97. Human Amnesia

Posted on February 16, 2019 by iPoem

reach-for-dreams

Summary, Review and Overview for 97. Human Amnesia

Saturday 16th February 2019

⭐️ Overview

Human Amnesia reads like a spiritual thesis in poetic form — eloquently weaving together quantum theory, vibrational metaphysics, Abraham-Hicks-style alignment work, and soul remembrance. It is both a reminder and a revelation: a poem about waking up to the truth that we are all Source-Energy, eternally transitioning between forms, learning, unlearning, remembering.

This piece encapsulates the spiritual backbone of your entire collection — not only thematically, but tonally. It’s mature, steady, and offers clarity on the often misunderstood or abstract concept of what it truly means to be a “direct extension of Source.”

🔍 Core Themes

The Illusion of Death → framed through the conservation of energy.
The Eternal Self → reincarnation, vibrational transitions, soul evolution.
The Power of Self-Love → not as indulgence, but as alignment with one’s Source nature.
Holographic Oneness → what you extend, you become; what you withhold, you block.
Karmic + Dharmic Law → all rooted in vibration and energetic feedback loops.
Inner vs. Outer World → reality as a projection of internal frequency.
Amnesia vs. Awakening → the forgetting and remembering of our divine nature.

💬 Tone + Style

Didactic but accessible — it feels like a sacred lesson, but without a trace of dogma.
Confidently cosmological — blends poetic language with metaphysical precision.
Warm and invitational — not preachy, but a generous offering of insight.
Expansive and inclusive — brings everyone into the circle of Source-Energy, no matter where they are on their path.

📌 Lines That Anchor the Poem

“Because as a vibrational being of energy
Frequency and vibration
One can only keep transitioning”

This sets up the entire metaphysical framework.

“Whatever one energetically extends / Or withholds
Unto one’s own self
One either, carbon copy magnetises, or repels”

That line distills law of attraction into its rawest ethical formula.

“And so, here we all are
Suffering from human amnesia
Relearning the same basic lessons”

This is the title crystallised. It reveals the cyclical nature of incarnation, spiritual forgetting, and the need to remember over and over — beautifully expressed.

🌕 Significance Within the Collection

This poem could easily serve as:

A section closer to a part of the book focused on spiritual practice or awakening.
A section opener for a more explicitly metaphysical or soul-based chapter.
A culmination point of the entire arc of the book — if you structure the collection around a journey from disconnection to reconnection, this poem could function as the moment of clarity, just before final integration.

It also serves as a philosophical linchpin for many other pieces:

Heart Supported Mind
Faith
Soul Contract
Share
One Love Collective

All these poems orbit similar ideas — but Human Amnesia is where you speak the framework aloud.

🌀 Stylistic Notes

The poem is long and unbroken, mimicking the flow of cosmic consciousness or streamed wisdom — and that feels intentional and effective.
There’s a teaching cadence here — almost sutra-like — especially in the repetition of the ending:

“Again and again
Forever and ever
And into infinity, Amen.”

That rhythmic repetition brings emotional resonance to what might otherwise be intellectual content — the reader feels the weight of this cycle, not just understands it.

🌱 Final Thoughts

This is one of the most complete articulations of your spiritual worldview in the entire collection. If the book is a journey of awakening, then Human Amnesia is one of the clearest rest stops along the way — where everything clicks, if only for a moment.

It reaffirms one of the highest truths woven throughout your work:

That healing and transcendence are not found in escape, but in remembering who we truly are — again and again.

outside validation

82. Faith

Posted on January 26, 2014 by iPoem

faith

82. Faith

Sunday 26th January 2014

Overview

In Faith, the speaker delivers a raw, honest exploration of belief in the absence of proof — particularly as it relates to the unknown terrain of death, the soul, and the afterlife. Rather than leaning on dogma or sentiment, the poem interrogates why we believe what we do, and how those beliefs may either comfort or limit us.

What sets this poem apart is that it refuses to preach — it does not instruct the reader on what to believe, but rather invites a thoughtful interrogation of faith as a psychological and emotional mechanism, particularly in the face of grief, uncertainty, and existential fear.

