Tag Archives: poetry

WHO POINTS THE GUN?

Posted on by under Earth changes, Ecology, Nature, poetry, postcovid, Uncategorized

This poem came to me today as I heard the traffic returning now lockdown is easing. I was sitting in my garden( here in the UK)  where I was looking at the beautiful plants and the bees, birds and other insects doing their wonderful thing…

 

Spider (Neoscona adiantum) on bramble leaf

“They’ve turned the volume back up again,”

said the Blackbird to his mate.

“Yes, they’re out again,”

Said the Blue Tit on the gate.

 

“Well it was nice while it lasted,”

Said the Spider on a leaf.

“We’re creeping around again,” said Beetle,

“Hiding in the dark, like a thief.”

“Owl said, he thought, it seemed too good

to last,” sung the Thrush.

“Yeh, I’m feeling pretty down,” said Snail,

“I don’t know – what’s their rush?”

 

“Then they have to pump that stuff,” said Fox,

“That really gets in my throat.”

“Yes, they’ve killed so many of my family,”

cried Hedghog, “despite our armoured coat.”

Worm popped up; “They only think of themselves ”

“It’s me, me, me,” Ant squeaked.

“Selfish b…..,”

called Cricket as he leaped.

 

“I’d hoped they’d realised all the pain they’d caused,”

said Badger, “all the damage that they’d done.”

“Blind and stupid, they are,” screamed Crow,

“Sometimes I wished I had the gun.”

ROE DEER CALF

“What and be like them?” Owl screeched,

“With their poisons and their violence?”

“Oh goodness, it was so lovely,” Deer whispered,

“The peace and the silence.”

 

“Trouble is they think they’re greater than us,”

chirped Sparrow, “we’ve no value in their eyes.”

“Ha! They’d be knee deep in their own crap

without US!” said the Flies.

“So what do we do?” asked the Bullfinch,

“This can’t go on again for long?”

“Nothing. Just be ourselves as always,” said the Stoat,

“It’s them that’s done wrong.”

 

“Mother Nature will have the final say,”

said the Starlings all as one.

“Infact, when you think of it,” said the Blue Jay,

“It’s She, the Earth who points the gun.”

 

by Maxine Bell @2020

windinwillows_3044679k

 

 

BELIEFS ABOUT FATHER

Posted on by under Emotional Injury, Fathers, fear, Gender Wounds, God's Love, God's Way of Love, Grief, humility, Parenting

dad

Dennis Arthur Falloon (My Dad/ Big brother)

My father recently passed and even though I know he continues his life, in his spirit body and that he is still the same man, really in the early stages of a life that will continue for a long time, I felt so many emotions because the story of me and my dad is complicated. I have gone from angry, confused, very sad and grieving and full of regret. I am still in the process of unravelling and allowing all this to move through me. It is coming in fits and starts. Not a river, but more like someone turning the tap on and then off again.

The other part of this is that lately God has been showing me in many law of attraction events that working through my block to Him in relation to how I feel about men and myself in relation to men is really vital right now, if I am to progress. The emotions and beliefs I currently hold are blocking me from my true Father. God’s truth is that the person I understand as my father is in fact an older brother, who had the role of caring and teaching me. I can say and understand this intellectually, but I don’t know this in my heart, which means I don’t know this at all. To think God is my father, to read this, to hear this from Jesus (in fact my dad stuff also affects how I feel about Jesus) – and Mary, is one thing, but to know this truth deep in my heart is really knowing it, really feeling it and that is an emotion I don’t have and in fact I am not yet truly convinced emotions will help me. It is in my thoughts a lot and maybe a few times in my life I have opened the door of my heart slightly to feel what this means, but mostly I can’t and I can’t because my experience of “father” has been difficult, confusing, frustrating and mostly painful and I have held on to the emotions, either in denial, resistance and/or fear.

