Category Archives: Poetry

Life of Sin

In this life full of sin

There is no one way

Journey

no one way road

that one can travel

especially alone.

If one does

they will soon realise

how futile their footsteps are

like any imprint or

work of art on sand

or even out of sand,

that is temporary.

It is temporary

A fleeting thought

A has-been.

Someone who looks at the sky

and scrunches their face

at the clouds formations.

They will pass almost

as quickly

as you

so make sure your companions

on this equally as fraught road

are as aware as you.

Perhaps show them

these set of lines

in hopes that it’ll

have a profound effect

on them

as it did to the person

who pieced these words

together in order

to form a semblance of

thought.

An idea that did

not guarantee the

“success”

of the person who wrote

this

yet gave them a fighting chance.

In this life of Sin

there is no set path

so make sure your thoughts

are as Sturdy as

the rocks you place your feet on.

Because when they sink

so does your head

the vessel that kept

your thoughts

afloat.

An Uncoloured World

The colouring pencil in his hand

looked new.

The colour didn’t matter.

He lay there

figuring out which part of the Globe

to paint next.

He scratched his head

He had to be sure

Whatever he filled in the next needed to be right

The right portion of the world

himself

another culture

another hobby

he wanted to understand

to learn

to discover

because that is life

at least his life

One that was currently in need

of a new pencil

and not a new holder

a common misunderstanding

but a drastic one.

Afterall

he was the only one who

could hold the pencil.

Otherwise he would never

recognise the world he had coloured.

Trapped Outside a Water Well

I have a lot

of love

to show this world

and the various

moving pieces

that Crawl its surface

but sometimes I can’t

tap into it

Staring into a Well

that I know

that I can see

is full of water

but I cannot access it.

My mind simply does not

want me to

and neither does my body.

I reach a hand out

only to watch my fingers

pass through it

droplets  trickling off my

once dry fingers

with only the occasional

spec of water to prove

the Wells existence.

I look down in dismay

only for someone

to tap me on the shoulder

a friendly face

a warm smile

and what seems like a

spec of hope

more abstract that

than the droplets that

ran off my hand earlier

yet so much more tangible.

A warmth so present

I can feel it against my skin.

A future of feelings

made possible once again.

The Life of a Hand

An extended hand
So small
Yet ready to grow
Eagerly awaiting another to join
To fill it’s clasp with another
Warm and loving
Full of age and wisdom
Lessons for future situations
Wanting what’s best for
Those five fingers and palm
Suspended in the air.
As times gone by
That hand has felt
Numerous other things
And feelings
Interlocking fingers with your first love
Tying your hair back for another day at school
Holding that lipstick your mother
Told you you were too young for
Holding the pen you used to write in
Your diary
A collection of hand movements
Ordered by the mind.
And now it lays their
Still in motion
As you fall asleep
Centimeters away from
A hold you adore
A hold that makes your feel safe
And lets you forget the edges of your vision
For what seems like a forever
That once new soft hand
Rugged with memories of
Pain and love
Lust and loss
That hand once again extended
Knowing the world
And the person
It hopes to join.

The Beach that Moved Me

Painting from the Netflix TV Series The Maid

I danced on the beach

the sand beneath

providing a familiar warmth

a residing sign of the

sun’s presence

the wind held my hand

and flicked through my hair

like my parents looking

through a photo album

trying to reconcile faded

memories

in a still so colourful mind.

No one else stood by

Or sat for that matter

I knew I was dancing

simply by the rhythmic shuffling

of my feet.

A vast blue ocean

danced alongside me

its waves doing the

salsa

or was it the flamenco?

I could never tell the difference.

I was alone

yet equally accompanied

by the positive thoughts

that echoed throughout my body

I was home again.

Wearing Nike’s to a Museum

Wearing Nikes to a museum

Is different to

wearing Nikes in a museum

a conscious effort

to contrast the old

with the new.

It’s like taking a piece

of fruit

into a supermarket.

All the other pieces of fruit

Stacked or mounted on shelves

gaze at the object in your

hand in despair.

Much like a painting looks

At your feet in anguish

The beckoning swoosh

comfortable against the rigid backdrop

Similar to how an old heart

welcomes the cries of a new born baby

as a form of self-expression

a mind full of intrigue

deciphering the colours and shapes

of a once black and White World.

In memory of Virgil Abloh.

Forward

Running forward

forever getting faster

people, memories

fading behind you

blurs of the past.

An old version of yourself

Looks on as you get smaller

and smaller.

Until you’re almost unrecognisable.

But that’s his view.

A sharp picture in the distance

getting clearer as you take each step.

The ground below

sometimes uneven

yet your feet stay strong

assuring yourself as you plant

a part of you into a new part of the world.

It seemed so big at first

not daunting

just large.

the world gets smaller as you grow

each corner becomes more reachable

a feeling once abstract

now tangible.

Keep moving

Leaving the troubles of that unforgiving world

Behind.

Birds in a Field

Together we feel safe

A blanket of white

Tucked softly over a grass field

All safe in thought

Until someone breaks off in angst.

That’s life

One moment you’re safe and warm

And the next you’re fleeing

Running next to those who you thought

Were just as secure as you.

Free fall is fun

You get to learn most about

yourself when you’re falling.

Flying is like falling sideways

You still have the feeling of wind

between your feathers

but you just don’t know you’re

Still headed towards your death.

The Seagull

You’re confused

This isn’t your usual surrounding

Where are the waves

Where’s your blurry reflection

No life below

Not life that you would recognise

Or at least want to

Gliding effortlessly as ever

In a space that isn’t yours

You follow a route

Made to lead some where

But equally no where

No longer vast

Or expansive

And limitless

You choose a journey dictated for you.

You should have stayed

But perhaps an experience awaits

One that involves growth

Even if it isn’t right for you.

So keep moving,

Gliding

Even if where you’re headed

Will lead you

No where.