“I want to create,”
I said to myself.
To let bubble up what’s deep inside.
To live: jump off the shelf.

So splat, plonk, slam dunk.
And then from play,
To deeper things of this world,
To question: why are things this way? 

From thinking about me,
To think about us,
From survival, limitation, and not enough,
To live out the plan, maximus.

Throwing off the constraints 
Letting things fly,
Being intentional,
Seeing the significance if we don’t try.

The world needs us,
Today: right now!
Be present; hear the call,
Plant the seeds we’re born to sow.

As I sit at my dining table this morning,
The already hot sun
Caresses my face,
Lifting my eyes,
Golden rays singe
My retinas, my lids shut like a vault.
My mind teleports me
To a summer in South America.
I can hear fingers picking at guitar strings,
I see men with scruffy moustaches
and sombreros. And I
Smell fresh limes.
I lick my lips and sigh,
“Oh, to be back there!”
Fully adjusted to the darkness,
Reality informs me its time for work.
Can I wear some earrings, a bracelet, a necklace
To remind me of this treasured memory?!

I was late
for the riot of kookaburras
this morning,
Which exacerbated
the pain in my big toe
as I ran, forming
a bruise on my left heel
in compensation. The ripple effect; scoring!

We shall feast
One day.
On rows upon rows 
Of delicious morsels,
Lucious liquid that will quench our thirst;
Bursting from the wellspring within 
As we commune;
With Saints sensing the Mystery.
How full we all will be;
Forevermore.

I know it seems like there's someone else,
Who's always in the limelight? 
But, it is also true: we all have our day in the sun.

I never thought
my poetry was ******,
but do I want
to arouse; stimulate evocative
emotion,
and stir longing irrevocably
within?!
Yes, undeniably, YES!
Do not all of us want that full-body
response...

Step by step your dependence grows;
Worldliness discarded: trophies, titles, triumphantism — the tyranny of the soul.
Eventually bare: standing face to face with the glory there,
No distractions; joy starts to pop up in simplicity
A smile, a glance, a taste, a dance, a puzzle solved, an encounter by chance.
Now you can live more healthily.

I carry a heavy, wounded spirit,
Failure, rejection; my ego can’t handle it!
I turn into a little kid, not getting my way,
I cry out, scream on the inside trying to hear what it is You say;

Pride just wants to shut me down,
Disown me, rob me of my crown.
But it’s only when I surrender before thee,
That you open my eyes so I can see,

Love still surrounds, alone I am not,
I will feel and trust, believe that You have not forgot.
I await Your leading,
Protect me from myself’s heeding.

Desire drives destiny;
conflicting head and heart disconnects,
complete abandonment overwhelms
Teetering between mutiny,
Or of becoming.

Dreams haunt my nighttime,
hope deferred makes my heart sick.
Courage is what I crave,
Being brave all the time,
Amounting to something.

Cold and dark; sadness looms overhead umbrella-like,
Comforting, not.
Swallowing from within.
Yonder, the door opens and a light shines in.
Sadness flees as company beckons.

The rush;
Connecting thoughts, ideas and concepts
into words, stories and a lush
life, to be read by you;
pulsating, feel the ambush,
throughout the universe.
Symbiosis; can't get enough!

Held, secure
To dance and sing,
To create and recreate,
To come in
To alignment, union:
Holy Communion.
Sovereign hold.

Desire is like:
a quiet torrent in my womb,
it flows rhythmically
whenever I dare consume
an alternative universe with you.

Courage increases the force,
I dream for the day,
when I am free without remorse.

Never did I want to be a boxer,
But I’ve spent quite a lot of time in the ring.
All I’ve wanted was to daydream,
To play, write and sing.

But there’s always been a block:
Distraction,
A thief that’s knocked me down and robbed me true,
From harnessing my introspection.

Pushed up against the wall,
Beaten blue and black,
Suffering in this moment,
Focusing more on what I lack.

But I’m ready now,
To change: I MUST CHANGE,
Or I’ll lose much, much more,
Than I’ve already exchanged.

Hold my heart,
Tend to my heart,
Heal my heart.
Don’t disregard,
It. For the world,
Waits for no one
Life wounds, wielding judgment, and
Unsavoury sound bites, but
Lean into me,
Lean in a little closer, and
I'll mend your heart,
As I massage it back to life,
One precious moment at a time.

The page turns...
A new chapter;
A season over,
Just like many before.
Promises of new stories:
Adventure, suspense, romance, comedy
So much to be thankful for:
The lessons learnt, mistakes made, hearts healed, and spirits soared.
A grateful journey.
The plot: people, place, possessions continue
Turning towards terror
And taking it with truth;
Love is my safe landing,
There I stand confidently.

My backyard is like the Garden of Eden;
Where birds flourish freely, so too do lizards and worms.
I find myself opening my doors seemingly, 
to welcome the sounds of nature.
But it's also to entice me out to the heartwarmingly,
tree-lined places where I can hide my faces,
And be one, meekly, at first, then more boldly;
Naked and brazen, absent of hazing,
to sit, listen and write poetry.

