People say things like:
Where did that time go?
Things are moving so fast...
and it's true, and they are,
but when you're in the moment
they're not. It is only when
you look back or look in the mirror,
that you notice time has truly passed,
and you see the grey hairs;
and exclaim: "Oh, I am old now!"

I surrender.
The wars of my ego,
Exhaust me.
I look back
And remember victory,
Because looking forward
Just seems like fantasy.
What is this state of being, exile?!
Life, call me back.
Help me, plant my hope again.

you are my defender,
I don't need a pretender,
you hold the lock and key,
to my heart; set me free,
from the misogyny.

I don’t feel seen,
which he doesn’t mean,
he just doesn’t know,
how his pain affects me so.
Nurtured by a narcissist, he bleeds
his pain all over us without knowing his greed.
As his air dries up, he uses it not to love,
but to slip subliminal slime:
I am never enough.

hungover...
from tiredness,
sleepless as I lay in weight,
heavy heart, blurry brain;
a complete mess.
brittle bones, dull tones, life lost,
courage scattered from the night before.
Trying to remember, "I am not less!"
One way to get unstuck,
own your truth, not give a f@#k,
and be gentleness,
to myself and all around,
which is the most profound
of this journey, I profess.
it's not over.
.
.
.
It's just begun!

I’m calling you back deep, dear one.
Deep, into the fullness of love.
Unceasing. Deep work has begun,
Everlasting, freedom-flying dove.

I am enough,
I am tough,
I won’t lay down without a fight,
I am bright,
And if you don’t stop, I’m going to get rough!

You are nothing,
You are smothering,
You try to spread lies,
To make me panic and cry.
You think you're big, but I know the One who is enduring.

So I look to Him,
Breaths calm, anxiety falls back from the brim,
I can change,
I will focus on the feelings that don’t feel strange,
But on the One deep within.

I try and I try; pressing down, running it under hot water, squeezing until I cry,
But alas I am a magician with no tricks left; a poet with no sentences to string; an armless mannequin.
As Abraham did, I ventured outward bound, to a land of strong-armed jar-openers, who of it can be said? Who can be found? I need me a husband?!
I knocked and I knocked;  no answer sound, but a stranger stepped forth; his arms weren't big but his mouth wide and he opened the jar, I smiled.

How sad? that my initial thought,
When I saw a man in church,
Lead youth out, was: how creepy!
I’m sure he is lovely, but even his looks
Made me lurch,
within myself, and yell: it’s not safe!
This distorted world robs innocence,
Smashes precious platforms and
Hijacks joy.
How do we restore this;
Elevate hope again?
All I have are questions, no answers.
How can we better love ourselves and one another?
How can we extend compassion?
It starts with ourselves!

Does creativity require an audience?
Or is it just ok to be?
I ask this to the Master for concordance,
Because I want to learn how to see.
Your intention behind creating us,
And how You made me?
I feel You’re ok with my questions, thus
I’ll keep asking till the curiosities flee.
Please help me channel this inner drive,
For answers, peace and intimacy.   
How can we harness,
And share Your revelations purposely?
For lives saved, inflictions healed,
And eyes fixed Heavenly.

Someone who lives authentically, their true self,
Unafraid of what people think.

I used to think,
Joy was the absence of sadness;
Of fear, suffering, and
Fault.
But now,
I see joy as
Embracing pleasures in the pain;
The simple and sublime,
The now and not yet.

In five seven five
We watch the wave reach the shore
And watch it tumble out.

How can we blindspot traumas and tragedies; wars?
But when consumed with ourselves,
our daily ‘stories’ and chores
We take our eyes off the sacred,
on to the trivial, but today they’re on Yours.
We remember the lives lost in conflict;
Lives lost in efforts for peace.
We remember and our praise we do not restrict!
I tremble at the thought of 40+ wars
Currently raging around the world at large,
May peace and forgiveness conquer despite our many collective flaws.

Old Stanley pub,
Known around here for its blues
And delicious grub.
Fueled by blanc De blanc,
Makes you sway 
Infused by all intoxicating effects,
as the croons slay.

In a world of instants, waiting is foreign —
We’ve succeeded in drawing everyone together to our detriment,
That we’re never alone.
Loneliness is feared, rather than embraced,
Draw nearer to the One our heart is longing —

When we wait, we wonder and wander,
This is the place, our heart we discover.
Anxiously, we busy,
Rather than sit, reflect on the other.

We can transcend this moment in time,
Waiting seems like a block, something avoided, rather than embraced as mine.
In this space, we’re not gender or race,
But a being, alive and fine.

Quietly the unheard voice from within,
Speaks, giving you true meaning.
From here creativity is born;
New ways of seeing draws in.

