Category Archives: Inspirational poetry

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The Art of Intention 

by Liam

Let’s open up the idea beneath each action

Uncover its means, reveal its intent.

We move, we fold, we lie,

 but why? 

because life presses upon us,

because hunger calls,

because love beckons.

Yet beneath these visible gestures,

An invisible force quickens

to life

Intent, is my hidden ember

cradled in the soul,

Glowing long before the flame.

Before the hand reaches,

before the word is spoken,

before the road is chosen,

Intent strives forward within us;

a listening,

a longing,

a subtle calling.

This yes, is deeper than fear,

remembering a horizon

Our eyes have not yet seen.

When intent is fractured,

we scatter like startled birds.

When it remains whole,

even our smallest step

rings with belonging.

So tend to your intention,

Discover it within your own depth and ask:

What future am I watering

with the light of my attention?

For the world grows

in the direction

of what we intend.

And every dawn

waits patiently

for the shape of our becoming.

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The Art of Listening

By Liam

When the world grows loud with its own undoing,

I beg, listen gently.

Listen, not to answer,

not to achieve, but to manifest.

As an echo returns to me

It carries more than the sound:

a trace of singing,

a memory of whence it came,

the warmth of you who were.l

Nothing we hear is unique.

It has moved reflecting from stone,

Across time,

through the hearts of people 

before arriving in mine.

So I pause.

I make room

I anticipate.

In that small significant moment,

something shifts

not the world all at once,

but the way I stand within it.

 And for a moment,

the future feels possible,

because I am not alone

in the listening.

But part of the process 

Of understanding who we are.

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Ask

Ask for, You shall Become !

by Liam

Ask the morning for bread,

life will place it warm in your hands,

A grateful gift of wheat and heat,

Is enough to feed you

through its conversation with the day.

Ask the night for your soul,

it will answer more quietly,

opening hidden places each unique,

each longingly learning its name.

This awakening becomes my form of prayer.

Ask, and life kneels forgivingly.

Ask life and the veil dissipates.

But let there be a deeper listening

than the hunger of the mouth

or the thirst of the heart,

a listening where the seeker

recognizes their own footsteps

echoing ahead of them into the future.

What you seek is not separate from yourself .

What you seek emerges  within you.

Understand this insight,

it’s not in words

but in a sudden sensitivity 

toward your own awareness,

as though the light you’ve followed

has been emergent within your being all along.

The bread becomes your blessing,

The soul becomes your shelter,

and the quest folds inward like a benediction,

Until we say,

I am the question.

I am also the answer.

I am the gate to be opened.

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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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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.

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The Flux

by Liam

Do not be deceived by the word, ending

for what you call an end,

is but the shy opening of another door.

All things move in their own rhythm,

each life is a current of becoming, of growth,

each moment a threshold

where the unseen strives to find form.

Your past is never lost

it lingers, ringing as a faithful echo,

a mirror of the self you too once carried.

But memory is not a cage,

it is a root, quietly fertilizing 

the soil of your tomorrow.

Let your  patience soften joyfully into the flow of change,

Thereby shaping  with tenderness

the mighty clay of your becoming.

And when all the familiar falls away,

cling not to its absence which is surpassed,

but trust the shining horizon

already rising within you.

For nothing truly concludes.

Its from the silence,

new language is being born. 

Each new letter a eulogy 

to yourself.

The end, is but a beginning,

And us, forever in flux,

are eternal pilgrims of 

arrival.

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Individuation

by Liam

Ive walked a path coiling like a serpent,

through shadowed groves and sudden light,

With each step, echoed a name

I once thought was me.

The masks I wore, were 

polished for strangers,

and beneath them 

a thousand unspoken selves

begin to mumble .

Dreams spoken in riddles,

their tongues woven with moonlight and bone.

Opaque symbols risen from the depths 

the wise old one,

the wild child,

the dark twin.

I do not banish them.

I invite them into my eyes

Into a house, my heart

built from reconciliations,

each room a meeting place

where my shadow meets light & clasps hands.

Sovereign 

at the far edge of this inner continent,

I recognize 

it was never about becoming someone new,

but remembering

who stands looking me all along.