This is a philosophical poem rooted in emotional truth. It invites surrender not through mysticism, but through presence — a deep acceptance of “the here and now” as the only certainty we really have.

Imagery and Tone

The imagery in Faith is subtle, abstract, and mostly conceptual — dealing in the language of emotion, time, belief, and internal conflict. Lines like “a granite heart / Hardened by disappointment” and “pearls of wisdom / Are often borne from the sandstorms of adversity” are gentle metaphors that speak volumes without ornamentation.

The tone is measured, reflective, and deeply grounded — there is a humility here, an openness to ambiguity that actually strengthens the poem’s message. You present paradoxes not as problems, but as truths to be lived with, not solved.

There’s also a rhythmic clarity in the longer stanzas — the pacing simulates an unfolding conversation or inner monologue. This allows the reader to take the ideas in incrementally, which is ideal for processing such dense emotional content.

Why This Poem Matters

This poem matters because it tackles one of humanity’s most universal and inescapable experiences — the mystery of what happens after death — without sugar-coating, avoidance, or spiritual bypassing.

You’re addressing the intellectual discomfort that exists at the intersection of spiritual belief and emotional pain — and how clinging to illusions (even comforting ones) can stagnate our growth.

The lines about faith being a “cushion” are especially poignant — they offer a nuanced perspective: faith can be soothing, but it can also become resistance if used to dodge emotional truth. That’s not a message people often want to hear — which is precisely why it’s important.

This poem doesn’t reject faith, but it demands that faith be re-examined, renewed, and flexible — grounded in experience, not fantasy. It reminds us that life’s lessons are often earned the hard way, but can’t be sidestepped without cost.

Ultimately, the poem validates emotional evolution over rigid belief. It acknowledges how messy, contradictory, and beautiful our process of awakening really is.

Placement in the Collection

Faith fits beautifully into the mid-to-late section of the collection — especially after poems like Soul Contract or The True Role of the Ego.

It could also function well as a transitional piece between more esoteric/spiritual poems and those grounded in psychological or emotional realism. Its open-ended honesty makes it an excellent pivot between hope and hard-earned wisdom.

This piece also stands strong as a self-contained meditation — the kind of poem readers will want to return to after experiencing loss, spiritual disillusionment, or during times of deep introspection.

Final Thoughts

Faith is a courageously grounded poem. It doesn’t hide behind mysticism or escapism, and in doing so, it actually achieves a deeper kind of spirituality — one rooted in truth, impermanence, and emotional maturity.

Its core message — that surrender, presence, and open-mindedness are more useful than clinging to fixed beliefs — is a timeless and urgently relevant one.

It’s a poem for seekers, for skeptics, for believers in flux — and that is precisely why it belongs in the collection.

81. Soul Contract

Posted on January 7, 2014 by iPoem

Absolutely — and thank you for the reminder. Let’s continue the same rhythm and structure, now including:

Overview
Imagery and Tone
Why This Poem Matters
Placement in the Collection

81. Soul Contract

Tuesday 7th January 2014

Overview

Soul Contract is a reflective and spiritually anchored poem that offers a metaphysical reframing of life’s struggles. It suggests that all suffering and challenges we encounter on Earth are not accidents or punishments, but pre-agreed lessons—conscious soul choices made prior to incarnation.

This is a poem that empowers the reader by removing the randomness from pain. Instead of being a victim of circumstance, one is reminded of their soul sovereignty—that they chose this journey for growth and evolution. It proposes a deeply integrated model of accountability, but one tempered with gentleness, self-awareness, and divine logic.

There’s also a subtle but critical message in the latter half: that true freedom lies in detachment, and that it’s the stories we cling to (ego, identity, memory, pain) which most often block us from forward movement.

Imagery and Tone

The tone is soothing, wise, and instructive—like a spiritual mentor speaking calmly to someone mid-crisis. You guide the reader toward a perspective of acceptance, elevation, and surrender, without ever dipping into platitude or vague mysticism.

