Tag Archives: poetry

Sometimes

Do you ever feel so bad about yourself that you can’t fathom that great things could happen? You don’t believe in yourself. You forget all the good that you do.

Sometimes.

You close yourself off to all the love that surrounds you. You compare yourself unfavourably to others and see everyone else as confident, successful, flourishing…

You focus on the negatives. You spot rejection, failure and disappointment in every comment, action and imagination.

Sometimes.

You push loved ones away then hate yourself more for doing so. For self-destructively banishing what you crave: love, care and affection.

They try to love you. They offer you acceptance. But deep down, you’re never going to measure up or be worthy of their naive loving of you.

You shut down the love. You silence the laughter. You dare not believe in your potential. It frightens you.

You sob. You cry. You let go. You open up. You let him in.

Sometimes.

A smile breaks through. You can’t help but laugh. He’s so good.

He sees the best in you. You want to be that person. And one day, as you sip on a coffee in the afterglow of his presence, you realise that you are.

You are that bouncing, brave, beautiful person that he admires. But you block yourself.

Sometimes.

You think thoughts and you believe them. You identify with the bad.

You stop dancing. You don’t feel the music. You forget who you are. You exist but you cease living.

Sometimes.

While the real you simmers patiently beneath. Always there. Waiting for you to shake off the shackles and rejoin the dance.

Ready to roar in perfection. And smile and love and shine. And be free.

He loves you because finally you remember that you love you. You just don’t believe it.

Sometimes.

Image: Author's Own

Image: Author’s Own

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Laugh Yer Ass Off

Yesterday, I took part in teaching a class. I prepared what I would speak about, dressed up for the occasion, and delivered my presentation. I received excellent feedback and felt I was behaving quite professionally.

After the lunch break, everybody was sitting and waiting for class to resume. I sat down and, right in front of everyone, I fell right through the chair, landing on my ass. We all laughed, my cheeks reddened (the ones on my face!) and we continued on.

As I sat there, trying not to guffaw, I realised that this was a hilarious lesson on not taking myself too seriously. I’d had an emotional week and I’d been feeling tired and fed up. It all felt like hard work. But I was proud of myself for getting through it and doing my best. And then I fell, bum in the air, in front of a room full of people.

Last night, I drank a glass of wine with my mother, watched ridiculous YouTube clips with my sister, and smashed open a coconut like I used to as a child on Hallowe’en. I slept in my childhood bed and didn’t get up until almost midday, skipping an all-day workshop that I could have attended.

If yesterday’s incident has taught me anything, it’s that I need to lighten up, have fun and enjoy life for what it is, instead of attempting to control everything and be perfect.

The funny thing is that, even if I do wind up bum in the air in front of everyone, we can all laugh about it, and the show still goes on.

keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk

The Power of One

One song can spark a moment,
One flower can wake the dream.
One tree can start a forest,
One bird can herald spring.
One smile begins a friendship,
One handclasp lifts a soul.
One star can guide a ship at sea,
One word can frame the goal.
One vote can change a nation,
One sunbeam lights a room.
One candle wipes out darkness,
One laugh will conquer gloom.
One step must start each journey,
One word must start each prayer.
One hope will raise our spirits,
One touch can show you care.
One voice can speak with wisdom,
One heart can know what’s true.
One life can make the difference,
You see, it’s up to you….

~ Author Unknown

google.ie

google.ie

Reincarnation

Here’s one of my poems that my aunt read at the coffee morning yesterday…

 

Reincarnation

Discarded

in the hard concrete elbow

that joins kerbside and road

pink cherry blossoms

exhaling forlorn

their once striking complexions

tainted with grey.

Maybe in minutes

a light summer breeze

will entice them to

rise in unison

with the sigh of the wind

like the hollow blow of a flute.

They’ll shake off their ashes

and revive all their passion

as they fly between sunbeams

these light fuchsia angels.

Poetry

My aunt was asked to read a poem at a coffee morning this Monday so she phoned me looking for a few of mine to choose from. As I transcribed some of my words, I remembered the utter joy of poetry. Here’s one I wrote a few years ago…

The Catcher

Give her beauty and passion

and she sparks into flight

like a butterfly on acid

throwing light with her wings.

Oh how she casts rainbows

in the tears that spill

and plucks golden harps

of melodious laughter.

Her fires blaze in the hot eyes

of a fervent lover

while pleasure drops in sweat

like pearls.

