Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly

If I was to die, would you cry?
Would you look up at the sky and scream why?
Would you lament being shy for not asking after I?

Please do not deny.

Just know that I am forgetting my why.
You don’t need to be a spy to see that I don’t have the energy to try.
Truth is, I’ve barely enough to sigh.
No longer spry, no longer able to apply, no longer able to fly.
How can I amplify? How can I stay wry? How can I make that pie?
I’m just a lonely guy, trying to imply the need for you to reply.

Perhaps I need to demystify before I say goodbye.
Perhaps I need to clarify before I horrify.
Perhaps I need to verify before I falsify with this note left to justify the lullaby.

Don’t worry. These words are a lie, just a sly attempt to identify.
Just an attempt to pre-emptively reclassify when you turn a blind eye.
Just an attempt to declassify and diversify the constant misapply.
Just an attempt to edify you on the thoughts that multiply, the need to certify, the ennui.

I see how others get by. They gratify and deify; they codify and fortify. Believing that the Mystify will specify how they should diversify.

But not me.

I can’t believe that rallying cry.
Life has no retry.
Just a constant attempt to scrape by under a dark sky.
Just a vain attempt to signify.
Just cause and effect bound to the wings of a butterfly. 

---

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.

Birdsong

waking up
to bitter coffee
and a birdsong

breath visible
in the crisp morning air
attention turns inward
finding nothing

---

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.

Behind A Smile Lies Darkness

Looks can be deceiving,
Behind a smile lies darkness,
An illness invisible.

Laughing through sorrow,
Acting through pain,
Lying to survive.

Learning to pretend,
Saying the right words,
Diverting attention.

I’m fine.
I’m just tired.
It’s nothing.
Don’t worry.
I’ve got this.
It’ll pass.

Self imposed exile,
Hiding from the world,
Hiding from myself.

Time to think,
Time to regret.
Time to practice my smile.

---

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.

Stoner

He’s a stoner
Just a loner
With a boner
An emotional blur
When he thinks of her

He thinks of a slur
And begins to infer
Drinks some liquor
And speaks to a monsieur
An owner
In order to procure
A girl to conquer

He sees her
All demure
His loins stir
But he’s an amateur
And she’s mature
An enticing whisperer
A bodily entrepreneur
She winks and purrs

He wants what will occur
But is terrified of the transfer
His thoughts whirr
And he becomes his own saboteur
His manhood fails to stir

Just a limp stoner
Thinking once more
Of her

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Kink, Volume 2’

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

Wrist Locks From Guard

I used to have friends,
Then I broke their wrists.
Playing this game from bottom,
Of pain I did insist.

First I hunted their legs,
Then focused on their hands,
After me they can no longer push,
No longer grab, or walk or stand.

Some say it’s dirty,
But I tend to disagree,
Grab whatever sub you can,
Like it’s on sale, bargain bin free!

Yes people will not enjoy it,
They may yell, cry and complain,
Saying you are being cheap,
Taking the name of Jiu Jitsu in vain.

But they just got subbed,
A victory I just earned,
So hide your hands baby
It’s a lesson you just learned.

So come to the dark side,
The techniques aren’t that dodgy,
Just ask yourself,
Why are you ignoring 4% of the body?

---

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.

Memories Compress

Memories compress,
In the recess of the mind.
Thoughts confined,
By the passing of time.

A shine dedicated
To a past divine.
The horrors expressed
So totally mine.

Waiting untouched,
A defensive confine.
Dissociated reality,
A false sublime.

Seen from above,
I’m left in a bind.
A fist is raised,
Told to stay in line.

Flashes of vision,
Pain a bright shine.
A hollow city,
Dysfunctional and blind.

Memory as a curse,
A picture of crime.
Cause and effect,
We’re both doing time.

It’s all guess work,
Just a twisted game,
Played against the self,
On the battleground of shame.

I don’t know much,
My brain is maimed.
Functional enough
To get itself tamed.

Forever questioning,
Looking to blame.
No way to win,
Just playing the game.

Victory is simple,
Just stave off dying.
Survive the day,
Then breakdown crying.

Because memories compress,
Forgotten with time.
Until you’re stupid enough,
To open your mind.

---

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.

Back To Scrolling

Mindless scrolling
Looking for validation online
Filling the time
Filling the void

Someone just liked my post
Fleeting happiness

Back to scrolling
Change apps
Scrolling again
Change apps back

Another like, but not from someone I like

I’m offended
Comment
I’m offended
Share

I wonder what she’s doing?
Damn, she’s still happy with him

Food as art
Bodies as art
Life as art
How unattainable
I’m jealous

You have memories from seven years ago
Cringe

10 things you won’t believe
10 times they got it wrong
10 posts to distract you from your own existence

Screen time report
Usage up from last week

Porn
Porn
Porn
Shame
Close all open tabs
Delete the latest hour

Half formed thought
Tweet
OMG, a retweet!
Just a bot

Bad news
More bad news
Memes about the news
Memes about memes
Sharing memes

I should work
Scroll
I should clean
Scroll
I should exercise
Scroll
I need to sleep
Scroll

Check one app
Check another
Check a third app
Recheck the first

Back to scrolling

---

Read another poem from Bound to the Wings of a Butterfly
Out now: eBook, paperback, hardcover and audio book.