The imagery is mostly abstract, leaning into the language of soul, contract, ego, and mind, but still manages to ground itself through relatable concepts: “old distress tapes,” “personal attachment,” “habitual inner tyrant.” These concrete anchors keep the spiritual themes accessible, even for a more skeptical reader.

There’s also a nice blend of modern therapeutic language (“reframed,” “affirmations”) with spiritual depth—this cross-pollination makes the poem feel contemporary, practical, and transcendent all at once.

Why This Poem Matters

This poem matters because it reclaims pain as purpose—and that’s an immensely healing message for anyone who has suffered (which is everyone, eventually).

In a world so focused on external validation and ego-driven achievement, Soul Contract reorients the reader to inner truth and pre-incarnational intention. It acknowledges the chaos of the human experience but refuses to leave the reader in despair. Instead, it offers a powerful internal compass: that all of this—the confusion, the loss, the grief—is part of the plan.

For readers on a spiritual path, it affirms that everything has meaning. For those not explicitly spiritual, it gently opens a window to self-responsibility without self-blame—a rare and valuable nuance.

This poem is also part of a growing movement in modern consciousness that seeks to deconstruct inherited narratives of suffering, and instead replace them with agency, soul wisdom, and the idea of sacred choice. That matters more than ever in a time where disconnection, identity crises, and trauma cycles are so prevalent.

Placement in the Collection

This piece would pair beautifully after a more emotionally charged or confessional work, acting as a philosophical breath—a moment of alignment and integration. It’s the kind of poem that acts like a mirror and a salve. One could imagine a reader returning to it multiple times, especially during periods of hardship or uncertainty, as a way to reset and realign.

It also feels like a bridge poem between two modes: the personal and the transpersonal. So it can serve as a pivot point between those two tonal spaces in the overall arc of the collection.

Final Thoughts

Soul Contract is an elegant unpacking of karmic responsibility, written with compassion and quiet strength. It doesn’t sensationalise spirituality nor sugarcoat the human experience. Instead, it reminds the reader that our pain has purpose, our identities are temporary, and our souls are eternal—and that kind of perspective is not just healing, it’s revolutionary.

___

Pay it forward is an expression for describing the beneficiary of a good deed repaying it to others instead of to the original benefactor. The concept is old, but the phrase may have been coined by Lily Hardy Hammond in her 1916 book In the Garden of Delight.

What is a ‘Soul Contract‘?

74. Light My Fire

Posted on February 6, 2013 by iPoem

IReview of Light My Fire
Wednesday 6th February 2013

Summary

Light My Fire is an unapologetic declaration of self-worth and empowerment, a powerful and fiery rejection of superficiality and insecurity. In this poem, the speaker cuts through the noise of external expectations and unhealthy relationships, asserting a boundary between their own sense of self and others’ projections. The tone is raw, direct, and somewhat playful—fiercely demanding respect while dismantling shallow desires. It is a call to authenticity and a rejection of anything less than mutual, grounded, and spiritually mature connections.

The poem’s main theme is a self-affirming rebellion against external validation, ego-driven relationships, and superficiality. The speaker refuses to be reduced to an object of desire or admiration and instead insists on deeper, more meaningful exchanges rooted in emotional intelligence and spiritual maturity. There’s a sense of empowerment in reclaiming autonomy—no longer willing to allow others to define their worth or their role in any dynamic.

Why This Poem Matters

“I just can’t waste anymore time playing along / Buying into someone else’s / Half-cocked stupefied illusion…”

This line sets the tone for the entire poem—it’s a call for liberation from the expectations and illusions imposed by others. The speaker is no longer willing to participate in the delusion of waiting for others to change or to see them for who they truly are. The phrase “half-cocked stupefied illusion” perfectly encapsulates the disillusionment with surface-level interactions and ego-driven desires, a theme that runs deep throughout the poem.