Do not fear heartbreak!
What else is a heart for?
Love; risk; triumphs and mistakes
Are to be embraced, because
We become what we love.
We are not singular objects,
But connected beings, created from above.
Our journey is to witness,
People and things throughout the ages.

you can learn much
about love from waterlilies:
openness and trust,
seeking energy from the source, the sun,
and reaching deep within
to float above all chaos
swimming below the surface.

On my walls hang two pieces of art;
large canvases boldly splashed
with colour, stroke upon stroke formed vivid arcs.

I wish I had kept my father's paintbrushes,
they were tools of masterpieces.
From them, my strokes could have made faces flush
and inspired songs and poetry; love?

*
But, perhaps ‘twas a blessing to create with unique expression and freedom.

Where have you gone, words?
She vanished like vapour;
No longer lingers like a whisper from my perception, but she girds
Them. She used to pour out endlessly,
flowing like a babbling brook.
Now, dry, like the earth before conception. 
Parched, she sits desolately,
Crying out Spirit fill anew!

Being me — 
Truly me, flaws and all — 
Glory and all — 
Opening my eyes to see.

Accepting: exquisitely me — 
Yet filled with sin — 
Not holding back, but fully accepting — 
Having a measured conceptual aid; see — 

Forward-thinking, but living now — 
Grateful breathing — 
Cheekily teasing — 
Knowing the past; living in the now.

Kaleidoscope of moments — 
Divine yet, still fall short — 
Seek The Source, by whom our heart is fraught —
Community, not nomads.

I peer out as the train moves by;
Sights, sounds, and smells all combulate,
It’s early, I sigh.
At each town, I ponder
The lives of those yonder, what secrets here make sleeping dogs lie?

Too much in our bellies, too much in our hearts,
We spew out hateful words, crying from our disenfranchised parts; our families, the world inside and out,
All need peace and strength to fight
The war outside, rather than focus all attention on the war inside.

time and times to remember
sailing mostly quietly by

a memory worth remembrance
-love you found despite yourself

travelling a finite road
-with eternal consequence

friends and past lovers gone
-often prayer leaves the lips

a whispered personal conversation
-with the God of Love

in your loneness
this is the best you've got.

guilt
the terrible torturer
twists you from the inside out
when affected
we're like lambs to the slaughter

we are all missing pieces
of ourselves, cold,
and missing pieces
of the bigger story, untold.
how do we pay homage to these,
free them to unfold?
and welcome them,
bold.

Henceforth, shy and scared, I shall not be,
But embrace all uncertainty,
Step into the future with expectancy,
And see the scales, chains, ties fall from thee.

Stillness is where it all begins,
In quietness and rest, you will gain life again.
Releasing and trusting is where it continues.
In standing, with arms wide open,
In outstretching hands,
In exhaling,
In breathing,
In being,
In.
Be.

How conflicting life is, to which we desire:
Fame, fortune, faith, fellowship and all freedoms;
To wonder with open eyes, all my heart sucomes,
Being fully present in the beauty and mire.

One man's shoes: ***** boots laden with pebbles
Brothel-bound, consumed by ****** delights that bleed,
Poison in others’ souls, from which he fleed,
To find comfort elsewhere, the ego revels.

Another sacrifices her desires but still hordes
Possessions and worldly opinions consume,
Drunk affirmations that do not comfort or bloom
Known to him only horrors in which his mistress lords.

Coin and notes, to the world, connotes successes,
But inwardly hollow; the soul finds rest none,
White walls, stone statues, pillars aplenty plom
Yet free is not them from psychological stresses.

It is theirs to endure while here...

Swoosh, zgrrrr, yahooo, zooom!
I am full of vibrations;
****** energy pulsing in my womb
and veins, “I am alive!” they exclaim.
I’ve wanted these sensations to quieten,
they’ve driven me, frustrated to no end: to the end?
But now, can I see, them as part of me, don't frighten,
Welcome and celebrate them?
Alive to make sense of the sensations,
Alive to play with them, hear them, feel them,
notice them go up and down,
Alive to embrace as me: now found. Amen.

Wander with us; there’s no right or wrong, it just is: justice.
You just are. You’re not good or bad but: daughter.
Keep walking with me, along the twists and turns of life,
We are breaking off the hurt and pain; till there is laughter.
Everything is significant; just keep walking.
Spirit break my walls down; Your blood heals every disease.
Stay with us in the present, then,
Even the difficulties will become pleasant and you will walk with ease.
There’ll be times we’ll stop: rest and we’ll chat.
We’ll tell you why those things happened,
We’ll tell you which way to turn next,
Then there’ll be no more struggle; just continuing to heal and mend.

Fear is the only thing that will keep you from the truth,
So is self-consciousness the only thing we should fear?!
Just relax…

Just stop, trying,
Just, stop, trying. No more,
Let it pass, stop denying.
Wipe the tears, drying, lift your eyes,
No more nigh in, or fighting or sighing,
But more yes.
And more success!
And more belief through accepting divine relief.

