My Trickster Soul

inktuition dandelionYou give me fleeting hints that you’re looking after me.

You throw me toxic trails that you’re teasing me with glee.

You remind me of my sadness through scents from deep indoors.

You show me cheeky glimpses of the chance to feel restored.

I think you’re trying to prove that

I should relax and get the groove.

But I’m tussling with the tension:

is it far too late to mention

that I’ve kind of got you sussed?

In my soul I totally trust.

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A poem for urban sunflowers

inktuition urban sunflowers

My thoughts are grey and hurried.

My heels click a pavement rhythm

that’s awfully fast and fed-up.

My true self easily gets buried

in the soil of daily hum.

I often forget to look up.

But why always so worried?

When I lift my eyes from my glum,

I see yellow and smiles erupt

with petals and hearts a flurry.

They’re the sun I yearn to become:

my game plan now feels upped.

A poem about doing what you love

Do what you love

and the money will come.

That’s what we hope

when we chuck it all in

for a new career and life

and fulfilment’s great charm.

The pursuit of money.

Is that really what life’s for?

Or realising a dream,

a do-it-or-damned score?

I know what I want

before I bid goodbye

to my breath.

That’s to publish and be whole.

To bring openness to heart

and hope to the soul.

A poem for the elusive brown bunnies (silent retreat – day two)

I’m sure they’re teasing me

as they chase across green

always in twos, hoppity hop.

The silence for me has been non-stop.

The scampering brown bunnies

think it’s terribly funny

to let me think I can reach them.

The silence has yet to reveal its gems.

It’s my will against theirs,

and they’re faster then hares.

All I’ve seen so far is the fluff of their tails.

The silence resolutely maintains its veil.

A poem: on silent retreat – day one

I was told to shut up as soon as I could talk,

so finding my voice has been tough.

There was never space to have my own thoughts

Never mind express what I love.

Now I’ve chosen to close myself from the world

and turn much deeper within.

A few days in silence, what will unfurl?

At least a break from my daily din.

What will I find, when my ego’s been stripped,

when I read from my sacred scroll:

will I find scribble or beautiful script

in the cavern of my heart and soul?

A poem for my soul’s calling

Synchronicity’s a word I love

And a concept I adore.

I know I’m on the right path

when coincidences knock at my door.

My love of words and symbols

to heal and help renew

broken hearts and spirits crushed

is a calling of the few.

How to bring this to the world

my intuition now will drive.

But the power of storytelling

is what makes me feel alive.

A poem for my self-doubt

Doubt is the opposite of faith

and often has double the strength.

It wheedles, it whines, it stretches my nerve

from width to depth to length.

Doubt is the enemy of hope

and stamps on my self-belief.

It taxes my time, my gut, my soul.

It’s nothing but an insidious thief.

Doubt is the victor at night

as an unfulfilled day draws dark.

But it’s no match for a shiny new morning,

full of light and love and spark.