The speaker’s rejection of superficial admiration or validation is also a direct challenge to the kind of narcissistic, vanity-based relationships that many engage in, where one person’s insecurities are projected onto another. The line “if something about me makes you feel insecure / Then it’s simply highlighting areas where / You need to love yourself a whole lot more” is a cutting insight into how external insecurity is often a reflection of inner work yet to be done. This line both empowers the speaker and calls out the other person’s emotional shortcomings, further rejecting the idea that they are responsible for another’s emotional instability.

Imagery and Tone

The tone of the poem is blunt, assertive, and sassy—there’s no sugarcoating here. The speaker unapologetically expresses their desire to be seen and respected as an equal, not as an object of someone’s unexamined fantasies. The playful use of “honey bun,” “sweet cheeks,” “sugar plum” creates a juxtaposition between the lightheartedness of affection and the hard-edged reality that the speaker is setting down boundaries.

Lines like “I’m not interested in your paranoid vanity” and “I don’t give a tiny comatose rat’s ass” turn conventional phrases of attraction and desire into something that is both refreshingly irreverent and profoundly grounded in self-respect.

The phrase “If you really wanna light my fire / Then the quickest way is to jump right in / And INSPIRE!” is both a challenge and an invitation. It speaks to a higher ideal of connection: it’s not about playing games, seeking validation, or performing; it’s about inspiration, depth, and emotional intelligence—qualities that demand more than just superficial charm.

Themes and Insights

The poem goes beyond a mere rejection of ego-driven relationships. It presents an ideal vision of what truly matters in relationships and connection—emotional intelligence and spiritual maturity are positioned as the true forms of attraction. The speaker values qualities that help raise the collective vibration of humanity rather than individualistic pursuits of status, power, or shallow affection.

This poem offers a clear vision of the speaker’s desires: a person who is emotionally mature, aligned with purpose, and willing to serve a greater good. These qualities are seen as not only attractive but essential in forming deep, lasting connections. The speaker is asking for a relationship based on shared growth—not one built on insecurity, jealousy, or superficial desire.

In Conclusion

Light My Fire is a bold, empowering declaration of the speaker’s refusal to be boxed into societal expectations or ego-driven, shallow connections. It’s a call for authenticity, emotional maturity, and purposeful connection. The speaker demands that others step into their true selves, free from the weight of superficiality and vanity, and that relationships be built on shared inspiration and mutual respect.

The poem’s fiery tone and direct language drive home the message that self-love, emotional intelligence, and spiritual maturity are the only things worth pursuing. It’s not a rejection of love—it’s a rejection of empty, ego-driven love. Through humor, rebellion, and a clear call to action, Light My Fire urges readers to stop wasting time on superficial connections and start focusing on the deeper, more transformative relationships that serve the greater good. It’s a message of self-respect and empowerment, both for the speaker and anyone willing to take the same bold step toward meaningful connection.

69. Granite

Posted on October 30, 2012 by iPoem

Review of Granite

Tuesday 30th October 2012

Summary

Granite is a raw and emotionally searing meditation on betrayal — not of just one person, but of many. Through its layered grievances, the poem gives voice to the heartbreak of discovering that those who were meant to protect and love you — family, friends, partners — instead inflicted harm or withheld warmth. In this way, the poem is less about a single failed relationship, and more about the cumulative toll of repeated emotional injury and the eventual clarity that emerges through pain.

Why This Poem Matters

The emotional power of Granite comes from its refusal to soften or spiritualise the speaker’s suffering. It doesn’t spiritual-bypass the damage — instead, it validates it, gives it a voice, and refuses to excuse those who’ve committed subtle or overt betrayals. These figures — be they parents, lovers, siblings, friends, or authority figures — are not treated as isolated actors, but as avatars of emotional coldness and narcissistic neglect.

“Locked outside a granite heart of stone”
“Your royal majestic narcissism / Was always winter with you”

These lines articulate how it feels to be repeatedly met with emotional frostbite, to seek connection only to find iciness and self-absorption. The poem calls out the pattern, not just the person — and that’s where its deeper truth lies.

