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Cry

Emotional Poetry : Cry

by Liam

As I’m washed to sleep this day

Wrapped, in wind, in waves,

Which share your whispers

My thoughts of you returning speak

The soft screech of a seagulls cry

A moistened eye as you look, then sigh

“Yes” I caught your wonder through the pain

Stillness, a touch, this felt again, like

The same quiet intensity of a kiss

On lips, first brushed with passions bliss

Is this true?

I begin to awaken in the waves of you

Swimming through my head

Into the dark warm sheets she fled

Images, memories I’m left

Searching for your direction.

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What is NMPoetry?

What is NMP?

“New Millennium Poetry”

This writing is filled with one overwhelming and passionate endeavor. That being to express the invisible world of our humanity.

Everything in our tech world is described down to the smallest detail. When it comes to the sensitive and invisible world of our soul, of our feelings and our spiritual intentions, so many like myself are striving towards a deeper more profound understanding of life, this expresses the endeavour of my work.

When reading the content of my books “New Millennium Poetry Volume 1-3”, they’re divided into categories, which generally

describe our human condition. For example, love, death, birth, inspiration, spirituality, nature, emotional poetry, and so on. Within these categories, you find a colourful spectrum of poems, each individual and authentic.
When reading a poem, the idea is that the thoughts that they represent, the ideas and the feelings that are embedded within them and the imagery are not unique. They belong to the ground of our common human condition . Existent within each one of us, where we can discover and rediscover ourselves in new, dynamic, and more profound ways.

So, with these ideas, I present poetry, which has been written for a new paradigm of human consciousness, that of our emergent ‘soul awareness’, or ‘soul consciousness’.

Millions of people across different nations, languages, religions, and cultures are emerging from materialism and recognizing that life is more than just what we have, the joy and the love are about discovering who we are.

This is an awakening, a revelation so simple yet profound that it heeds our full attention, as the consequences for everything are manifold.
When it’s no longer about having and economies are no longer defined alone by growth, the implicit meaning of how societies work and within those societies how we relate to one another becomes a new emergent principle in defining life. Life is precious, valuable, and short, and an experience with which and in which every living being has the right to the fullness and abundance that we can all share on the planet.

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The Ancient Mariner

Poetry Poem: The Ancient Mariner

Poetry Poem: The Ancient Mariner

To the wind and the waves

With the mast in the sky

Sails pulled taught and the seagulls cry

My home is the sea the storm and the blue

White clouds flying through the rigging too

The crack of sail and the cold flung spray

It’s the wide horizon on a windy day

Which calls the shanty to my weathered lips

Of whales and maids of pirate ships

Of tea at the hearth and a hot clean bath

The trick is over the passage past

The cargo stowed like my memories too

In a locked treasure chest

On my arm tattoo

To my dreams I’ll fly in the night to come

Where again I’ll journey the me so young

Across oceans and seas where I had the life

Traders rum and the whetted knife

I’ve done the turn

I’ve lived the life

I’ve carried the burden

I’ve had the strife

Now it’s time for the hot cupa tea

It’s my children’s children who listening see

Those days far flung

Far deep in me

The wave the wind the dark blue sea.

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Prison

Poetry: Prison

by Liam

When it’s the deep distant chalice

You are reaching for

Take your hammer to the dungeon wall, free thy self

Grabbing the keys and run

Bolt, as if you are being born into the exuberance of color

It’s urgent, it’s now, it’s imperative

“For time is not the ticking of the clock,

It’s the writing on the wall.” It echoes

Remind yourself of this!

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True or True

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Manifesto, New Millennium Poetry of

Manifesto: Liam

As a creative writer, a poet and author, I feel my readers require a clear understanding and insight into my intentions, motives.

New Millennium Poetry, volumes 1-3 is a Magnus Opus of writing which springs from the idea that with this new millennium, across a broad spectrum of the worlds population, an awakening of consciousness is occurring.

A paradigm change from egocentric materialism to a new paradigm of soul awareness.

Expressing itself in social awareness, responsibility and an awakening to the spiritual , invisible reality of all aspects, of all life on earth.

This invisible world has been for thousands of years the genré of religion. Different religions, different cultures, different representations of one common invisible spiritual reality.

“New Millennium Poetry “, is a collection of poems covering aspects of our human condition. Written irrespective of color, race or creed.

The common ground being that most poems explore in simple expressive ways, questions which are common to us all, seeking answers, common to us all.