How we feel about father, about men comes through the belief systems of our parents and environment. So how my mother feels about men, how my father feels about himself as well as other prominent people in our younger lives, whether it is grandparents, teachers or others. Some of these beliefs are generational and some from our parents experiences. Then to add to that are our experiences with our fathers and other men around as children, and how that effects future relationships with men. From those causes come the effects of how we relate to male relationships and how we view ourselves in those relationships. The most powerful effects come from us holding onto these emotions, suppressing them as children and then as adults. Sadly, most of us are trained to suppress our emotion, which means most of us are living in the fear and other negative emotions created from our childhood.  Even if you think your childhood was okay, you may only have to examine your current life and your relationships to get an idea if you are carrying mistaken beliefs or error-based emotions in you.

For myself, I have a number of things I am clearly aware of and many others that have yet to come to light for me to fully understand and Jesus teaches that these awareness’s all need to be feelings and not just thoughts for me to really know why I do what I do.

My father was 22 when he married my mother, who was just turning 18 and most of my life I have heard my mother’s version of what happened in that marriage. She claimed my father was distant and violent. She described him pulling her down the stairs by her hair and other such stories all culminating in the day he left, well abandoned us, leaving my mum a single parent with two small children. This was about 8-9 years after they married. After he left at some point, mum and I and my younger brother, Dean moved into a caravan. We had very little money and I can remember mum begging the lady in the shop for some bread to give us some toast. My mum’s family did not help and apparently not my father either. During that period my mum had a male friend visit. He had been one of our neighbours in our previous house and was going through a divorce himself. It wasn’t too long before they decided to get married and within a year or so mum had had my other brother.

Mum was married to him for about 5 years or so and it was not a good time. I don’t remember my father’s violence, but I do remember my step-father’s. I remember my mother’s breakdown and suicide attempts were during this time ( probably what would now be post natal depression on top of the abuse that went on). We were all vigilant when he was there. He ruled the house through fear. At that time I was very grateful that we lived in the countryside and could roam out of the house most of the day. Also, at that time mum was friends with the vicar from our previous home. He was regular visitor and I went on brownie camps with him and others. There was something odd about him and I can remember some uncomfortable feelings around him and even writing this brings up fear in me.

This whole period wasn’t good, and many things happened: some I remember and a lot of it is still blanked out. I started to have regular nightmares, repetitive and frightening and ones that I felt I had to cope with alone. My mum got away from this marriage, when she met someone else and with his help and a couple of friends we were woken one night, put in a car in our night clothes and moved out of our home. We slept in the home of my mother’s new partner, who was to become my second step father and with two new step sisters. Like many in those days, we were not really told anything or asked how we were. We just had to accept the changes.

Out of all of my mother’s relationships this was probably the best. He wasn’t violent, but they were very focused on each other. Life did not settle and my mum still seemed affected, histrionic and unpredictable. I do not need to go into all that happened, but all I knew was I felt very alone, was often and continuing from my younger years, the parent/carer to my mother. I couldn’t wait to leave home.

My step father was very hot and cold and I never knew where I stood with him and there was period where he disappeared, left my mum in a meltdown and me caring for her and my two brothers. He had a strong belief that we all needed to earn our keep and when I was 10, in the first year we knew him I was cooking bar food in the kitchens of a pub we lived in and ran. It felt like we had to earn “love.”

So I could summarise my experiences of fathers as distant, disapproving, untrustworthy, weak, angry, frightening, abandoning, emotionally and physically absent, and never feeling good enough to be loved, love was very conditional on me being “good” in their eyes and earning the right to it. I felt very unseen and unheard and lost. I now realise this is how I feel about God. I have projected all my dad emotions onto Him, feeling his disapproval, distance, anger and feeling totally unloved and unlovable, like I am the only child he will never accept. So I think about wanting to receive God’s love, but with all these negative emotions I am too frightened to open my heart to my version of God.

On top of that I felt and heard all of my mother’s feelings and beliefs about men: they are weak, useless, selfish. A good man would provide for a woman, make her feel safe and secure. Mum was never satisfied with the finances we had. Being married was seen as proof of your “alrightness” as a woman. She indicated that sex was unpleasant and their physical bits ugly. Yet at the same time I had to act like a lady. I was not allowed to pass wind or swear and had to sit nicely, have long hair (that’s what men preferred). Lot’s of messages that I had to perform and present a facade of nice, good. Her ideal man for me would be someone earning a good amount of money and demonstrate his love to me with gifts and holidays etc. That was her dream really, one she never got.