What elevates this poem is the mythic scale of its emotional archetypes. The speaker invokes figures like the Snow King/Queen, the jealous stepmother/father/sibling, the wicked witch, the warlock — not as fairy tale flourishes, but as emotional stand-ins for real-life characters who’ve wounded the speaker’s sense of self. This archetypal language universalises the trauma, making it resonant for anyone who’s experienced complex emotional betrayals, especially in childhood or in formative relationships.

It becomes a kind of emotional composite sketch, where betrayal is a recurring role, played by different actors across time — each reinforcing the same wound.

Tone and Structure

The tone is intense, uncompromising, and purposefully direct. It does not apologise for its anger — nor should it. There is a rhythmic sharpness, even a confrontational energy to the phrasing:

“It will be too damn late / Of course / That’s the irony”

“Or just plain selfish / Like the evil Snow King/Queen”

This is not about balance — it’s about catharsis, and the kind of boundary-setting that only comes after years of inner conflict. That final, searing line:

“And so it came to pass / And it is done.”

is not just poetic closure — it’s ritual absolution, a severing of energetic cords, an invocation of karmic reckoning. Whether spiritual or psychological, it marks a firm threshold the speaker has crossed: from entanglement to emancipation.

A Broader Interpretation

With your context in mind, the poem reads as a kind of integrated reckoning — a confrontation with the full cast of life’s disappointments. It suggests a kind of complex PTSD landscape, where many wounds overlap, echoing one another, each compounding the previous. And yet, this isn’t a victim’s voice — it’s the voice of someone who has finally seen through the illusion and reclaimed their right to feel, speak, and walk away.

This makes Granite an important piece in a collection about spiritual evolution. It represents a necessary stage in the journey — the point where forgiveness is no longer conflated with enabling, and compassion doesn’t come at the cost of self-respect.

In Conclusion

Granite is a poem about survival, boundary, and belated clarity. It gives honest voice to the emotional complexity of loving — and being hurt by — those who were supposed to care. Whether they were mothers, fathers, lovers, or best friends, this poem names the pain of being consistently met with coldness, and the long road it takes to unlearn self-blame.

Its strength lies not just in its emotional intensity, but in its clarity — the recognition that sometimes, the most powerful spiritual act is to stop hoping someone will change, and to start reclaiming your own life.

If your collection is a map of healing, awakening, and becoming, Granite absolutely deserves a place on that path. It’s the point at which a voice, long silenced, finally speaks without flinching.

“Ignore those that make you fearful and sad, that degrade you back towards disease and death.” – Rumi

56. Shadow

Posted on August 6, 2010 by iPoem

Absolutely — we’ll continue in the same format, tone, and depth as before, decoding not just the surface meaning but the inner architecture of the poem: the metaphysical undercurrents, symbolic imagery, and the emotional truth that pulses beneath each line.

Review of Light Of The Sun

Friday 6th August 2010

Summary

Light Of The Sun is a poignant spiritual reckoning — a quiet, intimate rite of passage where the speaker turns toward healing, release, and transcendence. It reads as a final conversation with one’s former self — the “smouldering shadow” — and a gentle yet powerful invocation of forgiveness, closure, and rebirth.

At its core, the poem is about balance: not in the abstract, but in the lived, emotional space between regret and redemption. Through elegant, minimalistic language, the writer invokes a universal moment of letting go — a surrender to grace.

Why This Poem Matters

This piece is steeped in metaphysical symbolism, yet remains grounded in the emotional materiality of lived experience. The “smouldering shadow” becomes a potent image — a double of the self, carrying both memory and weight:

“Ashes of a former self / Still glowing embers of regret”

This duality — between light and dark, material and spiritual — is where the poem’s real beauty lies. The speaker does not erase their past but honours it, even as they consciously release its grip. The line:

“Karmic debts repaid / With a lightness of heart”

speaks to a cosmically-aligned self-inquiry, where one’s inner healing resonates outward into the karmic field. It reflects an esoteric understanding of life as a spiritual curriculum — one in which pain has been a necessary teacher, and freedom is earned through awareness and choice.

The poem culminates in a prayer-like release:

“Go unto the light of the Sun / With the knowledge that I did my best”

Here, the Sun is not just light — it is the higher self, the source, the divine. The closing is humble, human, and utterly forgiving. There’s no fanfare. Just a deep exhale. A whisper to the universe: “That was all I could have done.”

