Category Archives: Inspire

Good Enough

We are
our missing pieces,
The missing peace that eats us,
That chips away at the stone
until we alone are rebirthed
as earthen vessels of
imperfectly perfect worth,
Filled with errs,
And blurs of unsures,
And swirls of cause
and effect,
Centiletres of regret.

We are an amalgation
of tears and blood and sweat,
Of all the yesses that were nos,
And of the times we second guessed and froze,
A web of what ifs and not yets,
Of bated breaths,
Of one-bar rests,
Of waiting for the right time,
Of praying for some more time,

Of grieving for our lost time.

We are everyone we have ever met,
And yet
we can never be free,
Because we still see each other
differently,
An endless spool of not like mes,
Of better than shes,
Of wish I were hes,
When in reality
We are me
and she
and he,
We are perfectly
and beautifully
and unequivocally…
we.

We all bleed.

Our hearts all drum.

We are all the sum of the things
we have done and seen,
And of all that’s in between,

We are all the sum of the things
we think and feel and say,
We are meant to be this way;

Flawed,
and scarred,
and scuffed.

And that…

Well that is
good enough.

Walk in the Wind

I took a moment to

walk

in the

wind,

It took hold of my limbs
and danced me to the skies,

An invisible guide

that found its way
inside my mind
and whispered,

“It will be OK”,

Showed me there’s another way,
That there will be another day
beyond this night,
That it’s all right
to sometimes hide away,

To secrete my tears amidst the rain,

To stifle sobs until they fade,

To mask the pain,

Because a walk inside the wind
clears the cobwebs of all sin,
clears out

e    v     e     r     y     t     h     i     n     g

and muffles all their din
so I can let the right ones in,

Reset,

Restart,

Rescind,

so I can win.

 
 

Photo credit: Radu Voinea

 

Inspired by the dutch word uitwaaien:

uitwaaien

The Launch by Reece Malcolm

So I have been writing since I was 7, inspired by my father’s own passion for poetry and his enviable way with words. My older brother’s remarkable love affair with poetry also started at a young age and his career has really taken off this year. You should check him out if you get a chance, he ROCKS.

But perhaps the most amazing thing for me right now is that my 9 year old son came home from school today and showed me a poem he wrote. I was overwhelmed with pride and cannot wait to see where this new interest, this new talent, can take him, so I promised I would share his poem on my blog, hopefully launching what could be an amazing life of rhyme.

How apt that his first ever piece is entitled “Launch”. I hope you’ll see the potential I see when you read it. Enjoy!!


 

LAUNCH
By Reece Malcolm
BEFORE TAKEOFF

Glass eyes see
people prepared
for the journey ahead
for the gigantic rocket
to fart out the fiery flames

Glass ears hear
rumbling like a hungry
grey wolf ready to
flame up and explode

Glass mouths scream
in the caved belly
of the wolf
squealing out loud

Glass hearts feel
terrified in the chill
shivering in the cold
soon they might start to
mould.

TAKEOFF

Glass eyes see
the rocket pushing
into the air
leaving steam
behind it as
it goes into
the black sea
of nothingness.

20151021_200325

 

My Mother’s Pearls

What goes up must come down,
If I am lost I can be found,
I must learn to swim or I will drown,
Success proceeds a sweaty brow,
No difference trumps a common ground,
There’s no place like my own home town,
My family are forever proud,
There’s silver lining every cloud,
Tomorrow’s hurt will be less than now,
Sweet tea can upturn any frown,
It’s good to stand out from the crowd,
It’s good to keep feet on the ground,
What goes around will come around,
They’ll treat me just as I allow,
Hate is whispered, love is loud,
Free milk means he won’t buy the cow,
Life is short and death is vowed,
When my number’s up, I can but bow.

 

napowrimo2015Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a poem about facts, about things we know. So I chose to write about the things I know thanks to my mother’s (and father’s) pearls of wisdom growing up.

Jetsam

Unequivocally,
My favourite place to be
is free
of all things sensory,
Where it is, quite simply,
just my mind and me,
Suspended in a reverie,
Where I’m floating on the deep dead sea,
Or drifting aimlessly
down the great Yangtze,
Sculling soundlessly
between existence and something heavenly,
Where I can jettison anxiety,
Clear out every bit of life’s debris,
Shed the front I allow the world to see,
And for an aeon that’s, sadly,
momentary,
I can just be
me,
Unequivocally.

 

napowrimo2015Today’s prompt was to use a writing exercise to help you write about your favourite place, room, person etc… I didn’t use the exercise but I did write about my favourite place: alone… in my mind!

To All New Recruits

Accept nothing,
Believe no-one,
Check everything,
Do not lose yourself admist all their lies,
Even the innocent can
filch and can savage the
goodness that I see in your eyes,
Have a refuge
in which you
just breathe,
Kill some time there when things go awry,
Learn to leave the day’s
madness behind you,
Never sleep with
other
people’s woes on your mind,
Question
regularly if your
sanity’s intact, it can be a burden;
This
uniform, these rules,
Violence of this volume
will scar you… Now sign by the
X
(You
zany young fools!)

 

Today’snapowrimo2015 NaPoWriMo challenge was to write an abecedarian poem (a poem with a structure derived from the alphabet). Immediately I remembered the mantra of an old police sergeant friend of mine. He used to tell all his probationary constables “Just remember ABC: Accept nothing, believe no-one, check everything.” And so I continued from his mantra and added in some other ‘advice’ for all new police recruits who are entering an unenviable job. Each line begins with a letter of the alphabet, from A-Z.  Hope you liked it!

Than the Sword

In my hand,
each stroke, once primed,
can fill a page
with endless rhyme,
the cadence
dances in my mind,
transforming
into stimuli
that pirouette
down through my spine
and reach my fingers
just in time
for thought and ink
to be aligned,
for my every wish
to be defined.

In my hand,
this pen is mine,
we are one;
a bond divine.
But in your hand,
to you consigned,
it does your bidding,
it speaks your mind.
What mighty power
from meek design;
to ink war and peace
and this little rhyme.

napowrimo2015Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge was to write a calligram (a visual poem) so I also hand wrote the above poem in the form of a squiggle, like you do when you’re testing a pen, which I thought complimented the poem’s theme:

calligram

Identity Crisis

What makes you you?
The things you’ve seen?
The lives you’ve touched?
The where you’ve been?

If you woke without your memories,
Tell me, who, then, would you be?

Would you still be you?
Could you ever know for sure?
Or would you relinquish
all that came before?

Know this:

Who you have been
is not who you are;
Change can smooth
a thousand scars,

The past is written, yes
So leave it be,
What the future holds
is what interests me,
Second chances will come,
If you welcome them,
For who you are tomorrow
is still to be penned,

So if you don’t know
who are today,
Then it’s okay;
it means your slate is clean,
You’re can play the you
you want to play,
Act One is done;
So write a brand new scene.

Unchained

Mr Organ Grinder,
Please discard your bait,
I will no longer dine
Upon you hate,
Your slurs
disguised as playfulness
serve only to fat my
stubbornness,
Heels dug in,
Now listen well;
You do not own
this coloured girl,
I will not dance,
No sir,
Not today,
And your ignorance
is in my way,
If you want a monkey
for a toy,
Find another sucker
to employ,
Now I suggest you up
and take your leave,
For
I
have some
greatness
to achieve.