I have told you all this just to give an example of some of the beliefs and emotions that effected me and many of you will relate to too and it was through all these filters, all these beliefs and all the damaging emotions from these experiences that I went out into the world with. I had also gone to an all girls school, had no confidence in myself and so the idea of men and relationship terrified me. I was too terrified to touch myself, let alone let someone do it. Mum had made me feel ashamed and scared of my own body and feelings and other childhood experiences had left me with no real sense of myself or my boundaries and many dark moments happened from that space.

My father had left when I was 4 or 5 and I didn’t hear from him until I had left home, was living in London aged 19. I had a call out of the blue. We met up. I remember two visits and some letters and I can’t remember what happened, but at some point he disappeared from my life again. As the years went by there were two occasions when I turned up at his house out of the blue. One time, when my brother wanted to meet him, and another when my son was about 2 or 3. Each time we would have contact for a while and for one reason or another he seemed to disappear again. So the last time I saw him physically was about 20 years ago. In the last 3 years my brother contacted him and met up with him and he and his family even went to stay with my father for a few days. I wasn’t asked to join them, but I did start an email communication with my father. The last email was last summer when I told him I had had the all clear from cancer, he replied and I replied to him, but then he didn’t reply back. What I didn’t know was that about that time he was being diagnosed with cancer, but one that he never recovered from and so he passed just over two weeks ago.

After my father left us, he did meet someone, remarried and had two more sons. These two sons were the ones who decided we needed to be told our father had passed and they have been truly kind and understanding and invited Dean and I to the funeral last week. It has been a rollercoaster of emotions and also we have discovered lots about our father we didn’t know. He had many friends and family at his funeral and he was described as gentle, loving children and nature. I felt immense grief and still do. I am very sad that we didn’t get to know each other better; I am very sad that many years were wasted because of my fears and hurt, but also because of my father’s hurt too. He would come towards us, but then for whatever reason back away again so that I felt unloved and unaccepted again and again. I also felt that because I look like my mother, he could not see beyond that to ME. He was very traumatised by what happened with my mother and is the reason he said that he could not maintain contact with us – it was like he was afraid of her and her behaviour.

The information we have had about dad certainly changes the story my mother has relayed all these  years and she did not respond well to knowing we wanted to go to his funeral, meaning that my father’s passing has also triggered some dark emotions about my mother and how much she was a block to us getting to know and have some sort of relationship with our father and how she may have manipulated the truth because of her own fears and anger.  I am struggling to put all the pieces together, and can only now continue to let myself fall into the emotions that arise from all this.  I am switching between romanticising my father, to trying to see the truth and to find the balance, as well as not blaming myself for not contacting him, even though I can see I was avoiding another “rejection.” But it has been really good to find out more, to feel things and to want to continue to.

It has made me acutely aware of the filters through which we see and feel things and how as children we absorb emotionally so much, so many beliefs and so many emotions from our parents: all of it obscuring the truth. I want to be able to separate God (as father) from my father as my father (rather than the older brother who was given the opportunity to be my temporary father, guide and teacher). I want to be able to separate my feelings about my earthly father from my heavenly Father, but I can’t right now. It is all overlapping and difficult, but it is just as it is and until I feel more about my father and my relationship with him and my step-fathers it won’t happen.

I am also learning that thinking something really doesn’t work. I am a great thinker, I have spent much of my life in my head, trying to figure things out and getting exhausted in the process so I know it doesn’t work. It may give a temporary fix- up, but it is a plaster over a gaping wound and the only thing that will heal that gaping wound will be to open up that wound and let all the pus (feelings) out so that it is clean and ready to let in truth and heal. I was a nurse and I know how wounds heal; I know we have to clean them to allow the new cells to grow. If we don’t clean out the yucky stuff there is no room for the new. It is the same with the error/emotional damage in us; it is the pus, that once removed allows us to feel the truth of a situation and that is what sets us free.

So through the process of allowing feelings to move through us, however long they may have been in us. If I allow this now about my father, I will find out the truth about him, but also most powerfully, I will understand better who my true Father is and then and only then will I develop trust that he loves me and wants to give me His love and then I will let it in.

