Tag: life

Rock Giant #poem

You have used me as you wish to have your fun,
scrabbling roughly on the pockmarked surface of my skin,
climbing high to turn your face towards the sun.
You scrape your boots across me to remove accumulated soil,
and carving your initials in my surface,
give little thought to what you spoil.
You have taken from me what you need
using iron picks to gouge out fragments,
thinking that you caused no pain because you saw no sign I bleed.
You turn your eyes towards me and see only solid rock,
looking down upon my dumbness,
laughing as you mock.

By day, as you approach from the grassy slope below,
you start to notice many shapes of things you know.
You see an outline that reminds you of a faithful hound,
you watch it shift as you move forwards,
then it’s gone without a sound.
You turn to view a castle, but no soldiers move for they have fled.
You move your head to shape a profile –
only then you see the witch’s head.
You trace out furrowed brow, hooked nose and jutting chin;
you feel grey eyes look through you,
and you shiver as an evil spell takes hold within.

At night, in your imagination, led by an unheard call,
you see me rise up from my station as I yawn and stretch so tall.
You hear the distant thunder of my steps
as I march the slowest beat.
You sense vibrations deep below,
the trembling ground beneath my feet.
You are frightened of my power, as I tear the earth apart.
You are petrified, turned solid, as the terror grips your heart.
You are fearful that I come at last to take what I am due.
You sense that it is time.
And you are terrified that I am hunting, hunting now for you.

But none of this is true,
for all that you see, and everything that you imagine,
has been shaped by the stories you were told,
and what they let you do.
Those imagined forms, the wild thoughts,
and all the feelings they produce may seem fantastic
when compared with what is in your normal view.
So, what is the truth?
If only you knew…

I was formed from countless tiny pieces that began as dust,
mixed together in her bowl,
baked by her heat to form a crust.
I was once pressed tight together as I found my solid form,
extruded by her shuddering contractions,
melded in her womb so warm.
I have rested for so long as if I have no task,
snuggled by her mossy blanket,
wrapped protectively within her grasp.
I have waited patiently for several million years,
cooled by her gentle whispers,
washed clean by her falling tears.

For your time is not all time.
Your whole existence is the smallest fraction of my life.
This place was mine so long before you came,
and will remain my home for even longer once you die.

And your space is not all space.
Your whole world is like a single speck of the quartz that shines
within the substance of my form,
just one of countless millions of specks, all of which are mine.

And your thoughts are not all thoughts.
Your thoughts are small and they are fleeting, and so they rarely bend.
You are constrained by what they choose to tell you.
There is so much you cannot comprehend.

And your life is not all life.
Your life is short, and it is fast, and so it limits what you try to claim.
You cannot grasp the unfamiliar.
You are bound by the rules that shape your game.

Believe me, I do not lie.
I do not speak to garner fame.
For beyond all that you can see, and everything that you imagine,
are stories to be told and things to see that far expand your frame.
You may think you are the only one who holds within a spark,
but that is falsehood as we share that conscious flame.
I too am alive,
and Rock Giant is my name.

(c) Tim O’Hare, August 2023

ROCK GIANT: The last few walks that we have done have been on the familiar territory of Dartmoor, taking in one or more of the rocky tors that sit atop many of the hill summits. These enormous piles of granite slabs are the remnants of old volcanoes, material pushed upwards from the upper mantle almost 300 million years ago. I find it impossible to visit a tor without seeing the profiles of faces in the shapes made by the great piles of rocks, or imagining that the rocks are the tip of a toe, an elbow or some other part of a huge stone giant asleep beneath the ground. And then, in a natural progression of my thoughts, those rock giants begin to stir. I am not at all sure why, in the poem, I imagined the rock giant as a threat. My instinct is that they are, in fact, very gentle and friendly creatures. But, of course, I will never really know, because they still have much sleeping to do before they awaken.

Voluntary Simplicity – Duane Elgin #reading

Voluntary Simplicity by Duane Elgin was the March 2025 choice for the TimeCrafting Trust Book Club that I am a member of. I think it’s fair to say that it is unlikely that I would have read it otherwise, although the ideas that it covers – Simplicity and to a lesser extent Minimalism – are certainly ones that I am interested in.

Elgin bases large chunks of the text on a survey he was involved with several decades ago (the first edition of Voluntary Simplicity was published in 1981) which probed the motivations and thinking of many individuals, from many different countries and walks of life, who had opted to simplify their lives. He is at pains to point out the most common perceptions of those who choose to live a ‘simpler life’ – that they tend to be anti-technology, anti-innovation and backward looking – are not generally correct, and that living simply does not have to mean living in poverty, in a rural and/or plain environment, nor does it necessarily result in economic stagnation. In fact, Elgin makes the case that the ever increasing number of people who are choosing to live with simplicity are doing so because it provides a path to greater satisfaction with life, with a deeper connection to the entire world around us.

As the book proceeds, it becomes more and more focused on the necessity that we live more simply in order to survive on the planet as population growth continues, climate changes ever more significantly and obviously, and natural resources are depleted. And, of course, the need for solutions and responses to the challenges that Elgin describes has become significantly more pressing in the years since the book was first released. But Elgin does not get all of his future-visioning right. He places great emphasis on the potential for television to be the vehicle through which positive messages about simplicity can be delivered and is rather dismissive of the potential for new technologies to invade this space. Nevertheless, Elgin’s arguments do mostly stand up to scrutiny.