Poetry is an interesting way to respond to soliloquies concerning one’s personal quest to understand life.

The truth is, a poem will only awake within the thinking of its reader if the content, how ever unconscious, is already present. When a poem resonates with its reader, the readers intuitive response, expresses what is ready to become conscious. To greater and lesser degrees an audience of readers will intuitively respond to the content of these poems in their search and need to resolving meaning.

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About my Poetry

About my Poetry:

by Liam

These poems reflect the endeavor of mystical poetry, as well as an inspiration to the new planetary spiritual renaissance that has emerged in the new millennium.

Liam

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Poem Poetry: Ancient Africa

Poem: Ancient Africa

The heart of ancient Africa

Where wild the sea does foam

The plains the dust the thorny scrub

My soul it here does roam.

The breakers grind the ragged rocks

The shore line washed in salt

Of mountain far

Of high bright star

Of raging beast

Of insect cheeps

My soul this is its home

The drum of ancient warrior cries

Of spear the shield of hide

Of stamping feet of arms thrown high

It’s war that’s greets the long past eye.

My soul of this has known

The sun of a new day dawning

The moon of the night time done

The future star to hold my heart

The place I’ll never have to part

My soul, too this will grow

Africa is my calling

Africa is my past

Africa is my souls delight

Africa i call till last.

Amandala

Liam Feb 2019

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Poem: What is Love?

Loves joy is the wild laughter we together found.

Loves magic is the glue holds together when unbound.

Loves being is the silent power within all life.

Loves integrity is the truth which holds beyond the strife.

Loves presence is the quiet whisper  when alone.

Loves secret is the truth we share to build a home.

Loves home is the heartbeat which creates the ground.

Loves ground a fertile place these seeds are found.

Loves seeds we share throughout the day.

With everyone in every way.

Liam. October 2018

Poetry: What is Love?

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Relearning the Shape of Me

by Liam 

When it’s the moon and stars I seek,

—I ask the night

to hold me in its sight.

I wander

fragile,

worn,

weak—

relearning my name,

learning how to see again.

I place a rose into your hand.

It’s not my thorns

that make you bleed.

It’s the way my gaze

unmasks what you had planned.

Because truth—

truth cuts sharper

than anything I ever meant to hide.

I trace my faults

in crooked lines,

insecurities carved into my mind.

Every misjudgment

steals a little more sight,

until—

bite by bite

I start losing

the one I was holding on inside.

I said I named my body.

I named my path.

I named you.

I said every choice was mine alone.

But freedom frays

where hearts betray,

and consequence—

consequence redraws us

whether we’re ready or not.

And still—

like dawn

melting midnight blue,

your love

revives my world.

Not by saving me—

but by showing me

the shape

I’d forgotten

was already true.

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A Blessing to my Younger Me

by Liam 

Come here, my small one,

slip out from the hush of hidden rooms,

where shadows tried to teach you

you were too much, or not enough.

I have walked the years to find you,

following the bright, trembling line

of your laughter,

and the salt-trail of your tears.

I know the weight you carried,

how silence felt safer

than asking for what you needed,

how the world loomed enormous

and your heart beat

like a frightened bird

against the walls of your ribs.

Let me kneel beside you now,

and speak into that hush:

You were never wrong for feeling deeply.

Your tenderness is not a wound.

It is the place where light enters.

I have become the arms

you wished would hold you.

I am the voice that says:

It is safe, beloved.

Come into the day.

I bring you news from the far shore:

There is beauty waiting

where you once feared only dark.

The world can be gentle.

There are those who see you whole,

who hold your gaze with kindness.

In me, you have survived

and more than survived:

You have learned to bless your own scars

and call your spirit home.

So let us begin again,

hand in hand,

speaking softly

to every hidden hurt,

letting the hush be filled

with new music—

the music of a life

no longer ashamed

to shine.

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Cuvée 

by Liam

This cuvée of the mind is a sparkling wine

We sip with our eyes

We taste with our souls, 

We feel with our perception

Till all is spinning into one, 

Inebriation! 

Give I these grapes to God in gratitude

New nourishment for my soul

We’ve discovered the hidden within the divine.

A mystery unto myself ,

I am that which I consume.

I am this which I drink.

Am I the becoming,

Oh, what do I think?

Come friends, let’s toast to this feast of universality,

To the recognition of immortality.

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The Art of Being Human

by Liam

Allow yourself to be a born human;

to arrive as a growing symphony of life,

a fierce flame carried forth from the dusk.