It is very easy to look at this spiritual path I have found – The Way of God’s Love, and say yes I want to feel God’s love, but the truth is I don’t right now. Because of the injuries I have around fathers (and subsequently men) I feel too afraid to let God’s love in, or even trust that God loves me and wants to give me His Love.

Today I heard Jesus say that we are often putting all our energy into trying to change ourselves in order to receive God’s love. We have got it all wrong, because it is receiving God’s Love that will change us, transform us. So starting with trying to change ourselves – which is bloody hard work, exhausting and often pointless, because we are often coming from our minds and willpower – we should be looking at what stops us emotionally from letting God’s love in NOW and then working through those beliefs and emotions so that we can then let this Love in and let God transform us.

The penny finally dropped with me today on that! I have been so addicted to trying to improve myself, to be perfect so that my parents might love me and accept me, I have not seen the truth of allowing God’s power to transform me and therefore not seen the true power of humility (having a passionate longing to feel all my beliefs and emotions all of the time, no matter what anyone else thinks or feels).

The other wonderful thing is that God knows which emotions I am able to deal with right now and shows me daily by the law of attraction what ones to focus on, so I don’t even need to mentally work that out! All I need to do is pay attention and be willing to feel what comes up.

So for me this time with my dad and about my dad is an incredible opportunity to experience emotions I have had buried for a long time. I have gained some understanding this week about my father, but I can feel I have much more inside. So I pray to go there, to have the courage to do it and be grateful for all that comes.

So if you are struggling to with how you feel about God – that you doubt He is even there; that if He is he is just to awful or frightening, take time to list all the things you feel about Him and then have the honesty and willingness to see that all the things you feel are how you may feel about your parents or other adults around you (including religious ones) and try to separate God from that as you do. I have longed all my life for a father who loved me totally and unconditionally, who found something special in me, accepted me, and wanted the best for me. Because of my emotional injuries, I have tried to make my father something he wasn’t or even in the times he may have tried to do this not believed he did and I do need to find some peace through this by releasing emotions. However, the crazy thing is my dream father does exist and has done all along: my true Father God and when I get to feel this truly – wow! What a day that will be!

But in the meantime, I continue to search emotionally with and for my earthly father (probably in error and truth in different moments) and I hope through my own mediumship and emotions that I may talk to him again at some point. Or maybe I won’t need to if I feel the emotions, who knows? And I have a process of forgiveness and repentance to go through too. I do wish him well though, and I do hope he seeks his true Father too. I am still dreaming I can feel… that is where I am at…

Dennis Arthur Falloon, may you ask and it will be given to you: seek and you will find: knock and the door will be opened for you. Have courage and walk with the light ones.

For me, softening, desire, honesty and courage are required. I am fortunate enough to even have an awareness of all these different things as taught by Jesus and Mary: they have given detailed instruction on how to clean that wound – it’s all a case of whether I really listen and act accordingly, or even want to. I feel my journey with my father/Father will continue for some time, all dependent on my own will, but in the meantime I hope my own reflections help you with your own.

FATHER

When I was 5 you came to bring us gifts of love

Made with your own two hands.

A garage for my brother and a dolls house for me,

But I had a sinking feeling,

A look on your face, I didn’t want to see.

You knelt and spoke and I felt so sad,

Like my heart would break in two

As you walked back to your car.

My heart cried out, “Do you feel it too?”

 

I lost you that day for a further 15 years,

But I am sure I didn’t even cry or let out tears.

Because life got tough and no one replaced you.

In fact, I spent my time hoping it wasn’t all true.

So after 15 years you called me on the phone,

I was shocked, afraid, but hopeful,

I’d been feeling so alone.

We met, we talked, but it wasn’t simple.

I carried my scars and fears on the way,

You didn’t really understand

And you disappeared again one day.

 

This happened again and again through all my adult years.

I didn’t know how to be myself;

I longed for acceptance from you.

But I constantly felt rejected,

Even if it wasn’t true.

 

I wish you had persevered

And not given up on me.

I wish we could talk right now,

Because I can finally see.

I saw our story through my mother’s eyes

And other hurt that happened,

Didn’t make me wise.

