I begin the hunt
Snarls turns into shrieks
Shrieks turns into bargaining
Bargaining turns into pleading
Pleading turns into silence

I seek out their dens
I destroy their spawning grounds
I cleanse myself
Total victory
Unconditional surrender

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Obsession

Using words for expression,
A curing pain session,
My inner mind’s compression,
With anxiety, rumination and depression,
It’s an obsession,
A self-destructive messin’
Around, with pills or a knife,
Ideation of death is rife,
Friends and family feeling my strife,
I got them worried ‘bout my life,
But I am fine,
Words help me shine,
No longer stuck in a confine,
Like a farmer’s favourite bovine,
That’s escaped the plot,
Mental clarity I’ve now got,
Pen in hand, my afflictions are shot,
Now I’m free to write my own plot,
Dream following,
Ego swallowing,
Heart opening,
Pain forgoing,
With a pen in hand,
And paper I brand,
Myself anew in this land,
Here I stand.

---

This poem is from the book, Words On A Page

Don't Worry About Me

What's wrong, are you ok?
Why don't you come out and play?
Laugh, smile and have some fun.
It is just wonderful here in the sun!

Take a chance, live a little and smile.
You know we're only here for a little while.
You’re missing out on love, adventure and life.
We never see you, are you in strife?

Don't worry about me, I'm just tired.
I will be ok, just wait another day.
It is nothing I assure you.
Would you believe it’s a cold or flu?

Come, let's dance! Be moved and swirled!
Take a chance and step out into the world.
Run and fly until your heart’s content,
Make sure that your life is well spent.

Come and see a movie;
Or watch the waves hit the shore.
You will have a good time,
Just step out the door.

The day is almost over,
The sun is now setting.
Leave no stone unturned,
Don't leave this world regretting.

Don't worry about me, I'm just tired.
I will be ok, just wait another day.
It is nothing I assure you.
Would you believe it’s a cold or flu?

Please, I want to see you,
I miss what we once had.
Have I done something to offend you?
Did I make you mad?

I don’t know how to help you,
I am at my wits end.
Please don’t forget that
I have always been your friend.

How about we stay in tonight,
Why don’t I come to you?
There will be nothing for you to prepare,
Nothing you have to do.

We can simply order takeaway,
Watch the same old show,
And when you tell me to leave,
I promise to go.

Don't worry about me, I'm just tired.
I will be ok, just wait another day.
It is nothing I assure you.
Would you believe it’s a cold or flu?

Don't worry about me, really, I’m fine.
I stayed up too late, there’s a lot on my plate.
I don’t know what else I can say,
Just believe me; and please go away.

---

This poem is from the book Words On A Page

Making The Words Go Goodly

Some days it’s hard to make the words go goodly.

Other days,
The words just flow,
I find ways,
To make them go.

Go goodly,
As they should be,
A verb key,
To eternity.

Deep lines,
Writing to be heard,
Poetry shines,
With perfect words.

Self expression,
Of a self broke
Digging deep,
Truth spoken.

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

Other Than Here

The inner storm meets outer calm.
A silent fury.
Impotent rage not expressed.

Other than here,
Other than now.

The inner fog meets outer clarity.
A quiet constriction.
Clear thought not expressed.

Other than here,
Other than now.

The inner grime meets outer cleanliness.
A mute warning.
Functionality not expressed.

Other than here,
Other than now.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

The ABC's of Mental Illness

*Trigger Warning

A - Anxiety

Anxious animals apt at accentuating angst, apprehension, and annoyance.

B - BPD

Borderline bodies berating buddies based on biased beliefs.

C - Crisis Plan

Critical contracts created to consistently control crisis conundrums.

D - Depression

Dark days diabolically dictated by dubious and delusional diatribes.

E - Eating Disorder

Every edible entry erroneously examined, entirely eroding elation.

F - Fatigue

Floundering, flopping and feeling fried, with fleeting fierceness forcing forward fixes.

G - Gambling

Gluttonous gaming gods grabbing guy’s gold, gutting glorious goals.

H - Hoarding

Heedless of his hoard he haplessly hastens his having of a hundred more holdings in his home.

I - Insomnia

Intermittent issues impeding interests, intelligence and insights.

J - Jaded

Justifying judgements that don’t jive as just joking and joining in with the jerky jesting.

K - Kleptomania

Knaves kidnapping kingdoms knowing karmas coming to KO their kink.

