The Nature of Humans
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The Nature of Humans: Personal Growth through Poetry chronicles a poet’s journey; one of self-discovery, and one from criticism, and judgement to compassion and kindness toward the self and others. A journey that unfolds from inner reflection to considerations of relationships, and then embarks into nature. This collection turns a contemplative eye to unchallenged, negative scripts in our minds that keep us from being our best selves, and that impede our relationships with others. At the same time, it affirms inner worth and inner strength. It reflects on aging and depression as well as the power and presence of love. Just as it turns its gaze to recognize the beauty of nature, it asks us to recognize the beauty within ourselves and held between us. Encouraging thoughtful reflection on the self and the world, The Nature of Humans is a poetry collection accessible to those new to poetry as well as long-time readers. Chris offers a road to self-discovery and transformation, marking the path with words of inspiration. |
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Poems from The Nature of Humans
Pieces of Our Life
We were made and we create ourselves
from all the pieces of our life,
the shapes and forms of our existence,
and the stories we produce,
patching them together as best we can,
with what we think we know,
not realizing the peril
in the dark cathedral of our mind,
nor seeing the doorway
at the back of our heart.
Our love, our light,
our life
is for us to choose,
if we choose not to be a victim
of ourselves anymore.
If we choose to see the beauty
of the whole, and, if we allow,
the unbounded possibility
we represent.
from all the pieces of our life,
the shapes and forms of our existence,
and the stories we produce,
patching them together as best we can,
with what we think we know,
not realizing the peril
in the dark cathedral of our mind,
nor seeing the doorway
at the back of our heart.
Our love, our light,
our life
is for us to choose,
if we choose not to be a victim
of ourselves anymore.
If we choose to see the beauty
of the whole, and, if we allow,
the unbounded possibility
we represent.
The Child Inside
We dispute
our insignificance,
our inadequacy
and brokenness.
Cloaking it all
in arrogance
and expertise,
silence
or aggression.
We push fears away,
but are unable to
dismiss them,
so we turn
from our shadow
into the shine
of acquisition,
of fortune
and fake bravery,
wearing the characters
who show up
as circumstances demand.
Servants
to our false identities,
we erase the anguish
with social confidence
and laughter,
while the child inside
cries for attention
and the truth of us
gasps for air.
our insignificance,
our inadequacy
and brokenness.
Cloaking it all
in arrogance
and expertise,
silence
or aggression.
We push fears away,
but are unable to
dismiss them,
so we turn
from our shadow
into the shine
of acquisition,
of fortune
and fake bravery,
wearing the characters
who show up
as circumstances demand.
Servants
to our false identities,
we erase the anguish
with social confidence
and laughter,
while the child inside
cries for attention
and the truth of us
gasps for air.
Tripwire
There are times
when we are triggered,
stumbling across
our own tripwire
thinking we were pushed.
Our reactions
tilt the world,
bending our mind
that falls victim
to their command,
drowning all calm
and spilling blinkered opinions
into our tunnel vision.
This lack of latitude
constricts all options
to a painful point,
a laser beam of red scorn,
pressured into service
by the sensitive snare.
We crash in,
commit to the crime
and fall to the flaw,
victim of our own ignition,
oblivious
to the burning sensation
that those near us feel,
then retreat from,
mostly with despair,
but sometimes with love,
as the tripwire
stretches taut
once more
in faithful devotion
to our failures.
when we are triggered,
stumbling across
our own tripwire
thinking we were pushed.
Our reactions
tilt the world,
bending our mind
that falls victim
to their command,
drowning all calm
and spilling blinkered opinions
into our tunnel vision.
This lack of latitude
constricts all options
to a painful point,
a laser beam of red scorn,
pressured into service
by the sensitive snare.
We crash in,
commit to the crime
and fall to the flaw,
victim of our own ignition,
oblivious
to the burning sensation
that those near us feel,
then retreat from,
mostly with despair,
but sometimes with love,
as the tripwire
stretches taut
once more
in faithful devotion
to our failures.