Thursday, 22 September 2011

The Calling

It was their cries
That first caught my attention
As I heard them approach the house
And I ran towards the garden

Then I saw them
A flock of wild geese
Getting in formation
Gathering to fly south

I watched them take off over the roofs
Listened to them calling their goodbyes

And found myself left there
With a heart full of longing

Sunday, 24 July 2011

Distant (for Sunday Scribblings)

Like drawings on water
Thoughts come and disappear
Never changing its essence
The water’s always clear
But I choose to retrace them
Again and again
By analysing and dwelling
Never putting down the pen
Until these drawings
Become all I can see
And the water blurs into
A distant memory

Monday, 18 July 2011

Painting whispers (for Poetry Potluck)

Like an undercurrent
There’s a longing in me
A constant pull
A desire to break free
From this life and routine
Day in and day out
It’s like inside of me
Someone’s screaming out loud
While little fluffy clouds are passing by
Like whispers
Painted in the sky

Sunday, 17 July 2011

A captivating point of view (Short story for Sunday Scribblings)

A captivating array of images and thoughts carried her away from the present moment. With her eyes closed now she felt her mind slipping deeper and deeper into a dream world, colours bursting into light, then darkness.
When she opened her eyes, dim sunlight was sneaking through the blinds and provided the spotlight for a show of dancing dust particles. Her throat and mouth were dry and she looked around for a drink but found her glass on the table empty. The cat had curled up at her feet and noticing the movement started stretching her lazy limbs in expectation of breakfast.
Suzy sat up on the sofa and patted the cat’s head: “You hungry, Fluffy? Well, so am I. Let’s go and have some breakfast.” She still felt a bit drowsy as she slowly dragged herself into the kitchen. Bright light hit her there and she had to squeeze her eyes tight, still sensitive to the light. After grabbing some fruit juice from the fridge and drinking it straight from the carton, she fed the cat and turned the coffee machine on. Then she turned to her laptop. It was Sunday, 17th July, 11.23. No messages.
Suzy had been living on her own for a while now but every now and then weekends and especially Sundays could still get to her. Last night she had smoked herself into oblivion with some puff she had managed to get hold off when bumping into an old friend the other day, just to numb the feelings of despair and loneliness that had crept up on her in recent weeks. She had given up smoking cannabis regularly a long time ago but every now and then she came back to it and when she did, she knew, things weren’t going great.
She went to the bathroom to run a bath. Falling asleep on the sofa hadn’t done her back any favours and she hoped a good hot soak in the bath would soothe her body and renew her spirits. She wasn’t willing to surrender another day to the black clouds that had invaded her mind. While the bath was running she went back into the kitchen to grab some coffee and a slice of toast. She sat down at the table and looked out of the kitchen window onto the sunlit garden. The windows need cleaning, she thought.

Monday, 4 July 2011

Old friends (for Poetry Potluck)

We shared our last years in school
And the first years of adulthood
We explored our freedom
What we should or rather would
Our paths then parted
Each off on their own
Following their journey
Either coupled or alone
10 years on
We met last night
Sharing our pain
As well as our delight
Although on different paths
We all came to agree
It takes some hard lessons
To be able to see
What matters in life
And what can be left behind
True friends are certainly
Of the first kind

Saturday, 2 July 2011

Little girls (and boys)

I visited a good old friend of mine yesterday and met her 3-year-old daughter for the first time since she was a baby. I was so pleased to see that she has grown into a confident, independent and fearless little girl with the explorative mind of an adventurer. When telling my mum about her later, she told me that I was exactly like that as a little girl: very independent and not scared of anything.
Maybe that’s why I was so fascinated by her, because it was like looking at a younger version of myself.
It made me wonder: What happens to the little girls (and boys) inside of us when we grow up?
Do we lock them up somewhere, force them into obedience, tell them to be a “good girl/boy” or abandon them somewhere on the road?
Or do we let them out to play every now and then, give them our undivided attention and let them lead?
I think that my best experiences in life happened whenever I let my little girl come out to play. It’s her who challenges me to face my fears, to throw myself into unknown territory and to learn new things. She’s the one closest to my heart’s desires, the "real me" and she is ultimately so much wiser and braver than my rational adult self.
I shall let her out to play more often and when she rings at your door, I hope you’re going to let your little girl or boy out to play with her.