 

You also had your story so you sometimes locked up your heart

And now I struggle to understand

What happened, what wasted times

Were spent apart.

Cause a part of me from long ago

The little me I feel

Turned into woman now, is still not able to heal.

Because I still wish for you and hold you in my heart

Mixed up with bewilderment

Of why we were kept apart.

 

So now you have passed through the mists

To the other side,

I pray to feel the emotions

I have kept locked up inside.

To grieve all the broken dreams of you,

And set myself free,

So that maybe one day

We can talk again and you will sit with me.

That we will find peace with this,

And can let each other go,

And be as God intended

As only He can know.

 

May we know our brother-sisterhood,

Instead of clinging on to pain.

And knowing our true Father

Can love each other freely,

Without self-gain.

 

I’m sorry that it couldn’t be

What it was meant to be,

But I have some faith, that one day I will know

That God loves me truly

As he does you too:

Where-ever we go,

Whatever we do.

We are both his children.

And to feel that deep inside,

Will be the greatest gift of all.

Where true love does reside.

@Maxine Bell 2017

WORDSMITH

Posted on by under desire, poetry, self worth, True Self

I AM WRITING

I am writing because I love to

I am writing words on a page,

That dance,

And skip,

And run on paper.

Words that calm,

Excite, enthuse and trigger.

Words that have magic

When strung together,

In rhythm, or wild and free.

 

Words unique to me,

To my expression,

My history,

My emotions.

Words that warm the heart,

Or break it.

Shattering the world

To tears and deep blue sadness,

To gut wrenching fear

And the fiery gate of anger.

Words to ignite,

To aid our flight

Awaken our soul, alive.

 

And words that

Feel too small to tell the truth

Of wonder.

But, words it is and words they are,

That help me

Speak and feel

And learn and create

And feed a passion

Of mine.

 

I write because I long to write

It’s simple really

There black and white.

To write, to write, to write.

sharpen-snoopy-writing

 

When I was young I was a very good reader and had read all the set books by the time I was 7 and so became a “free reader:” a pupil who was able to read anything at all on the shelves. I don’t remember all the books, but I do remember visiting the book shelves time and time again. At home, we hardly had any books. I remember one of my grandmothers’s buying me a whole set of Enid Blyton books one year and I read them again and again. I read anything, even my brother’s “Fantastic Four” annuals or my mother’s Catherine Cookson.

I loved reading and escaping into worlds other than my own, enjoying adventures and imaginary places, away from harsh realities. When I was older, I read a lot of Jane Austen, which were one of many I read out loud in order to hear myself speak differently and experiment with how it felt to talk as they did in the 19th Century. This is something I still like to do. I am fascinated with words and language: how they sound, feel and what they can express. But words are not limitless and I feel there are many things where words are not enough, but words can and do express a whole realm of wonder, information and imagination.

At some point during my childhood and certainly by the time I was 12 I started to write a diary or journal and to this day I continue to do so. It has never really been a daily event and there have been long periods where I wrote nothing at all. When I look back at my diaries aged 12, 13, 14 or 15 I cringe at some of the topics; boys, what my friends are doing, that kind of thing. But in between the normal sort of teenage stuff are painful entries of insecurity, fear, anger, frustration and sadness.

Then as a teenager some of that expression started to form into poetry and is still a form I love as it can be uninhibited by form, structure or grammar. It can flow in any direction, made from three words or three hundred. When I was teaching English for a while, I told the students that everyone is a poet (which I still believe) and then I proceeded to read a short, but powerful seven-word poem by my son. After their exclamations of approval I would tell them Ben has Down’s syndrome and could hardly write when he thought of that poem. All he did was tell his teacher what he saw and felt.

For me, it is that simple, poetry is about your physical senses and most importantly your feelings. What can you see, hear, taste, smell, touch and feel? What colours are in that butterfly? What happens in your heart when you watch her flitter around your face? How do you feel when you see scenes of war on the TV? Or hear that teenagers are lazy? It is human nature to respond to everything around us. We can try to shut it down and do successfully at times, but never completely: there is always a feeling their somewhere.

