Unblemished like the sky,
My love
for all I’ll never know.
These words just a poem;
A recipe,
That’ll never add up
To you


Being Human

These cliffs of wind borne memory,
Do carry me back to you now –
The warmth of your thighs
Keeps winter at bay,
Out there where frigid white-tips,
Scull a course remote
From fire’s warm light,
Where passion’s yearning
Keeps us human still

The Scales of Worth

House of mirrors this-
Glowing screen with drumbeat fingers,
Tapping of their own accord,
This life that’s not my own,
Nothing but this need to write
and be read-
Loved, revered, talked of
In blogs the other side of the world,
Across the mirrored hall of my mind,
This reflected light;
Refracted thoughts,
Nothing but a mote of dust,
To weigh the scales of worth.

Evil, no-evil

Night swallows day,
Sight fails in the inky shroud of black,
Knowledge withers and logic stumbles,
Imagination is tunneled down negative spirals;
A cave full of shadows,
Nothing is real but everything is a threat,
Leaking out on a world turned grey,
The core is poisoned,
The well springs empty,
Coughing, spluttering the seeker is lost,
A deep marsh of melancholy
For boots over-brimming with bitterness,
Hands seek to clutch and fists to lash
At the cruelty of life,
Suffocation – no air to breathe,
No possibilities in a world shrunk to a point.
Then comes the lightning strike-
Instant illumination!
If all is lost then only growth remains,
A new horizon spreading wings by the second,
Through parting clouds the moon shines bright,
A mirror to the soul long lost but un-tattered,
Sails filling up with sudden hope,
Lungs that breathe again like billows to the wind,
Hands no longer grasping round their own throat,
The noose falls away,
Evil recedes,
Thought and emotion tip back the scales of balance,
Imagination is freed and fingers stroke through long grass,
The mountain air clears the fog of war,
Above the stars, oh so many stars,
The spiral path loops ever upwards,
Day is born.

Western thought divides night from day, beautiful from ugly and good from evil. Evil is assigned to the dark; to that which we reject in society and ourselves. We lock away in jail those we judge to be evil, and lock away in our unconscious those parts of ourselves we are ashamed of. But any process of growth must shine the light of awareness into every dark nook and cranny, every shadowed corner full of the pale shapes of our shame and inadequacy. Many people spend their life trying to cover this up, to strengthen the mask, but always their nemesis is there to undo with wrong all they do with right.

In the East of the past evil was more rationally looked at as faulty thinking. This compassionate view saw the criminal as someone whose path through life has not taught him the lessons he needed to be good. His role models were men who tried to survive in any way they could, and so such a man he also became. The desperate, the weak, the afraid will always lash out. In this way we are no different from the dog that has been mistreated and mistrained by its owner. Chained to a lonely corner without discipline, without exercise, without love, it barks and snaps at any and all who pass by.

This does not mean we should open the prisons, that we should allow the street thug to attack us with impunity. To apply what we have learned about evil on others would be like the man who cast the stone before first freeing himself of sin. We must look within to explore the dark depths of our own minds, to bring light to the evil, the faulty thinking in ourselves. This is the only path that leads to stability, to strength, to a way of life that takes from its follower any need to lash out to prove himself to others. To fix the world, we must fix ourselves.


Injured in body,

Injured in mind,

The stream bubbles; blocked

By the suited men and their grey-stone dam.

It’s called working life and we’re all enslaved,

To their goddess of work.

But water will win out,

There, here, a crack!

And the water flows through;

New life; hidden, tunneling out caves

Of introspected meaning.

A whole new world,

For me to play in.

Thank you everyone that took part in the poetry rally,  I read some great inspirational stuff that will be sure to emerge from the melting pot of my mind in days and weeks to come. A special thanks for the perfect poet award.

My acceptance Haiku:

Many are the friends
I’ve never met, many streams
Leading to one sea

I’d like to nominate for further reading:


The Spiral

The Spiral winds inwards

Towards total focus,

The eye of the storm is moving

Fast or slowly,

Heavy or light,

Can you stay with it?

Out Beyond the Wall

My thanks again to Jenny Matlock’s Saturday Centus, this prompt was way too good to resist…

This wall was built long ago…
Too much life for the straight and narrow way,
Great and crashing waves of existence,
Too strong for the emerging mind of man.
And so a wall was built deep and high
To keep out the night of unconsciousness,
To hold back the forgotten dread,
That sneaks  in through quiet times
To take us unawares,
Or breaks over ramparts,
And soak us in the icy brine of prehistoric life.
What am I, who am I and what does the wall hold back? we might ask,
It protects us from too much life,
It contains the other side we cannot abide,
But now like all good adventurers I must go out,
Out beyond the wall,
Into the camp of night , into winter’s shadowy grip,
And bring back that jewel of the hidden north,
Bring back myself: whole and full.
Pray that I return-
Pray that The Wall lets me pass,
Back to warmth and comforts of the mundane…
Or on moonlit nights look out for me;
A knot of night in the passing gloom,
Forever calling you…
Out beyond the wall.

Why do I write?

Thoughts like water
Why do I write?
Deep as oceans,
Shallow as the frothy surf
On my tongue,
Or an echoing teardrop in a prisoner’s cave,
Ripples on the perfect glass,
Of my existence.
Or a storm of wind and fury,
Carelessly tossing trees and lives,
I am here I am alive, can anybody hear?
Sighing like the tide defeated
I am here and will be here again
What have I learned since last time?
The endless cycle ever takes me home.

Nothing more than this…

Left shoulder’s ache,

Legs crossed under the table,

Warmth in the crotch,

Fingers tapping lightly,

Slight annoyance at the backspace,

Voices rising and falling gently like waves,

As conversations take precedence,

Over and under the morning rain,

Clouds bright under the indignant sun,

Nothing more than left shoulder’s ache,

Must have dreamed on it last night-

Flowerbeds and TV shows,

And a sense of falling

As my girlfriend tugs on the duvet,

Nothing more than this

Nothing more than this,

It starts again



The storm has broken,

I was depressed,

Now it rains and I am happy.

Previous Older Entries

(C) Copyright Mark B Williams 2014
MyFreeCopyright.com Registered & Protected