Friday, 24 June 2011

Sweet surrender

Maybe sometimes
When life comes crushing in
Flooding your shores
And overcoming your defence
It’s time to give up the struggle

And rather than drowning
In feelings of defeat
Resurface smiling

Because by finally
Being brought to your knees
And having lost all control
You are blessed with the opportunity
To experience real freedom
And the taste
Of sweet surrender

Sunday, 19 June 2011

Opportunity (for Sunday Scribblings)

It is possible
There is a chance
It is an option
It’s fate making an advance
Would you care to give me this dance?”

And are you going
To give your hand
Agree to dance
Towards an unknown end
Or turn it away
Because it wasn’t planned?

Saturday, 18 June 2011

Threshold (for Writer's Island)

Bending forward a bit
Trying to sneak a peek around the corner
One foot in the air
Hang on
Shall I?
Shall I not?

Don’t try to step across it
Fly across it!

Sunday, 12 June 2011

Dictator of my mind (for Poetry Potluck)

There’s a dictator living in my mind
Sometimes I wish he would go blind
Because if he couldn’t see my dreams
He couldn’t plan his nasty schemes
And sabotage my heart’s desire
Oh and he is such a liar
He whispers in my ear
His tales of dread and fear
And when I try to just let go
He really puts on a big show
The bastard hardly ever sleeps
He’s really giving me the creeps
But I am planning his demise
Slowly I’m unmasking all his spies
Worry and doubt are the biggest two
They won’t survive my thorough review
Of states of mind that keep him in post
He can fuck off and find another host!

The next step (for Sunday Scribblings)

I’ve travelled near and far
Tried following my star
I’ve searched in every place
It’s been a hectic chase
Every step has been towards a goal
Maybe now it’s time to take a stroll

With faith I’d like to place my feet
In mid-air
Confident that they will meet
A solid ground
To carry them forth
In any direction
East, south, west or north

Sunday, 15 May 2011

Surrender (for Sunday Scribblings)

If only I could
To whatever arises
But I am scared
Of losing control
So I cling on
To the illusion
Of having control
I keep struggling
Against the truth
Resisting the flow
Unable to relax
In natural great peace
Reality just as it is

Monday, 25 April 2011

The final battle

When you finally stop blaming everyone else
And your ego is exposed
As the only real enemy worth fighting
There remains no place to hide

The illusion of a world out there
Causing you to feel one way or another
Has been shattered to pieces
And pretending to be a victim of circumstance
Is not an option anymore

There’s no fight to be fought out there
Instead I am left with my Self
As the only burden to bear

Sunday, 24 April 2011

Shine (for Sunday Scribblings)

When all the work is done
All the goals achieved
And everyone else satisfied
You hope that you
Will finally find some time
To do what you love
To be who you are
And let your true self shine out

Be wary
Because your time might run out
Before you get there

Tuesday, 19 April 2011

Life's dream

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
All the places where I have been
All the things that I have seen
Where are they now? They seemed so real!

I’m sure I was awake and not asleep.
Everything was felt so deep.
I fought and struggled, I tried so hard
When there was nothing to fight
And nothing to guard

Monday, 7 March 2011

Raw (for Sunday Scribblings)

Uncooked, unrefined
In their natural state

Our emotions
Are nothing more
Than energy moving

It is us
Who shape and define them
Attach a story

And then we complain
About what they
Do to us

This poem was inspired by a quote from Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche: “Fundamentally emotions don’t bother us, we bother them.”