I recently watched a great documentary on the BBC called “We are Poets” about the Leeds Young Authors.  These are a group of 13-19 year old who are taught how writing can help them find their voice and expression and even discover who they are and want to be. It helps many young people deal with difficult life circumstances and take them away from negative life choices. They performed their poetry, sometimes called Slam Poetry and what impressed me the most was the passion with which they wrote, the passion with which they spoke and also that they never shied away from difficult subject matter. They said it – as it is for them and thanks to the project they have discovered all this at a young age.

For myself, I am nearing 50 and it was only about  5-6 years ago that I started to tell others I liked to write and that maybe I would like to do this more and maybe I had something to write about. It wasn’t easy to say. I felt others would laugh at such a dream or read something I had written and confirm what I felt inside that maybe I couldn’t really write and like a tone deaf singer I didn’t know how terrible my voice truly was.  Starting this blog over two and half years ago was a big step and a big statement. It was the moment when I decided I had to stop worrying less about what others thought and just do what I love.

Robby and I had been to a talk about six months earlier, when Jesus had given an example of a friend who had followed his passion to make music, sing and play his guitar. He had started off just playing for himself, just because of his love for it and over time as he worked through emotions and grew his desire he was now getting paid to do what he loved.  The story stayed with me and so the blog started. Since then, I have cried tears over all the years I didn’t follow my passions and dreams and having cancer really put into perspective the time I had wasted in not writing, not painting and not doing what I love and even discovering other new loves.

A creeping apathy had overtaken my life, a slowly creeping ivy where I had focused more on my son than myself, where I had found it easier to avoid feeling fear and live in it; avoid my feelings of self worth, therefore stifling and strangling my creativity. Suppressing sadness, fear, anger also suppressed joy, creativity, spontaneity and wonder. I had become addicted to struggle and made myself so grey, so small, I was barely there at all. I had sinned against myself, by denying a huge and vital part of who I am and who God designed me to be: creative, colourful, wondrous.

Writing this blog was the beginning of something – a place where I have explored my emotions, uncovered lies, truth and facade. It has been a journey of self doubt and self discovery, but most importantly it has been a place of growing confidence in my own expression. I have made mistakes, ones which devastated me at times, because I have an injury to always get things right, but which over time have taught me to be softer in these mistakes and just enjoy the process of writing. And I have enjoyed  it all and in the last few months my passion to write has grown, along with my confidence.

I have taken the first steps on this yellow brick road and I am loving it! I started writing the other day and a character grew from it, a character with a story. I found and edited a children’s story I wrote six years ago. I continue to write my journal and my poems and I am planning to go back through the boxes now with all the odd bits of paper in them of ideas and bits of writing in them and see what’s there. I have also signed up to a writing magazine and I sent a little article to a local one.

God has heard me and many Law of Attractions are happening to confirm my desire. A book appeared called “Freeing the Writer Within;” I was given a free ticket to a poetry and storytelling event; someone else has offered me a free place on a storytelling and performance workshop; I went to a cafe and got chatting to a lady opposite me and she turned out to be Marcia Willets, who has written 28 successful novels and then I met an amazing group of people who work for and with artists who are migrants or refuges and with the aim to portray a different message and challenge perceptions via music, writing, performance and film. Amazing hey?!

We were made to be passionate about what we love, to be passionate about life and all it can offer us if we allow ourselves to feel all the things that have stopped our passion in the first place and taking action will cause this. Writing and my deepening desire to write more is triggering issues of self worth, also reflected in the work I currently do to survive, rather than do work I love.  Every day I feel the pain of this in some way, but also feeling more will to keep writing and expressing and dancing with words and see where it takes me and what it creates in my life.

So in celebration of this dance here is a little poem I jotted down after watching “We are Poets.”  Thank you to the Leeds Young Authors for the inspiration and for showing me how to slam it, and to Jesus and Mary for helping me know it is good to do what I love and demonstrating to me the joy in doing do. If I could perform this poem it would not be meekly said.

I WROTE

I wrote when my heart was Breaking 

and I was Aching for more.

I wrote when my world was crazy 

and the in- fighting

Never stopped.

I wrote to make sense 

of the times when nothing did.

I wrote to soothe my pain

Or scream insane

When they did, what they did

To hurt me, ignore me, 

confuse me and taught me 

to hate me. 

