I don’t want to do anything today

Maybe just stare at a tree

And savour the nothing of everything

Or savour the wholeness of me


But what if I don’t feel whole

As I stare at the tree and just be

How do I feel whole all by myself?

When I need more than me, I need ‘we’


But is that true as I don’t feel alone

And when was ‘we’ all I knew?

Because I honestly know me better

Than I knew the workings of you


So now I’m knowing me more

And ‘we’ is no longer my all

I can feel whole all by myself

And puff my own cushion to comfort my fall.


So I am glad I did little today

That I stared at the tree, just to be

These thoughts they ease my chaos

And strengthen my faith in the wholeness of me




Sometimes I think I talk too much or maybe I don’t say enough at all. I’ve all these ideas’ scuttling around my plate and all I do is play with them rather than digest and express.

I question how correctly I articulate myself and wonder if anyone really gives a shit about what I have to say. I dwell on this, for too long probably and so I babble to over compensate my concerns on the matter. ‘What will people think, I sound like a daft bat’ the usual, unedited internal monologue that catches the wind and escalates.

Am I boring? Oh, that’s a big one. ‘I’m boring you all, I can see your faces before you make them but fuck it, I’m going to keep talking anyway.’


What if…

IF all that I said, the words sometimes precisely constructed in my head or the racing motion of mouth that spurts any rambling thought, was the perfect amount of everything to get me to here, to now, to new understandings?

Perfect because I’ve learnt from what I do say but more importantly I’m learning from what I don’t.

This new found minimalist approach of talking less and if I’m honest there are now days when I could easily say nothing at all, is teaching me to listen. Without even trying to listen, I listen. I guess you could say it’s become an involuntary miracle.

I’m beginning to learn new languages – there are millions of vibrations rocking around in silence, let me tell you, it’s a vibrant, buzzing place to be. Plants, animals, a fleeting whisper from wise spirits, they fill the silence without any force and communicate in ways that exceed our limited dictionary. I like to talk but listening is where the real treasure is buried.

I’ll say no more other than silence really is golden and I’ve a feeling it’s going to make me very, very rich.



Day’s flow

Weaving their way into perceptions

Some days I can’t help but force

To ignite a need for outcome, to satisfy

To push against the wall ahead, breaking fingers and scarring knuckles

Day’s ebb

Confined spaces only contract as I grow

Some days, what’s the point?

Our hopes dwindle as the air thickens but we never stop

Atoms swell, caressing our view

And stone fears must be carved into tools

Then we are useful, our use becomes much more than 9-5

And we may follow gravel paths walked before

Recognising our footprints

Knowing all too well

And days link from one to the next

But each brings a new taste, a new scent from buds blossoming

And we learn

We learn that the same may never need be the same again.