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

Safe place (inspired by We Write Poems)

In the midst of the chaos
The pain and the fear
There’s a safe place
Always near, always here
Between what was
And what will be
The present moment
Is waiting for me
To let go of my thoughts
To relax with what is
Apart from right now
Nothing exists

The beauty of imperfection

I am not perfect
I stopped trying to be
Neither are you
And now that’s okay with me

Friday, 4 February 2011


I have entered the depths
Without a guide
It’s full of life down here
Thriving and throbbing
The creatures are holding on to me
Trying to pull me in deeper
I pull back and run
Down one way and then another
I’ve lost my path
My heart where are you
I cannot hear you beat
I scream and cry
I need to find a way out
But I’ve lost my guide
My heart is silent

Monday, 31 January 2011

Safe (inspired by Sunday Scribblings)

In familiarity and routine
Procedures and regulations
We forget that no one has ever
Achieved anything great
By playing it

Friday, 28 January 2011

Dear Rinpoche

Your wisdom speech announces the truth
Your limitless compassion is shining proof
That enlightened energy manifests in you
From my heart I rejoice in all that you do

In times when I struggle to follow your advice
I just need to remember the love in your eyes
And feeling your trust and unwavering faith
I continue to follow the teachings you gave

I’m vowing to never abandon the path
That I’ll invest myself fully - not just half
Like you I won’t rest until all beings are free
And see the truth for themselves
With clarity

Bucket List (inspired by We Write Poems)

My list is endless I have to admit
Too many things that won’t possibly fit
In the time you can find in just one life
Deciding and choosing a constant strife

One thing has been on that list for a while
And merely the thought of it makes me smile
I feel happy and blissful imagining it
But it also scares me – just a little bit

With that joyful passion and a pinch of fear
It’s something I’ve been holding very dear
And close to my heart since being a child:
Oh how I wish to spend time in the wild!

Surrounded by jungles lush and green
Exploring places where no one has been
Hearing the sound of strange creatures at night
The beauty of nature the only sight

I’d like to live with an indigenous tribe
And learn to tune into their natural vibe
By living a life very simple and real
All my civilised dis-ease
Might be able to heal

Thursday, 20 January 2011

To be a woman

I’ve always struggled with this
Felt there’s something wrong
With being reduced to your gender
Being told where you belong
Neither emancipated feminist
Nor obedient little thing
I detest both extremes
And I don’t want to cling
To the body I’m born with
In order to decide
Who I am and who I can be
I don’t want to hide
Behind conventions and rules
Restrictions and pressure
I want to live my life
At my own leisure
In the journey of life
Our body’s just the car
Our mind is the driver
And determines who we are

Tuesday, 18 January 2011

Conversation with my inner wisdom being (inspired by We Write Poems)

“We write poems” have asked us this week to write a conversational poem. When I started contemplating this prompt, it made me think of an exercise I used a lot when working as a Learning Mentor with primary school children. I asked them to close their eyes and visualise themselves going on a journey to find a wisdom being that lives in a cave. The wisdom being would then give them a present. I’d let them describe their journey, the cave, what the wisdom being looked like and what present they got and then draw a picture of it to keep. I told them that anytime they needed advice, they could go back to that place in their mind and ask the wisdom being for help and guidance. That way I hoped to enable them to access their own inner wisdom.
Today, I felt a bit down and found myself wondering what I could do to get rid of these negative feelings inside of me. I realised that everyone is doing this all the time: craving the good feelings and pushing away the bad ones. I then engaged into a conversation with my inner wisdom being about this and this is my attempt to present the resulting conversation in poetic form:

I don’t want bad feelings.
How can I only experience the good?

That’s a very good question
But how is it that you would
Even know what good feels like?
Don’t you need to know what’s bad?

I know good and bad, so I can compare
And I prefer feeling happy over feeling sad.

But how, without each other, could they even exist?

So is it foolish to wish for good ones?
You’ve left me in the mist.

With dualistic thinking
Your suffering won’t cease
Go beyond to the source
And you will find peace
From there watch it all
Arise and pass away
Don’t judge or hold on
That’s the only way.

