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


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



Her yearning

for acknowledgement,

burst from every pore,

soaking her skin.

The societal virgin,

an illiterate interaction,

as she tipped

her hat to humanity.


in their general direction

a shy smile.



Anything to quench her thirst

for life.

An embarrassed touch,

feigning too much

as she went through the motions.

The cauterised emotions


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.


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


a cruel joke…

I still cry blood

from the catacomb;

the grave of my womb.

The infertile

branches of life gnarled.

A cruel joke;

the most potent poke

not enough to stir

the cries and laughter of my DNA.


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.


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



than a cruel joke…


No more the woman

She doesn’t live here.

No more the woman

bent over backwards,

accommodating the unaccountable

supporting the spineless,

enhancing the unchangeable

world of another.

Her bags filled

with the compromises

and injustice of the unworthy.

She leaves,

bidding farewell

to unreconciled promises

written by the illiterate.