Words were my only friends

The only honesty

In the lies that burned into

my heart

By the ones who were 

meant to love the most. 

But instead broke

me.

In words I found my strength,

my dance, my ‘I’ again.

In poetry 

I am me. 

 

Maxine Bell @2016

GOD AIN’T COOL!

Posted on by under God, poetry

Not-Listening-cat in a hat

I said the word ‘God’
Now that ain’t cool.
I mentioned God
And it’s against the rules.

I mentioned God
And it triggered the room.
I spoke of God
Oh it was way too soon!

Oh boy the ‘G’ word
Don’t go down so well.
Mention God
And they run back to Hell.

When I speak of God
Freeze faces, crawling skin…
If I mention God
It’s a major sin.

If I talk of God
You want to shut me up.
If I speak of God
You’ve really had enough.

When I mention ‘G’
You want to run a mile.
When I slip in God
You seem to lose that smile.

When I mention God
It really freaks you out.
When I talk of God
Some scream and shout.

When I speak of God
It causes great pain
When I mention ‘G’
You think I’m quite insane.

When I spoke of God
You said that ain’t cool.
When I mentioned God
It’s against the rules!

But when I speak of God
There is no religion there.
When I talk of God
I only share…

That our Parent, God
It’s my new find.
When I talk of God
I don’t want to hide.

When I mention ‘G’
What’s in my heart.
When I speak of God
Don’t presume, don’t start.

When I mention God
I’m just telling my truth.
When I talk of ‘G’
Please don’t hit the roof.

When I mention God
Hold on for a mo
When I speak of God
You don’t have to go.

When I mention ‘G’
It brings up anger and shame.
When I talk of God
I used to be the same…

When I heard the name
I would recoil, retreat.
When I thought of God
I would stamp my feet.

When I heard his name,
It didn’t feel right.
When I read God
I put up a fight.

To the God I thought
Was full of judgement, hate.
I was taught this God
Like all, took the bait.

The ‘G’ I thought I knew
Was false beliefs and lies
Now I feel God
Is a different guy.

Now with God
I question, look for truth.
I speak with God
And she’s not aloof.

Now it’s G and me
It’s much more real.
Try to let God in
Go with what I feel.

So with God I talk
And find love, true.
Not God from religion
The one I thought I knew.

So I mention God
In a personal way.
I talk of God
Not hide away.

So I mention God
Cause it’s rather incredible.
When I speak of God
It’s like chocolate edible.

So when I talk of God
Don’t just shut the doors.
When I mention ‘G’
Maybe just explore..

So when you hear the ‘G’
Don’t blame the name.
When you hear of God
Forget the One, of fame.

When I mention God
Don’t go in for the kill.
I talk of God
With my own free will.

Cause I’ve found a God
That I rather like.
I talk of this God
Just my thing..right?

I mention God
You mention husband or wife.
I talk of God
Like you talk of life.

So I slipped in God
In this poet –try
Mention God
Triggered you, with irony.

As I slip in God
For the last time today
I’m off to chat with ‘G’
I,m off to pray.

Pray to God
So I ain’t cool.
Well I’ll talk to God
And I’ll break the rules.

So I’ll talk of God
It ain’t so bad.
In fact speak of God
In a way, it’s rad!

by Maxine Bell @2014

VOICE OF THE DAUGHTER

Posted on by under Daughters, Emotional Injury, emotions, Hurt Self, Mothers, Narcissistic Mothers, poetry

Image

Firstly, I have updated our “About Us” section if you want to know a bit more about our path and what inspires us. It will also help you understand why we are so keen to feel all of our emotions and heal on a soul level.. This poem is pretty raw and because of that a bit erratic in its form, but I have written it as it came out ( as I do for most of my poems) … Most of us find the injuries around our mother pretty hard to deal with, especially as society  has “mother” as a bit of an untouchable in a way. But as children, our mothers are our main carers so what happens around them impacts us deeply. This is not just about my mother, this is about her mother and her mother’s mother and many mothers. So much is done unconsciously, but its never to late to see the truth of our unloving behaviour, even though it feels really, really uncomfortable. However, if we want change, to move forward, we need to tell the truth, without blame, just the truth. Turns out our mothers are human and flawed like the rest of us…

VOICE OF THE DAUGHTER

I am the Unloved

The Unlovable.