She lurks amongst the Autumn leaves

gurgles in a virgin stream and

leaps off purple mountain peaks.

I see her fall with the whispering mists

and rise on the coin of sunshine.

Dizzily spinning beside moon and stars,

her silhouette rides angry clouds

that rage against the tranquil skies.

She swoops through many foreign lands

stealing romance and sweet aromas

then feeds me words not yet understood.

Forever roaming the ocean

glancing at corners

urgently probing for

just one sliver of poetry

to cover the silence

of this naked page

and awaken the butterflies

so I don’t plunge

into darkness.

weheartit.com

weheartit.com

I’ve stopped running

Strip away all the bullshit

Layers and barriers

Walls of stone

Move away move away

 

I longed to be on my own

Damning the light

Because

I felt damned

Shunned

But I did the shunning

The shutting

Afraid to live

I just wanted to feel safe

But it was silent and cold

Scared of the flames

I became lifeless

Glassy

Lost so lost

But always one tiny glimmer

A flicker a glinting a beckoning

And so I returned

Passion and fun

Only to disappear again

And again

Drowning

 Shivering

Weak

Comparing and hating

Myself

Never knowing who

Or what

I really was

Crying and muting

Stalling and running

Hiding

Alone

  

Better not to utter a word

Never admit it

Not worthy until I felt better

Part of it

Human

Alive

The world doesn’t want red-rimmed eyes

Dark shadows and frowning lips

They only want smiles and laughter

Success and stories

I’m sorry

It’s all bullshit 

Who’s really here?

Who?

Who really gives themselves?

Who dares to stand in truth and presence?

Where’s that connection?

  

I’m ready to meet you

And really embrace you

Because I’ve cracked and broken

I’m coming in

Open

It’s lonely over here

Isn’t this what I asked for

Every time I retreated?

Don’t get too close

Here was where I was racing

Always running away

Or running towards

I’ve stopped running

So I can finally see

Whether they give themselves or not

Here or not

Is it true?

What is real?

I see

Love

All around and everywhere

It is

I am here now

I am here

I am

Now

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Am I Only Dreaming?

Why is dreaming big so frowned upon? When a child announces that he’s going to be a dancer, his parents and teachers hope he’ll grow out of it. Why is it more acceptable to say you want to be a doctor or a teacher, rather than a playwright or a photographer?

Simple. It’s because the people who care about you want to protect you from disappointment and hardship. Because your talent, no matter how much you and your loved ones appreciate it, might not be to everyone’s taste. Because so few people blessed / cursed with creativity “make it”. Because “struggling” is the most common adjective to describe “artist” or “actor” or “writer”. Because they want you to be safe and get a “real” job – one that comes with a company car and a pension. So, you’re advised to just be realistic.

But what’s realistic is acknowledging your gifts and doing something with them. What’s realistic is at least giving it a shot. What’s realistic is wanting to live a happy life doing something you’re passionate about.

Of course, it’s easier to live a normal life. Sharing your creativity means baring your soul. It means lifting the comfortable veil that most of us wear. There can be no secrets when you allow others to glimpse the depths of your emotion, the shades of your pain, the hidden creases of your heart, and the crevices of your imagination.

Sadly, many people don’t even try to pursue their passion. They know they’ve got something special but they’ve given up on it before they’ve even started. Or they’ve never had the time or space to explore their creativity. There are too many bored secretaries, frustrated sales reps and depressed accountants. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not condemning these occupations. Creativity manifests in many forms. I’d just hope that if you work at one of these professions, it’s because order or commerce or numbers are your passion. And if not, that you’d at least humour your creative side on the weekends.

Without dreamers, the world would be a very dull place. We would never have even heard of music, poetry, theatre or literature. If nobody took a chance on their dreams, there would be no Harry Potter or Bilbo Baggins, Dracula or Holly Golightly. We wouldn’t be able to talk on the phone or fly to another continent. Andrea Bocelli would be just another blind Italian. And we wouldn’t have the likes of this. 

Or this.

Starry Night - Vincent van Gogh

Or this. 

Featured Image: Painting by Georgia O’Keeffe – http://www.artchive.com/artchive/O/okeefe.html

Other Images: http://www.flickr.com/photos/amandamabel/5597604359/;

http://www.arthistoryguide.com/Vincent_van_Gogh.aspx