Curiosity can play; dance, sing, build,
In this posture creativity is filled,
Down falls the scales from our eyes,
In this space anxiety is stilled.

When we wait we are dependent, and free,
Eyes are opened and they really see,
The cracks and flaws, the misgivings and discomfort,
But also the beauty and uniqueness; which is me.

Twitches, goose pimples (bumps),
shivers and hot and cold flushes,
Body, you are speaking to me.
I hear you.
I notice you.
I encourage you to talk;
Tell your story.
Discharge all your anxiety,
Release all your rage,
Unfreeze all your fear,
With me, you are free,
My container is cosmic now,
I have matured, I have calmed,
I am listening.
I am trusting.
You can be free to feel,
So share.
I welcome you.

the smell of freshly cut grass;
so infamous that companies
have tried to bottle it a mass
but it doesn't include the many
mud, smashed sticks, twigs
insect bits, that accumulate
and get thrown in the trash.
the smell of success!

I just overheard,
A gentleman slip out casually:
“We all have our secrets…” And I paused,
Self-reflectingly,
“Yes, i’spose we do…”

Deep darkness, despair.
How could you know, you’re not there?
Empty mind I crave,
But constant chatter takes me to the grave.

Fleeing, running; working, studying, drugs, and stuff,
Distractions from revelation; I am enough.
Progress is prized; the final nail,
We need true clarity; the holy grail.

Opening out and up to the mystery unknown,
Here, flourishing can become our own.
Insights of the true us,
Found when there’s nothing, no sound, no ***...

Embracing loneliness can be the pearl sought,
Moving away from things ought,
Turning to the unknown,
Is where true dreams are sewn.

And it died.
I didn't realise trees
needed watering,
but they do.
It's silly to think,
how I didn't understand this,
I mean, the garden looked so green
from all the rainwater,
but there it is,
my dead tree,
at the top of my garden;
and we all pay homage to it,
now dead.
Is that the same with other losses?
Friendships and marriages?
Jobs, possessions, conflicts and disparages?

Morning rises with a misty mirage
welcoming the brittle breeze,
Knowing the stiff chills could stifle life
and courage before it receives
The promise of warmth to wear down
The freeze; worries and self-protection, reprieve?
to grow again; try again
Believe.

poetry percolates
in the unconscious
waiting for a triggered start.

poetry then lays dormant in the body
until it's ready to surface
in the heart.

Holy Spirit
You bring everything back to life.
You are life,
I can hope in you.
Extinguish darkness.
Drown out the lies.
Be the continual thread,
That leads me back to thee.

Poems pepper every waking wonder,
all peccadillos are fodder,
for poetry potting mix.
Perfectionism once the precipice,
although still my poking stick,
creativity is my ignition, really revs my engine,
and, I hope will burn brighter.
Poems take me away, far far away,
to a world so wonderful,
I wake up thinking of no other.

With a roll of an English tongue
We pay tribute
to Maggie Smith, from Downton.
She was a rare breed,
The last of the ton
Playing around with Harry
And in a dear Sister Act a nun!
Bravo old Dame,
your efforts were not in vain!

When one quietens, life speaks.
In silence, the volume turns up on that which we are too busy to hear: birds bleeping, frogs frothing, lambs leaping and the wind whispering in our ears; the
Soul booms: remember me, I'm all you truly have
Listen.

Comparing is...
Having your eyes blinded to
The reality of who you are,
Really.
Reality is stark; it holds no glamour, but
A life well lived holds the tensions of
Reality.
Hand-in-hand the joy in the pain,
The reality that this is life,
This is what we’ve been called to live;
Loneliness in the ordinary,
Joy in the pain of the everyday.
This is life.

What am I beyond my industry?
Are we not building another Babel?
We babble on beyond comprehension, big-noting ourselves into oblivion,
in an attempt to reclaim the lost,
Our lost selves...
Could the career path lead us back to ourselves? Beyond ourselves?
To our true selves?
To be selfless, seeing others in loving kindness?

verse after verse I rehearse
my inner world,
growing courage to discourage,
the lies that try to strangle
my dreams
of becoming the girl
You believed in, to breathe in.

Opportunity after opportunity
some could say leads to discontinuity
or spontaneity?
Can it lead to deity?
Frailty surely will come,
But we can spark that with
originality?!
Frivolity can be a gateway,
To birthing new possibility.
Imagine the ingenuity!

You’re not going to make it,
You can’t,
You won’t.
Give up.
The expectations are too high,
You'll have to fake it!
Come back down to earth.
The ego taunts me with dreams,
And I feign interest by capturing their record.
But why bother?
What will they amount to?

Remember when,
You provided.
Even when,
I didn't know,
You delighted
in me, so.