Give It A Look

I’ve just released a new poetry book,
If you like my work, please give it a look.

It’s dark and edgy, full of adult themes,
It’s an exploration of reality, where nothing’s as it seems.

It’s a product of years of writing to heal,
If you’re a mental health buddy it will certainly appeal.

Also if you want some sharp social commentary,
Or if you’re looking for content that’s existentially scary.

Or if you want to see unique ways to twist a rhyme,
Or poetry so good it will seem like a crime.

Or an in-depth look at the depths of humanity,
Or joy, love, and dark depravity.

Or if you’re just looking for something new,
Then do I have the perfect idea for you.

Please considering giving my book a buy,
It’s called, ‘Bound to the Wings of a Butterfly’

Read it on paperback, hardcover, eBook or audio,
However you like, it’s ready to go!

---

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.

On The Brink

I’m on the brink,
I’m out of sync,
I need time to think.

To catch the link
Between the words I speak
To my shrink,
And my kink,
And the thoughts I drown in drink.

I’m gonna get some new ink,
A new vice in which to sink,
A new way to link,
A new way to rethink,
The chink in my personality stink
And my inability to stay in sync.

---

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.

Plague Rat

I am a plague rat
A covid cat
A diseased gnat

My lineage?

The OG bat
That went splat
In the mouth
Of some pratt

Or perhaps it was a lab
Concocted by a Chinese bureaucrat
Or an elite crooked hat
Or a corrupt diplomat
Or a Rockefeller kind of aristocrat
All as a part of some Illuminati format
To make the economy fall flat
Allowing the aliens to come take our habitat
While we chitchat in hazmat
Debating the origins of the fruit bat spat

Did I correctly read the online thermostat?
The stupidity of keyboard combat?
The multitudes of conspiracy tit for tat?

All I know is that I feel like chat
I gotta isolate with a seven day forced sabbat
With nothing new to look at
Other than Putin ignoring every Geneva caveat

Is he a Hitler copycat?
Will there be a successful coup d'etat?
Should I stockpile water and fat?

Truth is,
Worrying about would war three
is making my mind far more flat
than anything this disease brought to my doormat.

How about that?

---

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.

Atelophobia: The Fear Of Imperfection

The fear of imperfection.
The fear of not being good enough.

Crippling inaction.
Stuttered words.
No self-worth.

The fear of failure causing failure.
Not inability, talent or a lack of opportunity.

Just fear.
Just anxiety.
Just unattainable standards.

Standards put upon by myself.
Standards forced upon me by the world.

Others can fail.
Others can be imperfect.
Others can have fun.

Just stop.
Please don’t placate me.

I know ‘no one cares about that stuff’.
I know ‘we all make mistakes’.
I know ‘I’m only human’.

Reason doesn’t stop the thoughts.
By definition a phobia is illogical.

My only solace comes from the diagnosis.
Knowing that I am not alone.
Perfectly imperfect, together.

---

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.

Angry

i’m angry
at you
for not being
more
like me

---

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.

Adulting, Would Not Recommend

Adulting, would not recommend.
There’s just too damn much to comprehend.
Work, work, work, work, no time for my friend.
Now look at that, my life’s about to end.

I do not rate,
My current adult state,
Always running late,
Trying to put food on my plate.

Money, money, money, I never have enough.
Not for the rent, bills or any fun stuff.
There’s no wonder why we are all so gruff,
Yelling on the inter-webs, acting so tuff.

It’s just back pain,
And weight gain.

It’s rushing all day,
With no time to play.

It’s the not knowing,
Yet having to keep going.

It’s our parents’ lack of understanding,
Of what our world is actually demanding,
Of our real struggle to maintain our standing,
No chance to get ahead, no interest compounding.

Boomers think they know the score,
They’re just lucky to be born after the war.
A time of prosperity let their incomes soar,
Making them think there will always be more.

Criticising us with self-righteous impunity,
For squandering a ‘glorious opportunity’.
In a world of growing disunity,
How can they expect such immunity?

Thing is, we can’t fight back,
There is no true enemy to attack.

Just another generation protecting their own,
And yelling from the safety of their home.

Besides when would we have the time to fight?
The third job’s got us up all night.

Adulting, I would not recommend.
But please let’s no longer pretend,
That our problems are gonna magically mend,
By venting with an angry tweet send.