L - Lame

Lonely, laden, and lambasted, lost in a labyrinth of languish and laughter.

M - Meds

Medication makes melancholy minds mostly manageable.

N - Narcissism

Neglectful narratives with narrow niceties never noticing normal-natured neighbours.

O - OCD

Obvious overthinking obliterating one’s options, ostensively obscuring optimism.

P - Psychosis

Plain pills placating problematic perceptions, producing pleasant personalities.

Q - Quandary

The quintessential quandary; to be quiet, quirky, queasy or a quitter.

R - Respite

Rest and relaxation resulting in radiant reductions in relationship rundowns.

S - Self Harm

Silently suffering, she slices skin and swallows serious serums.

T - Trauma

Terrifying thunder taking a terrible toll, until time totals thought.

U - Untreated

Unfortunately ultimate unhappiness is upon us, unless we use unconventional unguents.

V - Visibility

Vigorously vocalising our varied invisible viruses invalidates vulgar vitriol.

W - Wellness

Wise worriers work for wellness with whatever willpower we wield.

X - X-rays

Xrays, examinations, explanations and excuses, just expectations for the unexplainable.

Y - Yo-yoing

Yelling a yarn of yearning, for the yeses and yeahs of yesteryear.

Z - Zombie

Zonked zombies on zinc and Zen, totally zapped before the zenith zooms.

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

Another Bad Day?

Another bad day?
Good,
Your art will thank you.

Bad days are just writing fodder.
Fuel for the fire.

More content.
Increasing tension.
Emotional depth.
Nuanced complexity.

Suffer now,
Write later.

Suffer now,
Draw later.

Suffer now,
Create later.

Past pain providing prospective pieces of professional products.
Proof that there is always a silver lining.

---

This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry

Memory Violation

Brain oscillation,
No concentration,
Thought invasion,
Constant rumination,
Memory violation,
Past commiseration,
Unwanted stimulation,
Apologetic compensation,
Fleeting determination,
Hypocritical deliberation,
Personality creation,
False presentation,
Total ostentation,
Needing defibrillation.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Swallow The Poison

Swallow the poison
Trade your day
Time for money
Life’s wasting away

Work to live
Not to thrive
It’s all you can do
Just to survive

Take a moment
Look around
This is your life
What have you found?

Your kids are old
Your friends are gone
Your dreams are unmet
But you can’t move on

You earn just enough
To cover the bills
You know what would happen
If you took ill

You’d lose your job
And then the house
Then the car
Then the spouse

So every day
No matter what
You swallow your poison
The only hope you’ve got

To earn enough
To survive the night
And do it all again
The daily fight

 Not quite the fairytale
You were promised in youth
But let’s be honest
No-one could accept the truth

It’s the daily grind
Called that for a reason
To hope for other wise
Is demonized as treason 

We are in this together
The workers plea
Collective repression
Then distracted depravity

Work for the weekend
Then pay to play
Porn, liquor, and drugs
Then some takeaway
 

It’s not in your budget
But you convince yourself it’s okay
Cause it’s all you can do
To survive another workday

Don’t think of the future
It’s far to long
30 years more of this
What could possibly go wrong?

But hey!
Doesn’t retirement actually seem good?
Finally you have the time needed
To do everything you wish you now could

So you delay gratification
Of most every form of joy
Problem is you’ll be too old by then
To enjoy it anyway

Still you delude yourself
It’s part of the poison
Swallowing your dreams
Then acting with caution

Besides those weekend benders
Leave you with little spare wealth
With little motivation
With diminishing health

You sometimes wonder
How you ended up here
Overwhelmed by resentment
You crack another beer

‘It is what it is’
‘Inflation is high’
‘It capitalisms fault’
To yourself you justify

There goes the weekend
It’s time for another dose
Off to work again
Hunting that promotion grandiose

A different brand of poison
A variation of the old promise
You’ll get paid far more
Cause you’re no longer a novice

In your new role
You think you will finally be free
Until it dawns on you
All that extra responsibility

Even less time
For those that you love
For the friends you don’t see
For all the hobbies you let go of

But what other choice
Could you realistically pursue?
If you changed path now
Only chaos would ensue

So you swallow the poison
You trade your day
Exchanging time for money
Letting your life waste away

---

This poem is from the book Wage Slave, The Unpaid Overtime Edition

The Newsman's Breath

The newsman’s breath,
Just a harbinger of death.
Constructing narratives with
False comparatives.
Corporate goals funding,
Logic holes.
Population dividing,
Conspiracy confiding.
Distorting truth,
Radicalising youth.
Their greed trumping
Our need.
Environmental destruction,
Mining construction.
Wage exploitation,
With no contemplation.
The same old story;
Power and glory.

