IF – by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
    But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

 

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
    If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
    And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
    And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
    To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
    Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
    If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
    With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
    And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Forgiveness is the answer

Integrity, the intention

of becoming and being whole

Through awakening the mind,

the body, heart and soul

 

The path to authenticity

to a life of just, well-being

Is through accepting enjoyment

and the excitement of actual doing

 

Trust and accountability,

that can only start with you

If you cannot walk the walk

you can’t expect another to

 

Centering and grounding

is a knowing, not a thought

Letting go of old beliefs,

of all wrong lessons taught

 

Forgiveness is the answer

to the question of self-blame

Projection the constant replay

of societies make-believe game

plans…

Fertility plan

Birth plan

A sleep deprived and sexual ban

Development plan

Life plan

The parents start to look deadpan

Educational plan

Indicative plan

Perhaps he’s not the next Chopin…

Project plan

Contingency plan

Is there anything at all in his brainpan?!

Game plan

Intermediate plan

Will he ever get off his damn divan?

Phone plan

Travel plan

An open ticket to San Juan

Online plan

Flexible plan

The boy, he starts to be a man

Business plan

Wedding plan

Loving additions to his clan

Physical plan

Economic plan

A second home bought in Milan

Central plan

Pension plan

Reflecting on how it all began

Perspective plan

Death plan

Life’s to be lived and not outran

napo2014button1

Suspended

Her yearning

for acknowledgement,

burst from every pore,

soaking her skin.

The societal virgin,

an illiterate interaction,

as she tipped

her hat to humanity.

Nodding

in their general direction

a shy smile.

Inviting.

Igniting.

Anything to quench her thirst

for life.

An embarrassed touch,

feigning too much

as she went through the motions.

The cauterised emotions

limited,

by the straight jacket

of her past,

her mind.

The wing and a prayer

of a dare,

that held her compromised.

Unwrapping gratification,

two for the price of one

tenderly undone,

by too much awareness

of everyone else

but herself.

Shrouded by silence,

caught red handed

by everyone else’s views.

Suspended

just out of reach,

beyond the breach,

of the promises made

to her as a child.

reap, sow and plough

I am me, you are you, they are them over there

Observe those who don’t know; the ones that just stare

Keep an eye out for opinions, they fly dangerously low

Always move forward and don’t act like a schmo

 

Embrace all the madness and lengthen your stride

You know what you know and there’s nothing to hide

Ignore what your head says, just listen to your heart

Life is to live, it’s not something to chart

 

Don’t ever let anyone put you in a box

It’s no way to live and creates a paradox

Have a skip in your step and a wiggle in your tail

I can’t guarantee it, but I suspect you won’t fail

 

Dance with abandon, dance a jitterbug or two

Be all you can be, it doesn’t matter what you do

Smile at your reflection, give yourself a big wink

Don’t think too many thoughts, in fact try not to think…

 

Let go of your ego, pack its bag, bid farewell

It’s rarely any help and can make you unwell

Be grounded and present, live life in the now

Nurture yourself as you reap, sow and plough

napo2014button1

a cruel joke…

I still cry blood

from the catacomb;

the grave of my womb.

The infertile

branches of life, twisted

like a cruel joke.

The most potent poke

not enough to stir

the cries and laughter of my DNA.

Silent.

The hormones screaming

from the continual

twisting of the knife,

lest I forget choices made

the huge price paid

at too young an age.

Still invisible.

Occupying

the vast, unseen future

in which I now stand,

the unstoppable band

that keeps marching forward.

Streets lined with well wishers

who will never look me in the eye

scared to occupy

an orgasm that lacks promise.

The reality of hit-and-miss.

Turned away at the door

by a pregnant pause.

Unable to stomach

the pride,

the applause

of a Mother-to-be’s belt.

Not available in my size,

the un-won prize

of wearing my own shape.

Moulded and adjusted

over the years,

to stem the tears

of what is… what is?

Yet the river still flows

unabated by biology

a student of embryology

unaware that it is

nothing,

more,

than a cruel joke…

napo2014button1