Sunday, 16 January 2011

Invisible (inspired by Sunday Scribblings)

It's easy to judge as lies
Anything invisible to our eyes
As if visibility is a credential
In order to be true or essential

Saturday, 15 January 2011

True courage (inspired by Writer's Island)

When it comes to fear
I choose fight over flight
But to replace fear with anger
Somehow doesn’t feel right
This technique really sucks
And has little to do
With the spirit and heart
Of courage that is true
True courage is able
To stay with the fear
Looks at it closely
Even holds it dear
Watches it patiently
With awareness that is pure
That it will eventually dissolve
True courage knows for sure

Friday, 14 January 2011

Reflections (for Jingle Poetry Potluck "Languages, Signs and Symbols")

We assume we understand each other’s signs
We’re looking out, listening in
And try to read between the lines

But maybe we’re just projecting our thoughts
On a virgin white screen
And reflections of ourselves
Are all that can be seen

Tuesday, 11 January 2011

Spring Cleaning

Hidden in the back of the cupboard and
Covered in spider webs of die-hard habits
Sit musty old boxes, filled to the brim
With old fears and emotional memorabilia

They smell of where we don’t want to go
Of where we pretend we’ve never been
And still we are so reluctant to finally
Throw it all out and give ourselves
A thorough spring clean

Not a morning person

The sound of the alarm clock ripped through the reality of her dreams with the intensity of someone smacking her hard in the face. Irritated and annoyed she reached for the off button without opening her eyes. She just couldn’t find inside herself whatever was necessary to get up instead of turning the alarm off but she never really went back to sleep either. It was like someone had attached some sort of buoyancy equipment to her consciousness that pulled her up and out of the deeper layers of sleep as soon as she went under. By the time she finally dragged herself out of bed, she was even more tired, angry at herself for not just getting up and obviously late and under pressure to get ready for work.
Every morning started like this. She woke up grumpy, irritated and already on the back foot before the day had begun. She could never understand how some people joyfully jumped out of bed in the morning and in addition sang or whistled a jolly tune that accompanied them on their way to the bathroom. She envied them.
This morning, just to add insult to injury, the milk had gone off over night so she couldn’t even fit a coffee in. She left the house and walked to the station completely weighed down by the dark clouds on her mind and almost didn’t notice the new advertisement they put up opposite the station’s entrance. “Not a morning person?” it shouted at her in big letters and portrayed a woman not unlike herself first thing in the morning with wild hair, scrunched up eyes and a grim, almost desperate look on her face. It was like looking in the mirror with the difference that she had now changed from pyjama to work clothes, done her hair and put some make-up on. Weird, she thought and went closer to try and make out what it was actually about. It was an advert to encourage self-employment. “Choose your own working hours, be your own boss...” “Pfff...” she huffed to herself and the miserable mood, only momentarily interrupted by a moment of surprise, clouded back over her.
3 hours, 2 coffees and a seemingly never ending stream of mind numbing work tasks later she found her mind going back to that advert. Not a morning person. No, she thought, she wasn’t but neither had she planned on becoming self-employed. She looked around over the open plan office space in which she had her desk. The quiet atmosphere in this room full of people suddenly seemed eerie and unreal. As if along with the oxygen all life had been sucked out of it and replaced by the gassy discharges of human bodies, reeking of dissatisfaction. She grabbed her coat and decided to take her lunch early.
Outside it was raining and because she wasn’t really hungry yet she decided to stroll through the shopping centre and grab a sandwich on the way back. She walked towards the bookshop to browse some of the new books on offer when her eyes fixated on a book in the window. “Positively negative – how knowing who you are NOT can help you find out who you are!” it said in bold letters on the cover. She walked inside and asked to have a look at the book. It was one of those psycho crap books she naturally loathed, a workbook type with several exercises to follow in order to find one’s “true calling”. She didn’t know what had come over her that made her walk to the till and buy it but on the train home she started reading it and actually enjoyed where it was taking her.
When she passed the advertisement outside her station she winked at her mirror image with a smile.

Sunday, 2 January 2011

Embark (inspired by Writer's Island)

It’s in the quiet hours of the night
When I already turned off the light
That my muse turns towards me in the dark
Whispers in my ear and asks me to embark
On this journey to a mysterious land
Where thoughts and feelings take my hand
Start dancing with me until I glow
And from my fingers words start to flow
Like travellers from a far-away land
Washed ashore
Writing in the sand