I am the doubtable

The un-floutable,

The One not good enough, not ever.

I wore my heart on my sleeve..

You smashed it

Bashed it

Whacked it,

Smothered it.

You were meant to show me love,

but you taught me shame.

You were meant to let me grow,

but you just sent out, I was to blame

for all the troubles in your life,

for feeling trapped,

locked in strife.

You never took responsiblity

for the pain you caused.

Instead I thought it was me

I was the one.. flawed.

Floored by your anger,

Your hate, your fear.

You could cry,

I wasn’t allowed tears.

Narcissistic Queen

How cruel you could be.

Rant, blame and shame

at the top of your tree.

You didn’t know just

How much you manipulated me.

I knew you were wounded,

hurting deep below

But instead of owning it,

you gave out the blows.

I was 1, 2 and 3,

4, 5 and 6

Under the spell of your tricks.

7, 8 and 9 and so it goes on.

I am under your thumb.

Hooked, line and sunk,

nearly drowned in you sick, little games.

No matter, the cause, I want to say STOP!

I will not, any longer, be your puppet.

I will not, any longer,

believe all the lies.

Or that I was to blame.

A child who was innocent

is shouting back,

loudly saying NO, so that you hear.

I know you were hurt as a child,

But is didn’t mean hurt me too.

It was a chance for you to

change the cycle of pain,

and face the truth.

So hooks I remove you

I take a step back.

It’s time for me now

It’s time to cry all the tears

I suppressed again and again.

It’s time to release the pressure at last.

To lift the weight from my soul.

Every feeling let out now

Will help me know

I am not what you said I was.

I am God’s child ( as are you).

Time to break the chain,

To feel,

To renew.

So go from my door,

Leave me be, for now.

Give me space to breath

Find out who I am.

Free from the shadow,

of childhood pain.

When tears have flowed,

my soul will gain,

the chance to express

Its beauty once more.

To open my heart,

Open the door to

Love and joy, all the things I forgot.

So now I say Stop,

to your unloving behaviour,

from future attacks.

This girl, this woman

is fighting back.

Through anger, through fear,

Through terrible grief.

To shift my beliefs.

Unlovable to Loveable

Unloved to Loved.

FINDING ME

Posted on by under Heart words, poetry

FINDING ME

I came here to learn how to dance my dance
I came here to learn what song was mine
I came here to paint my very own picture
I came here to find love Divine.

But from when I was very tiny
Those assigned with my precious care
Forgot I had my own story to write
Because there own seemed so unfair.

This is the story of generations
From whence we all but came
The brothers and sisters before us
Got so lost, hidden in shame.

So the sister, assigned my mother
My brother, my father became
Tripped the steps I took in dance
Let my picture run away with the rain.

They silenced the song I tried to sing
They threw back the love in my face
My light was too bright for them
In the darkness of the human race.

Their very own hearts lay shattered
Their dreams fallen deep in the pit
So they held me and my individual life
To the very same fate, unlit.

For many years I walked in the shadows
Invisible, unseen and unheard.
I limped across the craggy rocks of life
Clipped, heavy wings of a bird.

But somewhere inside a voice kept calling
“My child, my child are you there?
Remember, remember, innocent one
Remember I love you , I care..”

The voice in my heart kept stirring
The sound in my throat unheard.
I tried to sing again and again.
Like the sweet , sweet blackbird.

I never gave up, I just knew
To try, to hope was some-thing.
To the sound that eventually came
Out from deep within: to sing.

I started to find my very own song.
I started the steps of a dance
I painted my picture one stroke at a time
Love affair with my self: such romance.

Then in time I knew that voice
The one that had always been there
The sound of my true mother and father
Now found through faith and prayer.

This parent loved without condition
Myself, and each and all
Waiting forever for all of us
To get up, to dance, not fall.

The journey home is sometimes rough
Much harder than I would like.
But this is a battle for my soul.
I will never give up the fight.

As God, my Father, my Mother true
Has loved me for all time.
Waiting for me to know myself
In purity and love Divine.

Maxine 2014