From an early age, I learned that poetry didn’t have to all be pretty and comforting, and the subjects didn’t always have to be pleasant.
For me, this made poetry a genuinely living thing because, through this outlet, I could express a whole set of emotions, even those I might not show or admit to so readily in daily life.
My approach to poetry has always been draw inspiration from real-life situations. To express on paper what those emotions and experiences felt like and how they affected me.
Though much of the subject matter originates from a very personal space, I find that when reading poetry, emotionally, we connect to scenarios even if they’re not our own and by that fact alone we may consider our emotional landscapes with a more vibrant sense of awareness than we’d typically have done.
After all, a different perspective can help us to balance our thoughts better.
Poetry, at times, can make us feel naked and vulnerable as writers or as readers, but we should address those feelings as the fully clothed masked version of ourselves has little substance or reasoning without them. I hope that in sharing my poetry, the reader may be inspired to find their true voice and not be afraid to use it.
Poem of The Day
Consider the Lilies
As they glance up from pavements
waiting for a kindly rain to spill
from a stranger’s purse
and nourish the day, for the night is cold
He who plays blues harp
for strangers in the city square—can’t hold a note
his deep moans and crooning-unintelligible
flat cap on the ground lightly kissed
with copper coins
—his soul is dancing.
The fat lady
walking hand in hand
with an emaciated man at her side
who is looking out for who?
Conclude they both are—
opposite ends of the same bookshelf
bookends that don’t care what you think
They understand each other—they’re in love
those poor unknowns
who left the note:
“Rest in peace
Sweet Pixie xxx”
with a bundle of flowers
tied to the railings overlooking the Tay
—their hearts, broken by love
and the young man in his prime
who sits gazing into the distance
with a look of quiet contentment
in his world of headphones, private playlists
and quiet contemplation
he’s a dreamer—he’s never going to wake up.
The street preacher
who follows the lonely, the desperate
and anyone who’ll listen
saying “Jesus loves us all.”
When nobody answers him
he keeps believing—he doesn’t quit.
Well; we visited an art gallery
looked around and bought a book
contained inside were some of the artworks
from the exhibition
the book was called consider the lilies
I looked at the art in the book
and remembered the paintings fondly.
We returned home
and I considered them
the pale blooms of Saturday afternoon.