Tag Archives: poetic

MY poetry is written with an intuitive passion for rhythm, action and flow.The content is mostly congruent, meaningful, thought provoking & of interest.

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Words in Spring

by Liam

In springtime, my words too will blossom

not perfectly in a slick dialogue,

but in the humble whisper

of something just born.

Long dormant beneath the syllables of silence,

nestled in the earth of what I did not yet know how to express.

Yes, the spring comes quickly.

Light illuminates the soil of the spirit,

and what once was buried

germinates with understanding.

These words are not summoned, but consciously arrive

as petals burst open toward a seeking sun,

drinking from the mystery that makes all things grow.

This harvest is not to explain,

but to reveal.

Not to answer,

but to bless.

May words find you too,

the way wildflowers find cracks on the pilgrim’s path,

unexpected, tender, and beautiful.

Not forged in certainty, but in wonder,

lingering like dew along the edge of your morning sojourn.

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The Altar of Now

by Liam

Let this day not pass

as a mere rhythm of tasks,

but as the quiet thrum

of my inner joy.

Let your words be shaped

by the hush of gratitude,

spoken not to fill the air

but to consecrate it.

This my moment is not

subservient to past or future.

It is the altar of now,

where life enacts with you too.

So greet each cloud

as if it carries a message.

Stretch your arms wide to the fields

they remember where you belong.

Fly with the starlings,

which have never forgotten to sing.

Kneel often,

for each breath we take

is a borrowed grace.

Be authentic to your becoming.

Reveal your love

not as a performance,

but as the soul’s spoken tongue,

singing sweet lullabies to your awakening.

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Pain

“Spoken by the quiet voice of the heart”

by Liam

When pain comes,

not as an intruder,

but as an old companion

with no name,

welcome it.

Let it sit beside you

in the soft chair of morning.

Do not ask it to explain itself.

It speaks in the language of silence,

and it knows

the hidden geography of your body.

Pain does not arrive to punish,

but to open

what was closed,

to break

what no longer serves,

to draw you

closer to that center

you had forgotten.

It peels away your armor,

not to leave you bare,

but to clothe you

in truth.

It turns your gaze inward,

where the light

waits patiently

under the ruins.

Trust these strange hands,

they do not break you,

they reshape us.

And in time,

when the ache becomes a rhythm

the rhythm turns to rhyme

you no longer fear,

you will find

beneath the wound

a wellspring,

a deeper kindness,

a fierce gratitude.

Until then,

breathe gently.

Speak your sadness to the sky.

Let the pain be part of your prayer.

For pain, too,

is a teacher,

and even in darkness,

it plants

the seeds of a new day dawning.

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The Thrum

by Liam

Just dream away, my beloved.

Let your mind’s wheel roll.

You have carried enough of thinking

those thoughts

that only shadow

the tender light of now.

Come closer to me.

Let the hush gather us in.

Ideas are too small

for the truth we share,

a truth that lives

in the excitement before a kiss,

in the glance that says 

“I see you”,

without a spoken word.

Beyond the riding moon,

I feel you, hear your joy, your singing voice,

a constellation shining into laughter.

You juggle dreams like yesterdays prayers,

offering them to the night

with hands that have known both silence and song.

And I

I am here,

dizzy in this profound stillness,

where even my breath feels sacred.

We move not with steps,

but with the soft thrum

of hearts entwined,

your rhythm beating

its gentle message o

against the door of my chest.

This is no dream.

This is the real deal,

Where we flow,

Where we glow,

And where all that remains is the thrum of it all.

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You & Me

by Liam

At the very edge of this world,

where stars lean close and listen,

where the ocean keeps the memory

of all that has passed before 

I found you

or perhaps,

you found me.

In that quietude beyond thinking 

I asked,

“Who are you?”

And you,

woven of wind and wonder,

answered,

“I am the design of this all.”

Those words rang

like truth spoken in a language

older than breath.

So I asked again,

from the deep aching of my being:

“And who am I?”

Your smile broke like dawn

over the stones of the earth.

You answered,

“The desire, you are the desire of this Design.”

Then something within me,

a gate,

a flame,

a name 

opened wide.

I laughed,

wild and full,

and leapt

into the great unknowing.

That void became a cradle,

the stars a choir,

the dark a dance.

And I moved,

weightless and whole,

as the cosmos remembered itself and me.

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The Dove’s Flight

May she lift beyond the tethered hush of a twig,

Hear the heart, remember its ancient longing,

and the sky will part on the threshold of this knowing.

Let her rise into the great breath of silence,

where the winds are woven from our forgotten dreams,

and the earth below fades away like a whisper.

No cage, no shadow, only the bright veracity of flight,

Let thy soul shed that weight of yesterday,

and step across the air into the widening light.

She becomes a song of prayer,

Of grace unseen yet ever present flight,

Her spirit drawn not by fear, but by the deep, eternal call of the heart.

May she find, in the vast embrace of sky and sea,

that freedom is not in the leaving behind,

but the becoming of all she was meant to be.

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Sonnet: Skylark 

by Liam

As Skylark soars with wings embraced by blue,

This wind does sweep past and through my soul,

And as we laugh and ask, “why?”, anew,

A thousand questions do fly my mind.

For in God’s glance, I find support and grace,

To face the truth that needs to be defined,

For caught in a reflection of Heaven’s face,

My lips shall find that silent proof entwined.

Deep does truth in my soul lie.

Embedded in the bedrock of my being, 

And as I wait for wisdom’s gentle sway,

The breeze shall whisper secrets all seeing.

So patiently I wait for truth to shine,

High Skylark sings to me with melodies divine. 

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The Alchemy of Grief

by Liam

Grief is the icy tide that rises,

Rains streak upon my cheek,

its salt-washed sorrow carving deep

the fragile boundaries of all we keep.

Yet its here, in sorrow’s ache,

where we silently weep and boundaries break,

These tears fall, like silver rain,

To soften my earth for hope’s refrain.

For every thorn that tears the skin

has roots in what will bloom within,

and what was raw, unshaped, undone,

becomes new gold of a morning sun.

O alchemy, O tender grace,

heal the wound with light’s embrace

where once was loss, now beauty grows,

This soul transforms,  with a crimson rose. 🌹 

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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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The Silence of Everything 

By Liam

Before I found silence,

Before stillness wove its perfume through the window,

Before quietude shaped the pulse where listening awakens,

Noise swirled its ceaseless tide,

Filling the day, pressing heavy upon my ear,

Yet missing the music that longed to be heard.

There is a silence beneath all the noise,

A whisper within the rush of words,

A presence, patient and rich,

Waiting to soften the hard edges of this world.

Let this pour gold into your listening,

Hush, let this become the threshold of wonder,

Let quietness open a door to your deeper song.

And now, at this feast of light,

Where silence graces bread and goblet,

We bless the joy of this beautiful new day,

Grateful to finally hear what was always there.

For silence is not the absence of sound,

But the presence of everything we failed to notice,

Yet we’re searching to understand.

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