The breath of fire,
the steps of ice

Locked in an
eternal dance

Drink from the glass
of ice, and all you are
is preserved

Drink from the wine of
fire, and all you are
will absorb and grow,
spread, warm and


A blink, a squint, a here-gone glimpse,
Sun-freckled, shadow-delicate.
Sudden breeze-breath prints a stream,
Ideograms unknown, passwords undetected
In time’s invisible unravelling, lifespan’s
Capricious memories.
Each freeze-frame re-invents itself
In past, present and future.
And age, a long, orange, tongue-licked sky,
The anteroom to winter solstice,
Guessing an elusive afterlife or
An untouchable emptiness.
Let us, instead, remember summer’s
Endless days, the hours’ extension
When water mirrors sunset,
When, like cool evening, mercy,
The afterthought of passion,
May whisper a prayer and summon
An angel.
rd 6d
Like zombies we are...
living in a trance...
Living to satiate our hunger;
Hunger for power,wealth,fame and lust.
It's high time that  we pull ourselves out of this trance..
and wake up to reality..
A reality that's naked..
sans clothes of illusion..
A reality of who we are...
Dear God I’m overcome.
I know no other way.
I’ve heard it works for some,
So finally I’ll pray.

No reason to rejoice;
I have so many needs.
So God, just hear my voice,
And please ignore my deeds.

I’ve never asked for much,
Or anything at all,
But my issues are such,
It’s You I need to call.

I pray for better health
(My back is always sore),
And if I had more wealth,
I’d probably pray more.

If you could help my son
To make the soccer team,
It would help him a ton
To realize his dream.

So what else should I seek?
I’ve never prayed before.
If I sincerely speak,
Then You just give me more?

To pray this easily…
I’m not sure what I mean…
Is prayer supposed to be
Like a vending machine?

God, forget what I said.
This prayer is not the best.
I need You in my head
To make any request.

I should not seek Your grant,
Without seeking Your grace.
The unrepentant can’t
Come to a holy place.

I think You’re there to find.
I feel I’m on my own.
So let me clear my mind
As I approach Your throne.

I want to try again
But this time not for me.
Your concern is for man.
Prayers not for “I” but “we.”

If You send the world peace,
Our needs are not a must.
Give our ego release,
And please just grant us trust.

You’ve seen this mortal man,
And things I never saw.
Whatever is Your plan,
I’m humble and in awe.

The act of prayer itself,
If prayer is to be true,
Will purify the self
To feel closer to You.

I don’t pray to save me.
If my sins You forgave,
Then I pray just to be
Worthy of being saved.
Poetic reflection on the statement of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, "“The primary purpose of prayer is not to make requests. The primary purpose is to praise, to sing, to chant. Because the essence of prayer is a song, and man cannot live without a song. Prayer may not save us. But prayer may make us worthy of being saved.”

Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at
Buy "Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts to Life" at
Mem Aug 10
It is astounding to be heartfelt and convicted of the presences of the assumption of those considered to be a (belief of people) beginning of acceptance and the reality of the outcome of faith. Claiming to be here awake and there asleep knowing of the two to be within and longing to be free and to be spiritually cured of time; and I wait for age as the insight of their spirituality seek. Spiritually it is astounding and convincing to be understood and the establishment-to the existing of writings-mentioned to the historical and the testament of you.
Sonnet Tree Aug 7
While stars sing dark, before the call of sun
fresh wind taunts leaves in all their shadowed grey
and silent embryonic silk is spun
in tears of dew wept wide, in nature's way.
Yet ev'ry droplet of the die is cast
on cottoned solace wrought within the ground
whose splendoured greens emerge, when dark has passed,
so tears won’t fall to earth where she was found.
Who are the weavers of enchanted text,
arrayed and hatched, fine thread exuding light
that sends poor worldliness away, perplexed,
and dries the eyes of heaven through the night?
     For hands that till the soil, till all is well
     have held more heaven than their words will tell.
Written in honour of gardeners everywhere.
Nicky Aug 5
Search, understand, make sense of the signs
As universal energy illuminates our minds
Sceptical at times but in essence we believe
There's celestial truth in all that we percieve

Recurrently pushed down rocky roads
But those rocks have been placed there for us to decode
Realisations, higher selves, awakened minds
Take those lessons forward and the light you'll find
Heaven, can't you get enough?
Marble orchards dedicated to
your sustenance. Your creation.
Love and mourning meant to be enough.
For us.
When do you have your fill?

Of course, you're abstract.
Not gluttonous; you haven't
the odd ends of humanity.
You stretch and warp and fill to a non-brim.
That is comfort to some others.

Thank you for getting us to where we are now.
To feed our narcissism in washing our hands of you.
Who created whom?
Which came first, the despair or the divine?
our place in the world is everything but certain
The Hoodoo Man a black cat bone
     Keeps always close at hand;
Got superstitious writin's done
     Been written in the sand.

He's got a mojo made o' skin;
     Got John the Conqueror root;
He plays the stars—his distant kin—
     An air for magic flute.

When Son House preach the blues,
    Ya oughtta listen well:
None preach so the good news,
    None so the gospel tell:
None better known the Muse,
    Or better known the De'il.
Next page