Tag Archives: writing and inspiration

Staring Contest

See the empty pages


staring back at you

staring as you stare

at them:

All those pages,

empty,void and


waiting for a stroke

of your pen

the cut and thrust

of some intellect and

a little wit;

Scratches on the surface

of the Sun,

etchings on the landscape

of the Moon;

and still you stare at them

whilst they’re staring back

at you,

and you alone

hold the pen.

The Writer Writes

If everything that I write

is everything that I am,

then all the words I’ve written

is all of me;

Words are my flesh,

and stories my breath;

I walk in dreams,

I have been to the mountain top

and have come back down;

And if those words

are all that I’ll ever be,

then those words suffice;

it is written,

it is done,

it is ineluctable,

it is immutable;

I have breathed stories,

and my words became


Whatever Happened To That Novel I Was Writing ?

What did happen to that novel
that I was supposed to be writing ?
You know earnestly like Vargas Llosa
or maybe Orwell or even CJ Sansom ;
Where has it gone and what shall
ever become of it ?
That novel of mine that child
of my intellectual loins ?
The one due to be set in South America ,
that mystery centred around the enigma
of a photograph ?
a cast of characters waiting forever
in a quasi-existential limbo for
a completion, an ending of the narrative
which now no longer appears capable
of dramatic resolution ?
A coup d’etat based on the
catastrophic events of a precursor 9/11 ,
the eleventh of September in Chile 1973 ;
an amalgam of malignant conspiracies
involving foreign corporate interests
and venal power seeking indigenous demagogues ;
the torture the suffering the chaos ,
pretence ,lies ,bloodshed and betrayals ,
and here am I their author,
Progenitor in Excelsis
who has abandoned that particular project ;
it is all now nothing more
than a boarded up store front
over which a faded sign swings in the breeze
like a prisoner on the gallows.

To Acceptance

Acceptance, a silver lining of hope

Shines on the overcast sky of anonymity.

Acceptance tumbles up like bubbles,

Floating on the thick broth of negation.

Hope is the new dream of salvation

We hug tight, like golden leaves

Falling before the snow.

We are all worn off branches,

Old skeletons hanging in cold streets.
So long, death!

Do leave us, clinging to a new life,

Do let the light of dawn

Enter our rooms as kindly visitors.

Acceptance is the Fairy Godmother waving her magic wand,

We follow her, with tailor-made clothes, smiles and steps

With custom-made music and melodies

To the wishes of warmer times.

I drift away from this room, away from

The last corpse of rejected mess.

Acceptance is my winged chariot,

I hop and skip my failed, belittled days.

I soar, I sparkle, I am one

With the lilac and honeysuckle of hope.

Footnotes: Sharing this tiny, fledgling tinge of inspiration that comes with being accepted and embraced by some, amidst challenging times of rejection and apathy. A toast raised to the unexpected acceptances, an assurance that a silver lining of hope is waiting at the end of the road. And yes, though this poem is written in July, it holds special meaning now, after being accepted to the International community of Destiny Poets 🙂