Experimental :: White

Bleached out, harsh albescent morning:
Bitter wind flattens inner growth
As the daffodils falter,
Spring ironed from their stems;
Crushed hope in winter’s hardened grip.

Too much else to think:
Mind shatters under pressure drop
Let me run away, wrap up
Warm and safe from decisions
Crushed by inability, no understanding.

Washed out, blank consciousness
Bitter apprehension, cold and fearful:
When the body will not rise, deformed
By rough, white contamination,
To little left to give.

Poetry Archive :: There Was No Glory

I’ve spent a lot of time in the last few weeks researching Art History: sculpture is an intrinsic part of man’s expression, from simple carving to increasingly sophisticated works of anatomical complexity and accuracy. It was this desire to record history in three dimensions that ultimately inspired this week’s haiku.

You can find my Art History series on Instagram by clicking here.

There Was No Glory

History, written
In stone across centuries:
Strong, solid stories.

All those deities
Religious diversity:
Bound by common theme.

Struggle to survive,
Wars and conflict: their reward,
Carved as testament.

There was no glory
At moment’s definition:
Simply quiet relief.

Lasting legacy,
Entropy not yet destroyed:
Victory, remains.

Poetry Archive :: Did it Again

It is becoming increasingly impressive how a poem written at the start of a week ends up as being more apposite than when first written. It is almost as if life is imitating art. In this case, this is a pretty accurate representation of the balancing act that takes place between my brain and body, and that the consequences of ignoring one for the other does end up having a physical affect on my life.

I think I might go have a nap after I’ve scheduled these poems.

Did It Again

Waking again before the dawn
With mind racing, ideas unborn:
Creative need inspires the soul,
But is not helping body’s whole.

This always happens, every time
Believing everything is fine,
My creativity demands
Physical cost, out of my hands.

For days the sleep I badly need
Is sacrificed, comfort concedes
Battle to my higher functions,
Causing physical malfunctions.

These bruises, bumps and scrapes attest
Physical status is oppressed:
No need now to co-ordinate,
Make use of brain, before too late.

When finally the moment’s passed
My body’s first request, when asked
Is not for exercise we skipped
But simply for a nice, long kip.

Poetry Archive :: Reflections

Yet again, this poem ended up far more personal and revealing than was first planned. It’s odd how that happens, that the generic starting point almost inevitably sublimates into something far more subjective. In this case, this poem ended up being the final poke required to make some much needed change in my personal life. This week has become hugely significant, and I’m cautiously optimistic looking forward that the next few months will be hugely positive in terms of change.

It probably helps too that spring is coming.


This critical look, mirror reflects my
Thousand tiny imperfections right back.
Harsh neon light, nothing for confidence
Exacerbating, inner fears attack.

However hard life gets, do not forget
Reality is larger than perceived.
Refractions merely part of complete whole
Perpetual truths much more than first believed.

There needs to be some time to look within
Constant desire to ponder, then define
Each change then slowly grasped and understood;
Gradual evolution over time.

Every instance offered will be taken
Fresh chance to reassess, refining still
Life a balancing act, seeking challenge
With focus on maintaining fortune’s thrill.

In the end, all I have is within me
Reflection’s gaze only real truth that’s known;
Let all that I am be the catalyst
Continuing consciousness nurtured, grown.


Poetry Archive :: What You See

As we are exploring the visual in this month’s content, it seemed only appropriate to have some personal musings on the nature of understanding and vision. As you get older, the obsession with what others think of you becomes progressively less important. There are far more significabt things to concern yourself with, after all, and in the next few weeks, I’ll be using that mindset to create both micropoetry and haiku.

What You See

Stop, not one more word
The point is missed: what you see
Fails to represent.

Your vision is flawed,
Remains myopic: step back
then, consider change.

Sometimes glacial,
Progress remains: step forward
Regardless of time.

From the ashes, each
Destruction of self: rising
Ready, try again.

Start, be the difference,
Give me your hand: what you see
Could be so much more.

Experimental :: The Poet Sits

At feet, I wait
one moment’s chance;
hands on belief.
Maybe, I could
attain these heights:
small brilliance that
he holds, to see.

Look up, with hope
for confidence
within a heart
too scared to beat.
Might pass me
wisdom’s gift, distilled
chipped from a soul
of artistry.

Then comes a spark,
awareness blooms,
from too long spent
in darkened rooms.
No need for this
to validate, a life
that’s mine to own,
path I walk alone.

The poet sits
no longer awed,
as mentor moves
no need to grasp.
Perhaps it’s time;
stand tall, ignore
the need to feel
beholden, tied.

Poetry Archive :: Beauty, True

It was one of those transition weeks for us again, moving between two themes, and so I picked a title that was interchangeable with both February and March’s directions. In this case, our Haiku focusses on the details in daisies, which are one of my favourite flowers. Hanakotoba (花言葉)  the Japanese form of the language of flowers, considers the daisy as a sign of faith.

I love them for their simplicity, order and sense of calm they instil within.

Beauty, True

Fractal perfection
Nuance of nature; tiny
Instances of joy.

Petals, stalks, stamen,
Components of brilliance
Evolution’s gift.

Beauty, defined here
As a bloom opens, beginning
Brief cycle of life.

For a joyous breath,
Life blossoms: transformation
Green to white, yellow.

Happy, this daisy
Truly unique; demonstrates
Earth’s diversity.