Tuesday, June 11, 2019

My Shadow

It’s been so long, I have trouble seeing the intent that drove me,
cannot quite distinguish between impulsion and authenticity anymore,
has routine marred the shine and allure that once burned so brightly,
has it blinded me to the attractions and fairgrounds I passed along the way,
detracted me from obscured pathways accessible to me
and closed the door to like-minded beings?
Has this habit been ingrained by a living need towards a mutual purpose,
or is it driven by the shadows that ravage my soul night after night,
deepening its possession, deepening its domination,
accelerating the disintegration of a self-destructive being…

Saturday, June 8, 2019

The Shadow World

The shadows that dwell deep
in the hidden crevices of the psyche,
deliver purviews of a portent
guaranteed to shake the very foundation of your self,
shattering pretence and reality
to reconstruct a semblance of sanity,
for you to build on anew,
once the smoke of destruction has cleared.

Friday, May 24, 2019

ad - dic - tion

I went to rehab for alcohol addiction in 2006, after which I made contact with an online recovery community scattered all over the world, and I remember a specific blog I read, written by the mother of a heroin addicted son.  She shared her life of his daily struggle against the addiction to heroin, going to one rehab centre after the other, the frustration at the ineffectiveness of these programmes, including the methadone treatment for heroin addicts to facilitate the detox period, with methadone itself being a highly addictive drug.  She wrote about how it tore her family apart, the financial losses suffered as he stole from the family to support his habit, the Tough Love approach, and the ultimate confrontation with helplessness in being unable to help her own son!, the lifting periods where he was not using and trying to resume his life (invariably these addicts have police records making employment difficult), only to fall again when he turned to the only god know to the users of heroin.

This morning I watched an interview addressing the drug zone in San Francisco, how junkies live in tents on the pavements, shoot up in broad daylight and die on their streets from overdose, all in full view of San Francisco residents and law enforcement.  The City thence deemed it prudent to alleviate this problem by creating ‘safe spaces’ for these addicts, where they are provided with new/clean needles and have even made nurses available to inject these addicts, if they so choose.  We are talking about a drug called Heroin, the one and only instantly addictive drug, a drug with a recovery rate of as low as 20%, a drug that almost always ends in overdose, in death, this drug offers very few second chances.

I grew up in an alcoholic home, and around the age of 15 I went on a ‘quest’ to escape what felt like hell. Everything available to me was tried, used, abused. Alcohol wasn’t strong enough to quell my rebellion, I wanted drugs. I researched drugs, the effects of various drugs, I was not interested in finding a pleasurable escape from reality, I aimed to numb every feeling I ever had, I wanted to numb my memories, my daily life, my existence. Fortunately I was young during a time in our history where drugs were not tolerated as they are today, a time when drugs were considered criminal.  Laws were in place that discouraged the use of drugs and lawmen were vigilant in applying these laws.

Looking back 30 years, I shudder to think where I would be today, were such ‘safe spaces’ available to me at that time.  I don’t know whether I’d be here to write these words, because as hurt and full of pain as I was then, I needed to be numb, I was chasing oblivion, I was seeking self-destruction.  I pray for all the damaged and hurt children, in San Francisco, in America, who have these avenues open to them, who do not have a chance because the Fathers of the City believe they can treat this problem by making it easier for the addict to take drugs and I pray for some sanity to return to this bleeding world of ours.

Friday, May 3, 2019

Passage of Time

The livers of life,
the lovers of souls,
the wishes of dreamers,
the whispers of hope,

the cries of the broken,
the calls for reform,
the fury of destruction,
the fire in those reborn,

the legacy left by our elders,
the labour of our love,
the passing of the seasons,
the power to change what must.

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

...feels like home

Dare I hope and dare I dream
I have found the place where I can breathe,
that feels like home, a place to stretch my wings,
follow my instinct, my nature, the flow of energy
and let it lead me, let the spirits guide me,
let the touch of another’s hand be giving and warm,
let the words I hear be sincere and truthful,
let the path we walk together, be one we were meant to share,
taking us to places destined for us,
and when the ocean’s smell steals our mind,
part ways, as is the nature of life,
dare I hope this dream to be…..

picture source: https://medium.com/thrive-global/a-lesson-on-turning-dreams-into-reality-ee4d5e7b5687

Wednesday, April 3, 2019

Locked Doors

picture credit: https://fineartamerica.com/featured/locked-door-jill-battaglia.html

Pacing the halls like a wild animal, caged,
restlessly looking, smelling, touching here, then there,
there’s a pattern on the carpets
where his footsteps pass routinely, habitually, compulsively,
the windows are steamed up with pent-up rage,
a thick mould growing on this side of the door to freedom,
he prefers to stay and fuss and ruminate and deliberate
the same stale understanding had yesterday,
and here he’ll stay until he stays lost in the mist of isolation.

Friday, March 29, 2019


The wind blew cold the day I met
the stranger never I’d forget,
he called to me, I answered, though I didn’t know his name,
his voice was deep with richness,
spoke hard words with a tenderness
that made me lay down this here sword, it’s time to cease the fight.

He spoke of wonders he has touched,
of places dark but not as much
as the tears he sees are floating just behind the mask I wear,
his hand reached out and he took mine,
he said, “Don’t fight me, you can shine,
bound to this darkness you are not, let me show you treasures rare”.

The blood lay deep beneath my feet,
my demons hunger quite replete,
but I didn’t have the strength to fight this fight another day,
he held me through my anger,
to sins he is no stranger,
and he healed all parts of me that ached, then he turned and walked away.

I’ve lived those moments in my mind,
a dream it was, one very kind,
but he held my hand and touched my soul of that I’m very sure,
I hope he keeps on walking,
keeps taking people by the hand,
keeps touching all the lost souls who’re in dire need of care.

Tuesday, March 19, 2019


In this dusk I wish to be the breeze
drifting through fragrant gardens,
past crickets and frogs, faeries and mushrooms,
through mossy ferns and pine tree trunks,
then dive off the cliff in a rush of air
towards the rocks and roiling currents
rising just before I touch the water
as the mist swirling in from the sea,

in this dusk I wish to be the sigh
escaping your lips when I sink into your arms,
a cool breath in your neck, are those goose bumps?
I shiver, the uncontrolled surrender to the night
and its needs racing over our skin, a searing heat,
forcing us to let go of this world
and relinquish our hold on sanity for a while.

picture source: https://photogrist.com/surreal-manipulations-kyle-kerr/