You could protest it on the street,
With the 99% speaking with their feet,
Or perhaps a BLM meet,
Yell, scream and hope to defeat.

But the problem is that they have the power,
They can wait a longer hour.
They can direct the tear gas shower,
With the riot police to make us cower.

Also did I mention, the world is warming?
There’s racist divisions and politicians performing.
Economic collapse from COVID’s storming,
And European war is transforming.

Too many problems to simultaneously comprehend,
Let alone act with any hope to end.
There’s no opportunity to transcend,
Only ways to further offend.

Adulting, would not recommend.

---

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.

A Flower

A flower blooms,
Its beauty unrecognised.
No depth, no feeling,
Only cold calculation, a knowing.

This is life without meaning,
Two-dimensional reality. Fact.

Who am I to deserve this?
Who am I not to?

The flower dies,
Its decay unrecognised.
Just another shade of grey,
Colouring this dull world.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Words On A Page’

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

New & Fancy

Hey there, I’ve made something new and fancy
It’s a poetry collection that’s raw and antsy
It’s words on a page for the bold and chancy
It’s sure to satisfy even my sycophancy
It’s writing to heal; practical emotional necromancy
It will transform your mind into a field of pansy

It’s called ‘Bound to the wings of a butterfly’, why don’t you give it a glancy?

Validate Them

If you’ve an artist in your life,
be they poet, painter, dancer, or designer,
validate them.

Praise them without ambiguity.
Pre-emptively clarify confusing compliments.

Hug them after they show you their creations,
because it’s then that they are most vulnerable.

Having shared their soul,
they stand before you raw,
silently begging for acceptance,
desperately hoping that they’ve done enough.

---

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.

Ah Putin

Ah Putin,
ya shoulda done some more computing,
before ya sent your troops a shooting.

Perhaps then they wouldn’t be a looting,
dumping equipment and substituting,
their tanks for feet and food troubleshooting.

I guess it’s easy to be all highfalutin,
when you’ve the power to be executing.

Twisting narratives and truth diluting,
using your nation for prostituting,
with personal gains from war prosecuting.

All the while Ukraine’s recruiting,
in every way they are refuting;
your whims and wishes and parachuting,
your soldiers are dead or are a routing,
your economy’s destroyed there’s no refuting.

Ah Putin,
I wish your rule to be a muting.
That means your death, or at least a booting,
from tzar to the grave, a desirable transmuting,
the only way to get to a future worth rooting.

---

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.

What Moves You?

What moves you?
What do you enjoy?
What do you wish existed?

What puts you into a state of flow?
What do you do for fun?
Focus your efforts there.

Money, fame and rewards may come.
How much is enough? Always more.

A fickle dream that can never be reached.
Thus, you will never be satisfied.
Instead, you should embrace the process.

Let your actions speak for themselves.
Let the art take center stage.
Open yourself to the muse.

Let it work through you.
Let it guide your hand and
Buttress you with self-imposed discipline.

Success is an internal state.
No level of external reward
Can replace your inner truth.

So have fun.
Lean into the projects that bring you joy.
Make your work another form of play.

---

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.

The Barrier

Everyone is talking,
Yet I can’t comprehend a thing.
I hear the words. See their lips move.
It falls on deaf ears. It makes no sense.
I nod and smile hoping to get it right.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

I hope that was correct, not that it matters.
I can’t empathise with their displeasure.
They all speak in fast-forward,
Gibberish and rhyme.
It’s hopeless. The entire message is lost on me.
From the gist, down to each subtle nuance.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

There is a barrier between us.
An invisible wall,
Filtering and coercing the message.
Are you talking to me?
What are you trying to say?
I put on my mask and begin to act.
It’s working, they believe me!
I’ve almost convinced myself.
Then they ask a question.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

I am perplexed at their every word.
There is no context, no reason, no flow.
They come to me for advice, seemingly
Wanting me to act and put on a show.
What are they asking?
Why would they ask me? How can I respond?
I try to understand.
I ask questions and give advice.
I hope this is what you are wanting.
I hope it’s what you need.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

Suddenly they are yelling at me,
Upset and displeased.
I can’t remember what I have done, or why
I’m wrong. I just know I am.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

I see disappointment and shame in their eyes.
How can I fix this? How can I make it better?
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
Attempting to explain is useless,
A waste of time.

I can’t understand them, nor they me.
I beg and plead as best I can,
Praying that they give me another chance.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.
‘Yes sir’, ‘No sir’, ‘Three bags full sir’.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Words On A Page’

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

The Precipice

I asked myself ‘Who am I?’
This is what came to me.
Then every moment of my life
Flashed before my eyes.
I was both watching it
And was the watching of it.
As I recognised each moment, it fell away.
Burnt into the fire of consciousness.
It was beautiful, terrifying, surreal.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘Words On A Page’

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