The Playground Within

There is a bully in this joyless playground,

A tyrant who throws deep belly punches of guilt and shame,

Who slings buckets of mud, sullying me with cruel words,

For not being a better mother, daughter, teacher, friend, lover.

This false friend, who took me under his wing,

Led me on a merry dance of half-truths and false promises,

Dazzled me with dream jobs, exotic travel, fun relationships,

Now shows his rage. And I cower, eyes tight shut, into a ball.





Until, a soft, tender whisper of Love warms my aching heart. 

For I say no to this unending Ferris wheel of outer experience,

The sorrow, pain and despair of these enticing dead-end trails,

The wrath of mind’s tantrum in the face of Truth.





I step aside from the terrorising shadow of my oppressor,

For I am not the hateful coward he would have me be.

I gaze up into the Radiant eyes of my lover within,

Whose warm illuminating rays give me a glimpse of my divinity.





In the scintillating clarity of this graced moment,

All fear, doubt, regret, confusion melt away.

I stand tall, a beacon of Love and truth shining from within,

And with the heart of a lion turn to face my foe.





My tormentor rears his head and puffs his chest,

Then shrinks before me, a mere trompe l’oeil,

His waggy tail, fluffy paws, and doleful eyes,

Beseeching me for love and discipline like an unruly child.





The concrete playground becomes a summer meadow,

Alight and alive with buttercups, poppies, bees and butterflies.

I cartwheel, somersault and tumble with joy, in this Eden within,

The tyrant, a mere puppy dog, nipping playfully at my heels.





If this poem resonated with you, feel free to comment…

The Ultimate Treasure Hunt

In the confines of our home,

We set a trail of clues for one another.

Each leading to a hidden spot in a different room,

Where a small chocolate and a further riddle awaits.

55E76CFB-23D7-4D65-A6F6-5004CF2C1C52

Eyes alight with excitement, we puzzle our posers,

Forage fruitlessly, or gather gainfully.

Beset with impatience, we plead for help.

Until, spurred on by each unveiling,

 

By the joy from surprises gifted,

Our tireless wonder is rewarded.

We find, hidden behind the logs, or the curtain,

A magnificent Easter egg.

 

As lockdown continues, innumerable desires,

 Cry for my attention; to home-school more effectively,

Spring clean, teach online, study, garden, cook, play better with my son.

Each a seemingly urgent demand of action and effort.

 

Until, exhausted by the relentless juggle,

Beset by migraines, fatigue and allergies,

I check in with my marker, my inner guide.

And a glimmer of understanding shines through.

 

The next day, in the dappled sunlight of our local wood,

Brightly coloured ribbons hang from branches,

Chalked arrows inscribe tree trunks,

Indicators for countless paths, leading in myriad directions.

 

I now see that these are mere distractions,

Dead-end tracks, or entangling brambles.

Requisite diversions from the enchanted woodland clearings,

Borne through deep surrender within.

 

Aglow with the soft hue and gentle sway of bluebells,

The dazzling greens and abundant energy of spring,

I drink in His boundless Love, and a gem is revealed.

I see myself reflected in His radiance.

 

We try different tracks, miss markers, lose ourselves,

Distracted by balancing on branches, befriending robins.

Until, at the end of the pink chalk arrow trail,

We find a love heart etched on an upturned log.

The Master Puzzler

Life is a giant jigsaw,

Thousands of motley shaped pieces;

 Work, family, home, hobbies, relationships,

I try to fit neatly together.

two hands connect the puzzle details, against the sky of the sun.

Image: stock photos

Constantly, I search for the next piece,

A new job, home, dress, diet,

To create a better picture,

Of what life should look like.

 

As I strive harder to find the right one,

To wedge that perfect looking job,

 Into other ever moving parts,

A growing sense of unease arises.

 

For I see that the picture guide,

My mind has been trained to create,

Through parents, school, generations of society,

Is fundamentally flawed.

 

The focus on the piece,

Choosing bright harmonic colours,

Instilled with significant content,

Yet shaped to be compatible,

 

Engenders a striving,

To find perfection in the fragment,

A resistance to viewing the bigger picture,

Where shadows compliment the light.

 

Each branch of the puzzle unending,

The pieces multiply with my attention.

The more I strive, the further and hazier,

The goal seems to be.

 

My attention stays stuck on the outer,

A perpetual desire to change the effect.

What if I change the image?

 Shift my focus to my inner Beloved?

 

Trust that He’s handed me,

 The perfect piece.

And ask for His Love,

 To help me place it.

 

 The one He hands me,

 Is not the easiest to place,

Or the prettiest to look at.

Not what I would have chosen.

 

A dark shadowy fragment.

Sharp edged and oddly angled,

Awkward to handle,

Ugly to the eye.

 

An irksome blast from my past,

 For so long avoided.

A relationship severed,

An attitude entrenched.

 

Through Love’s guiding hand,

These difficult parts of the puzzle,

Transform into the magnificence,

Of realisations hard won.

 

It’s not about the puzzle,

Or the picture it creates,

But seeing that in each conundrum given,

Lies the potential for Grace.

 

For each fragment of karma gifted,

 Becomes sacred when alchemised

By the well of Love within.

Bringing me closer….

 

To mastering the art,

 Of the Master puzzler,

Of becoming the force of Love,

 That guides the way.

 

 To stepping out of the never-ending

Enigma of life,

 And into the ultimate destiny,

Of my own divinity.

Small Talk

My neighbour drones on and on,

Swarming my being,

With his relentless plan of attack,

Against the box tree moth.

                                                                                                                                                                             Shutterstock

A woman releases a torrent of gossip,

Drowning me in needless babble,

About people I barely know.

This small talk is not for me.

 

I want to see the depth in you,

And let that spark the depth in me.

Go oyster diving together,

For that rare pearl of truth.

 

But then I see before I dive,

I first must learn to swim.

To search for precious pebbles in the shallows,

To seek and see the glimmer in the trite.

 

And practice being a mirror, to reflect that glimmer,

Imagine it a glow, and so it becomes.

As when I connect with my inner Beloved,

My flickering candle grows into a roaring flame.

 

And so He shows me that the world is banal,

When it confines one’s point of view.

Its richness only truly vibrant,

 When viewed from the magnitude of His divine lens.

 

Thus I surrender, relinquish all,

Angst, hopes, thoughts and desires,

To my Beloved within.

So He can clear the grime that blocks my view.

 

And through the agony of this cleansing,

My flame burns brighter, my mirror shinier,

To reflect a deeper Love and Truth within,

That shower sparks of effervescent joy.

 

Small talk is now for me,

The ‘talk’ could be a glance, a touch or smile.

For every action, word and thought,

Holds the potential to ignite a deeper sense of being.