Our only answer?
Revolutionary fervour.
Rioting on the streets,
BLM meets.
Public doxing,
Twitter mocking.
Grudge harbouring
Guillotine sharpening.
Wealth distribution,
Billionaire contribution.
A social awakening,
To a generational failing.

A new world order is needed,
Led by those less conceded.
Those who believe in humanity,
Who are blessed with a semblance of sanity.
People who plant the tree,
That they won’t live to see.
People who care about the children,
Regardless of their colour or origin
People who choose life over stuff,
Who actually can have enough.

Is this idealistic dreaming?
Or realistic future scheming?
What’s the alternative?
To agree with the affirmative.
To accept the status quo,
To look away saying ‘go’.
In my name invade and kill,
In my name do your will.
It can only end if we try,
If we are willing to fight and die.
To stand up and speak our minds,
To break society from its mental confines.

How?
Act now.
Write a letter,
March on a population centre.
Rally support,
Take the corrupt to court.
Speak out,
Get clout.
Subvert the narrative,
Join a collaborative.
Just do something,
Cause right now, you’re doing nothing.

---

This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

Your Actions Are A Prayer

Your actions are a prayer,
To the Gods of functionality.
Your mind, your body, your spirit.
Honour them.
Wake early.
Sit in silence.
Then move,
Attend the iron church, or run, or dance.
The Gods smile upon those who act.

You are what you do.
So study your craft.
Work on your craft.
Share your craft.
Take criticism and praise in the same breath,
You are neither as good or as bad as they say.
Embrace the daily grind.
Work when nobody’s looking.
Work when nobody cares.
Work when you are doubting yourself.
Work, because to you, work is play.
Push through all resistance.
The lights are never all green.
There is always a reason to stop.
Don’t.

Your actions are a prayer.
You are what you do.
So act like the best version of you.
This is the true power of
Faking it until you make it.
Of embodying your true calling,
Of greatness.

This change will take time.
There is a lag between action and reward.
And when it does come,
It won’t be announced with fanfare.
Growth will be incremental.
Small gains,
Tiny improvements,
Minute advancements.
This is as it should be.

So act.
Act as a prayer to the Gods of functionality.
And have faith.
Faith in the process,
Faith in the future,
Faith in yourself.
And remember,
You are what you do.

---

This poem is from the book Reflections of the Self, The Poetry, Insights, and Wisdom Of Silence

Curation: A Poem On Self-Expression & Medium Success

My last six poems got curated,
Here is what I have learned:
That that kind of exposure
It must be earned.

So I write daily.
Read books like I’m crazy.
Pen and pad live in my pocket.
No excuse to be lazy.

Fighting inner resistance
Is a constant reality,
Realising that my lines here
Only show a fraction of my depravity.

Because good poetry,
It comes from truth,
And that truth,
Reveals a shattered youth.

So I share my inner world,
Twisting words onto the page,
Most of it’s garbage,
I only share what looks sage.

Throw enough darts,
And one will hit centre,
So I just write my mind down,
And then press enter.

Chances are that
You are better than I.
You just hold back,
Never risking a try.

I’ve learnt
To only look forward.
To let others judge me,
To not feel awkward.

To write what comes,
To write some more,
To keep writing always,
To keep open the door.

To the muse,
The source of my creativity,
Because really I’m just a vessel,
These words are not my proclivity.

I choose to be open,
Then the words just appear,
So I write them down,
And create something people hold dear.

Even these words you are reading right now.
I don’t know the next rhyme,
Paragraph, topic or theme,
But I know it will come in time.

So trust the process.
Believe in yourself.
Surrender to the muse
And acquire some poetry wealth.

I’m not merely talking about
The proceeds from curation.
I’m talking about spiritual gains
From focused concentration.

I’m talking about
Getting your mind online,
Exploring your inner world
And tapping into the divine.

Perhaps you are saying
That this is far too mystical,
So I instead will
Urge you to be statistical.

Look up, read and research
What the top poets are doing.
Imitate and extrapolate their work,
Find the secret with some sleuthing.

Or simply reread this piece,
And check out my other poems,
And you too will get curated,
By expressing some emotions.

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This poem is inspired by the book How To Write Evocative Poetry