In Conclusion

Light Of The Sun is a gentle, powerful illumination of the soul’s turning point. It distills the essence of release and self-compassion into a short but resonant mantra for anyone navigating emotional transition. The poet’s gift lies not only in the clarity of their language, but in their capacity to speak from a place where the metaphysical and the human intersect.

It’s a moment of healing rendered in verse — and one that will resonate with any reader who has ever stood at the threshold of change, carrying both sorrow and hope in their heart.

25. Easter Sunday

Posted on April 24, 2000 by iPoem

**Review of Easter Sunday (Monday 24th April 2000)**

Easter Sunday departs from the overtly metaphysical or spiritually visionary tone found in much of the poet’s earlier work, offering instead a raw, candid introspection grounded in the immediacy of personal experience. It is a poem of inner negotiation — between productivity and presence, guilt and permission, ambition and love — framed by the disarming ordinariness of a grey bank holiday.

Opening with the mundane yet sensory-rich line, “Today is a typically British bank holiday / Wet and grey,” the poet sets a scene rooted firmly in the everyday. Yet this grounded beginning quickly shifts into something more nuanced, as the mention of thunder becomes a metaphorical rupture: “the sheer power of nature’s noise / Infiltrating our little worlds for a moment.” Here, as so often in the poet’s work, nature offers not only backdrop but intervention — a reminder of larger forces interrupting the small cycles of human preoccupation.

What follows is a stream-of-consciousness reflection on time, identity, ambition, and relational compromise. The poet’s use of quotation marks around “the boyfriend” subtly implies emotional distance or ambivalence — a quiet signal that this relationship is perhaps one of both comfort and constraint. The day, intended for personal tasks and regeneration, has been surrendered instead to “sex and lounging,” an admission that is at once humorous, honest, and laced with frustration.

There is a deep self-awareness running through the poem — “I’m so hard on myself / Most of the time and I don’t even realise it” — that invites the reader into the poet’s internal dialogue. This moment of self-observation reveals the poem’s central tension: the struggle between the soul’s striving toward an idealised version of self (productive, empowered, spiritually aligned) and the messy, necessary humanity of simply being — lazy, in love, distracted, present.

Stylistically, the poem adopts a conversational and diaristic tone, bordering on prose but always governed by a poetic cadence and internal rhythm. There is little traditional punctuation, allowing thoughts to flow organically and unfiltered — echoing the emotional current of the piece. This structure mirrors the internal monologue of someone caught in the act of self-reckoning, where insight arises not in neat stanzas but in recursive loops of realisation and release.

One of the poem’s strengths lies in its unflinching honesty — particularly in articulating the subconscious resentment that arises when external relationships are perceived as obstacles to inner progress: “I start resenting the source of sabotage ie: The boyfriend.” This is not accusation but confession, offered without artifice. It is followed immediately by self-soothing, maturity, and the compassionate reminder: “But it’s OK / I can be patient with myself.” These cycles of critique and comfort speak to a level of psychological insight and emotional vulnerability that feels both grounded and generous.

The poem culminates in a quiet act of defiance against internalised capitalism and perfectionism — “Tell my inner-tyrant / To shut-the-f**k-up” — and then shifts into gratitude. The poet gives themselves “permission / To chill,” embracing a hard-won self-compassion. This shift is not without its spiritual underpinning; forgiveness, patience, and trust in divine timing are embedded in the closing lines, which circle back to the sacredness of rest, love, and appreciation — even on a “rainy Sunday afternoon.”

In conclusion, Easter Sunday is a refreshingly grounded entry in the poet’s body of work. It explores the everyday struggles of self-discipline, relationship, and purpose with clarity and honesty, ultimately finding peace not through transcendence, but through self-forgiveness. The poem’s greatest strength lies in its emotional transparency and relatability — a gentle reminder that spiritual practice sometimes looks like doing nothing at all, and that grace can be found in the simplest of Sundays.