I felt that Voluntary Simplicity was an ‘okay’ read, although I am sure that there are better, and more up-to-date, books on this topic. I don’t think that it is surprising that prior to reading the announcement that Voluntary Simplicity had been picked as a Book Club book I had ever heard of it or, indeed, of Duane Elgin himself. However, I did my reading did lead me to four quotes that I really liked. The first, comes from one of my favourite sources, the “quote-factory” commonly referred to as Henry David Thoreau. It has perhaps a rather depressing tone – ‘life is frittered away’ – but I think this is what lends it the power to motivate change:

“Our life is frittered away by detail… Simplify, simplify.“

I also really liked Elgin’s own take on the power of simplicity, namely that:

“Simplicity is the razor’s edge that cuts through the trivial and finds the essential.“

and I enjoyed his statement that:

“Our bodies are biodegradable vehicles for acquiring soul-growing experiences.“

‘Biodegradable vehicles for acquiring soul-growing experiences’ – I mean that really is life in a nutshell isn’t it?

Best of all, I think as a result of its own simplicity and the rhythm of the language used, is an adage that Elgin attributes to the New England Puritans:

“Use it up, wear it out, make do, or do without.“

That’s not a bad maxim to try to live by, at least to some extent.

Does It Matter? #poem

Does it matter what they’re thinking?
Does it matter what they think of what I say?
Does it matter if I do what they’re expecting?
Does it matter if I do it anyway?

Does it matter if I play the game they choose?
Does it matter if they think that I’m a fool?
Does it matter if I win or if I lose?
Does it matter if I play by different rules?

Does it matter if I do it when I should do?
Does it matter if I go at my own pace?
Does it matter if I keep myself beside you?
Does it matter if I run a different race?

Does it matter if I wear a different colour?
Does it matter if I my hair’s a little long?
Does it matter if I like things to be quieter?
Does it matter if I break out into song?

Does it matter if I go across the bridge?
Does it matter if I’m in a different land?
Does it matter if I speak a different language?
Does it matter if I’m hard to understand?

Does it matter if I go to different places?
Does it matter if I seem a little weird?
Does it matter if I once wore rainbow laces?
Does it matter if I’m nothing to be feared?

Does it matter what they’re thinking?
Does it matter what they think of what I say?
Does it matter if I do what they’re expecting?
I think I’ll do it anyway.

(c) Tim O’Hare, June 2023

About this poem: I had read an article about Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria and how this can lead to ‘people pleasing’ behaviour, something that I tend to adopt strongly. ‘Does It Matter?’ tries to capture aspects of the internal struggle that works its way through my head on a near continuous basis and also provides a form of written antidote that reminds me that I do not have to do what I think is expected of me or behave in the ways that I think I am expected to behave or only do things once I have received some form of external confirmation that they are worthwhile or valid things to do.

This was the second poem I wrote, back in early summer 2023. It’s been clear since then that writing and publishing my poems has helped me to become much less dependent on receiving external validation for my work and much happier to just put stuff out there and see what happens (even if that turns out to be nothing very much!). I think this poem expressed something that I always knew inside but was perhaps a little fearful to recognize.

Metamorphosis #poem

Is it time to slough it off,
that rough, tough, protective skin,
that hide for unseen treasures deep within.

He had not felt it grow, but grow it had for many years,
thickening the defensive wall,
blurring eyes and muffling ears.

So early it had started, so slowly it had grown,
he’d noticed not the tightening as it closed around his bones,
holding him together safe and sound or so it seemed,
whilst locking him away to form a shield for self-esteem.

But he had heard the screams
and he had seen the flashes of the inner rage
and he had felt the punches as they slammed against the cage,
only recognising who they came from when witnessed in his broken dreams.

Years passed and then
worn thin by constant wear the first crack had appeared,
at last revealing what it was
and how the dangers it held fast against were nothing to be feared.

So, slough it off, that rough, tough defensive skin,
and let new life begin.
Slough it off, that mask of false protection
and let us see at last what treasures lie within.

(c) Tim O’Hare, June 2023

About this poem: After a coaching session at work talking through some of the challenges I face as a result of my ADHD-traits and the difficulty I find in allowing myself to be the way that I want to be rather than the way that I think I ought to be I was struck by the thought that I needed to let go of the protective behaviours and attitudes I had unknowingly constructed for myself over the years and, in the process, allow my authentic self to emerge. The image that came to mind was of a reptile shedding its skin and for some reason the phrase ‘slough it off’ popped into my head in association with this image. I quickly became rather fond of the word ‘slough’ and then, for the first time ever in my life really and without any warning or deliberate effort, I started to write a poem. ‘Metamorphosis’ is the first evidence that having sloughed off my metaphorical protective skin there was something different and unexpected lurking within!

Note: I have previously posted all of my poetry in a separate website: http://andapoet.blog but I have decided that I will gradually migrate all of that content to this site.

Life and Death


I think it is hard to beat an interesting tree – sometimes it is the shape that speaks to me, sometimes the colours and sometimes it’s the the signs of a hard life lived. So, you can perhaps imagine my excitement when I spotted this particular tree with its strong, thick trunk and its beautifully rounded and perfectly balanced shape all thickly enveloped by deep green leaves, so full of life… and yet, running upwards through its core, emerging to thrust like inverted lightning flashes from its top (and less visible in the photograph, a withered tendril reaching downwards on the left side), the sharp, angular, stripped-bare branches, absolutely dead to the world. This is a tree that is both dead at the core and alive at heart and I have never seen its like before.