Seed

Sometimes,
I feel like a seed.
A potential inert,
A possibility to succeed.
So just put me in the dirt
And give me what I need.
How else can I avert?
How else can I exceed?

Other times,
I feel hurt.
Just a societal weed.
A potential victim on alert,
Nurtured only when I bleed.
I don’t mean to be curt,
How else can I plead?
How else can I divert?
How else can I be freed?

I am the hurt seed, the weed that’s only freed by the blood that it bleeds. Put into the dirt just wishing to exceed. Inert without encouragement, unable to succeed. Thus, I plead; Be alert to my need. Don’t divert or think me curt, I just want to succeed.

So just bury me
And perhaps this seed
Will grow
Into a weed.

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This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

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

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This poem is inspired by the book, ‘How To Write Evocative Poetry’.

You can read some chapters from the book, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.

Writing Therapy

Writing Therapy.

Just words on a page,
Or something more?

The page listens,
The page absorbs,
The page doesn’t judge.

The page can be discarded,
The page can be shared,
The page can be reread.

The act of writing heals.

It pulls the demons out.
It exposes them to the light.
It reveals them for what they are.

Fabrication.
Rumination.
Improbability.
Regret.

The act of writing instructs.

It informs our current state.
Shows our inner workings.
Forces us to be precise.

After writing comes the review.
By looking back we see the truth.

Of how far we’ve come.
Of our varied and ever changing moods.
Of different aspects of ourselves.

We see that we are more complex than our current mental state can possibly comprehend.

So write.

Write without judgement. Without pause for grammar or spelling. Without thoughts of what is appropriate or right. Without care for its readability. Without concern for the judgement of others.

It is the act of writing that counts, not the quality that you produce.

No one has to see it.

So just write.

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

Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, or Audiobook.