Allow yourself to become;

the living song you sing whose truths gather

in your bones,

until your very presence

is an ode to belonging.

Allow yourself to be alive:

to be drawn into the gravity of your own becoming,

to listen to the quiet music

hidden beneath your breath.

Allow yourself to trust;

that every step is held by an ancient knowledge  

that remembers you.

An individual discovering the meaning of the mystery.

A soul slowly learning

the art of its own delight.

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Solar Heart

by Liam

I’ve seen the quiet tremors of your gaze,

the way your pulse outshines the afternoon,

as if your breath were woven out of days,

that learned their language from a rising moon.

You speak, and dormant gardens break their sleep;

you move, and hidden continents shift their flow.

The world shuffles in, to listen to the deep

unfolding of a light it longs to know.

What secret spark first stirred this inner fire?

What cosmic gravity drew a flame to heart?

Your presence bends reality to desire,

A flame claims, love begins to start.

In your heart the sun is an exploding flame,

and the sky so blue 

will never be the same.

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Finding Infinity

 by Liam

It’s when my body’s weak, not strong, 

My breath, its flow, is soft and slow. 

Eyes, they burn, 

Onto my aching side, I turn.

Here, thinking is my feeling, Feeling thoughts which intertwine. 

It’s deep to reach my inner speech, 

Walk around inside my busy mind. 

Those soft persuasive voices, 

The conversation between Me and me.

The things I do, 

The decisions made, 

The here, the now, 

The story played, 

The wonder of a wish come true, 

The simple fact of me and you.

Not time, but rhythm, a calling, 

Words, thoughts, we dance, we sing, 

Into the music of this space, 

All quiet, absolutely true, this ring.

Gratefully gliding, moving, 

We spin timeless to the floor. 

Serendipity’s grin, 

Eternity’s win, 

Creativity’s cry, 

Magical eye.

Grateful, my art in hand,

Mindful, for you set me free.

Creatively, now we stand,

Happily, smile into infinity.

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The Art of Words

by Liam

Let me learn this art of words, I say,

To shape the sounds that linger in the air,

To sculpt the dawn from dreams in which we play,

And weave the truth these willing hands can bear.

For language is a lantern in the night,

A bright spark shining when the paths depart;

It warms the cold, restores my fading sight,

And carries mystery from the deepest part.

Which—tumble humble from my heart—they all,

Like scattered petals drifting in the breeze;

Yet still they rise to answer some faint call

And settle softly where another sees.

So grant my voice, that gentle souls may hear

The blossom of this art made bright and clear.

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The Art of Becoming

By Liam

They say I am growing old, that time is stripping me of who I once was, leaving behind only regret and solitude.

But no, what they mistake for age is something else entirely. I am not fading; I am maturing.

I have ceased to be the shape into which others wished to mold me.

I no longer hunger for approval, no longer lean into mirrors that distort rather than reveal. 

Instead, I have turned inward, where quietude inspires truth.

I am not withdrawing,

I  am choosing. 

Choosing where my soul feels at home, with whom my spirit truly sings. 

Let’s uplift rather than constrain, 

Let’s create thoughts which nourish rather than consume.

Not from indignation, but in reverence for my own well-being.

I have traded restless nights for wakeful learning, exchanged borrowed stories for those now woven with my own hands. 

No longer hidden beneath the disguises of expectation, 

I carry not masks but books, each page a window, each word a light.

No, I am not growing old. I am unfolding.

There is a fresh pulse in my soul, a child’s wonder still alive in my heart. 

The cocoon I once clung to is breaking open, and what emerges will soar to places untouched by those bound only to the weight of this world.

I smile now with the ease of one who knows that simplicity is sacred. 

I walk more slowly, not from weariness but from a desire to see what others rush past. 

I hold silence, not because I lack words, but because not all words are meant to be spoken.

No, I am not growing old. 

I am beginning, at last, to become alive.

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Neither Self nor Shore

by Liam

Watching, the ocean takes me too,

and moves me with it,

not just the body,

but the quiet places

language never touches.

This tide rises then falls, defining my periphery,

dissolving perception

until I am neither self

nor shore.

Becoming pulse and current,

foam and undertow,

a surge that erodes even language.

And yet, when I return

to the weight of my own skin,

sand clinging to form,

I carry the hush of that vastness,

the resonant syllable of water,

molecules alive, move inside me.

Crystallizing   slowly, create these, the letters of my moment.