Why do we call it a heat wave?
No one is saying hello or goodbye,
The heat stifles; we are immovable.
It would be grave if we waved, ******* all energy as we try.

A healthy reframe:
to be jealous
is acknowledging
longing within,
when we detach
from that ache,
we become bored, disengaged,
angry and spew out apathy.

I wish I could find
the first poem I wrote...

[was it on paper
or deeper, on my heart;
unblemished hope?]

Were my poems
ever melodies?
Or were they just
internal remedies
to the thick,
sick, and cut off
parts in me?

Did I write limericks,
raps, or pick-up tricks?
Were they from my inner voice
or head, just strong?

Did I ever give them air
to breathe,
like a love song?

Is this why
I am now so prolific;
I would prize that poem long,
put it in a vault to deny
constant criticism from the system...

but then let its spirit float free for all eternity.

Through poetry, I found my voice.
Lost, long ago, shame gave me no choice.
I used to speak in front of hundreds,
thousands even,
and now I don't speak, I listen;
to the ballads;
to the tunes of the heart; the words we don't say.
The beats are the words I wished were okay.
But, by not talking, I had come out of sync
with who I became, needing to re-ink
Become proud even, to reclaim.
My voice sounds different now, softer and older, but the essence is still the same.

Rhythms,
Unashamed sounds,
Playing to the beat of their internal drum,
No fear of questioning,
But unleashing originality as it comes.

I feel hungover,
Ugly and fat.
(It might be
that I drank last night),
But it is more likely
That's because of
Gluttony.
I'm not chasing
Anything, anyone, anymore.
There's no anxiety,
Is it depression?!
What is this unknown place?
I know to be present,
Which elevates and calms
These feels,
So I'll sit and watch:
The butterflies and bees,
Release this heavy
state till free,
And embrace these sensations
just now, of me.

living foolheartedly,
open and free,
embodying all senses
to make sense of you and me.

tortured poet
I sometimes am,
when all thoughts
and motions once clammed,
convulses through me;
vibrations from a soul, man,
within.

when I notice
and lean in,
words spew out;
liberating me
from deep yearning.

is it curious that we spare our souls
through poetry,
but remain a closed book to our "family"?

I just had a vision;
of all of us @HelloPoetry poets
online around the world, reading and writing poetry.
What do we look like; this precious community?
Are we similar or vastly different?
Tall or small, dark or light, and handsome or indifferent?!

I would love to see, all of us from up high,
flourishing, or anguishing, in our creative drive.
May we collectively motivate one another,
as we strive, applaud as one hovers,
and empathise as one dives,
down, deep low, crash and burns, as we try.

Dear imperfect me,
You are your own, just be.
You wrestle with insecurity,
that you can't settle peacefully.
Dear imperfectly,
The way you are is how you're meant to be.

Don't close your eyes and pretend you can't see,
Cos when you do, you're missing free
dom, and the richness; vibrancy,
of what it means to be living, see!

  Dear imperfect me,
The devil wants you to be devastatingly,
lonely, to isolate yourself from me,
to run around, head cut off, me.
But dear imperfect me,
there's no such thing as superiority,
it's just what we do when we are achingly,
small inside, and out, dumb wittingly,
disconnected from reality.
Such a waste; insecurity, obligatory shame, we accept begrudgingly.

  Dear imperfect me,
Can we try something new, happily?
Can we live more peacefully,
seeing ourselves progressively?
As beauty wrapped, uniquely!
As unsentimentally evolving.

  Dear imperfectly perfect me,
You are, you are, who you're meant to be,
For now, until you're not; key!
Grab this truth wholeheartedly.

Brews and beats,
Dogs, with owners, walking the streets,
As locals taste the treats.
From farmers,
Butchers and bakers,
Tunes float above the crepe eaters.

Safe and sound,
As the night spun around.
Safe and sound,
Tucked in bed, love all around.
Safe and sound,
Your little head in the cloud.
Safe and sound,
You can dream and scream aloud.
Safe and sound,
Turn around, cos the boogie man's only in your mind.
You're safe and sound.

A wander, canter, gallop or trot,
Your body becomes one with the horse.
As new movements pulse, pain is forgot;
Nature’s beauty relieves pain from the source.

Silence replaces the busyness of life,
The trees sound out their own tune.
Animals show us how to live,
And their movement illuminates how we can thrive.

What would Barbi wear,
If she went to Church?
Would it be white?
Would it be a modern mini
skirt, or would it be a pantsuit?
Could she be the new high priestess,
or would she be relegated to the sinners
confession box to cast all cares?
Or would she be Hillsong's worship
redeemer, belting out blessed
croons to lull our sins'
anxiety-inducing tunes?
It would be a shimmering
rainbow-sequenced number
flowing with loving kindness.
Maybe Barbi could save the Church,
elevating it to a new perch.

squeals of delight
float out across the horizon
from children in the houses
nearby.

then, cries of fight
follow after they tear open
treasures, discard disappointment
feebly.

many will gather day and night
full bellies will ensue,
then ambivalent skumber,
mixed tearily.