The Cave

Once
When I was a young boy
You yelled at me

Objectively
It wasn’t much
But it was enough

That night
I built a cave
Inside my mind

One that overlooked
A lake
Whose water
Perfectly reflected
The beauty
Of the nature
That surrounded it

The cave was secret
And strong
And safe

The lake was still
And soft
And serene

I quickly learnt
To hide in that cave
And to gaze upon the water of the lake
Loosing myself
In the reflection
Of a false reality
Made real
By fear

You never yelled at me again
In fact
We never really spoke
At least
Not about anything that mattered

As you pulled away from me
I found solace
Sitting in the cave
Whose creation you inspired

I’d look at the lake
Wishing
You’d appear
Wishing you would
Say
‘Son, won’t you come swim with me?’

But you never came

Later
When I left home
You didn’t fight for me
You didn’t speak or even acknowledge
My absence

But you did leave a mark on my mind

That cave
Is now haunted
By the silent screams
Of the words
You left unsaid

And that lake
Still has ripples
From the rocks
We never thew
Together

The beauty of nature is obscured
By your indifference

And
I no longer
Have anywhere safe
To hide

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If this poem has resonated with you, I would love your support.

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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.

Sad Zac is Sad

Sad Zac is sad
He’s feeling bad
He’s feeling like he’s been had
That the times he was glad
And feeling rad
Were in fact just a fad

As a wee lad
Sad Zac couldn’t relate to any comrade
He was bullied by Chad
Crying, he asked advice from his dad
‘Just punch his face a tad’
Lesson learnt, fists make a nomad
Add one tick to the notepad
No one approaches the battle clad
No one threatens the mad

Sad Zac is sad
Remembering his dad
Remembering him before he was mad
Rereading the notepad
Reminiscing of the success had
Ruminating on his advice to play mad
And embodying it as a personality pad

Sad Zac now fears the nomad
And trains daily for a fight he’s not yet had
Fear of the footpad wielding a doodad
Has grown into fear of every comrade
‘Where is the rest of the advice, dad?’
‘How can I avoid also going mad?’
‘What can I do to stay feeling glad?’
‘Who can I turn to now that you’re just a notepad?’

Sad Zac is still sad
But also a tad glad
Because putting these thoughts on this notepad
Has alleviated some of the mad
He still feels bad
But writing has healed some of his inner lad

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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.

Dad

What thoughts
Are confined
In the vault
Of your mind?

Why
Don’t you speak
And share
What you think?

I don’t know
Who you are
Beyond what
I can see

And what I can see
Is that you
Clearly
Have no time for me

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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.

Notice Me

I want you
To notice me.

Not for what I have done.
Not for the money I’ve made.
Not even for my art.

No.
I want you to notice me.

Me.

The man behind the artifice.
The man behind the smile.
The man behind the mask.

The man writing these words,
Knowing full well that you will never see them.

The man waiting for change,
Knowing full well that you are stuck in your ways.

The man who’s desperately seeking acknowledgement from a dry well. 

I want you
To notice me.

But I know you won’t.

How could you?

You, who was never there.
You, who looked the other way.
You, who set impossible standards.

You, who never wanted anything to do with me.

Isn’t it funny that despite all of this,
I still want you
To notice me?

Notice me.

Me.

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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.

Why?

Why does it feel like I’m all alone?
Like my house isn’t my home,
Like I’m running from the unknown?

Why does it feel like it shouldn’t be this way?
Like my nerves are on display,
Like I’m living as prey?

Why does it feel like my mind’s full of trash?
Like my intentions are ash,
Like I’m hoarding my father’s stash?

Why does it feel like I’m under attack?
Like my actions lack,
Like I’m waiting for a smack?

Why does it feel like it will never end?
Like my words offend,
Like I’m expected to pretend?

Why does it feel like everyone is lying?
Like my dreams are dying,
Like I’m only supported when crying?

Why does it feel like these words aren’t enough?
Like my life isn’t so rough,
Like I’m creating demons from fluff?

Why does it feel like I’m a total fraud?
Like my soul just wants you to applaud,
Like I’m fundamentally flawed?

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This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.

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