The Off Grid Life

the off-grid life.

untied from the shackles of strife,

2017, the modern existence,

getting on the property ladder, how does anyone have a chance?
20, 25 or 30, forced to work to pay every bill,

going to work all hours, struggling to find a way, a life against our will,

needing the money from any form of work, mostly unprogressive, unhappy 
life passing by, frustrating, anger, decreasing self-worth, causing individuals to be snappy

unfulfilled, potentials are not met, working a job all day, unable to progress,

money is the key factor, for bills to be met, let me digress.

often they still aren't causing pain and suffering, stress and depression,

homelessness is rife through the country, a feeling of regression,

a feeling of being stuck, how to retrain and improve your careers?
speak to friends or family and the same conversation, doubts, and fears
if only another option was available,

one that was accepted and not just for the vulnerable,

the homeless, the people with nothing,

but how is this existence different? it is truly crushing,

once you can see that your life is consumed with working for money,

the soul has passed, your energy too, it can get so hard it's not even funny,

but who understands? in the face of consumerism, higher purchase, loans, and debt,

who is living a life, truly satisfied, and their dreams are met?

Not all people living off-grid are rich in cash!
but they aim for other needs; security in food & energy, it's worth a bash,


a growing transition for many people too,

it's not just for the hippies, the spiritual, it's for people like me and you,

think about it for a moment or two...

who would you be without your car, house and your possessions?
is that person you portray the real you? or do you blend in so people don't ask questions?
are you honest with your family and friends?

or do you sit behind a desk wishing it would end?
there is a wealth of knowledge of old traditions,

from a time when they lived without these conditions,

the conditions of social media, advertising, marketing ads or vlogs

when screen time didn't consume every waking hour, and children were fascinated with tadpoles transforming into frogs.

hours spent outside, climbing trees, playing at the park,

not allowed home unless it was tea time or had gotten dark.


a shift is happening, ecotherapy, wild schooling, bushcraft, and hikes,

forest schooling, homeschooling, people walking and out on their bikes,

scientists are noticing the effects on children's behaviors, reduced health issues,

ADHD,  also a boost in self-awareness, positivity, confidence and mental health issues

is it easier to sit a child down to hours in front of the tv, or ipad?

than it is to spend a few hours playing down the park with dad?

or baking a cake with mum, the importance of these skills are being misplaced,

in this consumerism world, with employees a number, in a life so fast-paced.


Off-grid living, the communities hidden away,

all they want is a parcel of land to look after their needs, but hey,

that's not possible, 'cause where will the local council get their tax,

with the community, living off the land, growing food and chopping wood with an axe,

the need and usage of government-owned services would become minute,

living simply and within your skills of the land, renewables used, an abundance of fruit,

food preserved in many forms, jams and chutneys, frozen meat,

enough food to last year-round to survive through winter, or in the heat,

the food produced off the land, tending the garden, and grown for nutrition,

the most important for life and health also said to aid in remission.

off grid homesteaders, don't need to take the flack,

with health as the focus, working outdoors to provide, lowering the need for prozac,
comments from shallow minded people need not be said,

the power of community, working together, I want to spread,

to include children in the transition, of conserving nature and our wildlife,


the tranquil setting amongst the seasons, watching the stars, that's my type of nightlife.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my first time sharing my poetry, (after a few friends encouraged me that I should) please be kind and send your thoughts.

Also all words are opinions of myself in the modern world that we live in. 

This is not meant to cause offense, harm, upset to anyone, and if it does please understand that is not my intention.


Many thanks,

This Old House

This old house is alone

Dark and damp

Where there used to be sunshine

Now is gloom


There are a lot of rooms

Plenty of places to hide

But you hear nor see any children

Just the quiet


The walls whisper

In the deep night

Mirrors watch you

Everywhere you go


There used to be laughter

Now only tears

Someone died

Deep inside


This old house

Has been through storms

Hail and snow

Thunder and lightning


Yet came out strong

Has many memories

Of past and future

Just another home


Open the window

Let out the dust

Mop the floors

Let them shine


The spider on the wall

Has been here too long

A beautiful web

She has weaved


But this old house

Needs to let her go

It needs lots of work

People to come and go





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Bottled Sun for Ladybug

I have an extra room, good for nothing but

bottling the sun for one, lone ladybug.

She goes still for days on end, spending

hours motionless while hanging, backside-down;

on occasion taking flight and swirling 'round,

dizzy in her adoration - soon blinded,

and ramming her head into the molded glass.

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Magistrate of Glen Moor

Slabs of stones with notches,

bound at corners and sat

on a patch of land that will be mine to dictate.

Have I had enough words,

not one spoken or heard?

Here I can run my hands along the palace walls,

and know I have attained

something claimed as my own.

I already possess the throne, sat down level

with the feline laying

low and begging for food.

Proud I can be to tout this place as my new home,

where I could be alone,

when it's forced upon me -

when I'm harrowed enough to force it on myself.

Instead, I could descend

into dungeon-like depths,

and torture the neighboring inmates with a song.

I'm sure they'd play along

were they enabled to,

instead of disabled by their adoration

for the new head of state,

bound by scroll and by fate,

as the new king, hereby decreed, in December.

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If You're Gonna Do It, Just Do It

There was once a lady who was very silly,
She took residence on the outskirts of Philly,
One day she got sick and tired of the rat race,
She said, "I'm getting out of this god-damned place".


She packed up her bags and said some goodbyes,
She knew with this move she'd be breaking some ties,
But nothing was there in that place of pollution,
Just buildings and highways with cars and confusion.


She got on the internet, and found a house to lease,
She got her a job, and beautiful moments of peace,
She met a nice man who was convicted a murderer,

They fell in love to everyone's surprise,
And they worked their asses off for the rest of their lives,
It might not sound nice to you,

But they're happy and it's none of your business,

So go suck an egg.


The End Smile

6:12 PM 5/9/2013 ©

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First I Wrote My Name

Once I bounced a ball,

The paper was my wall,

It bounced around my head a while,

That ball and me , we shared a smile.


Then I drew a house,

With windows for a mouse,

With curtains, blue and yellow lace,

I told myself, "I like this place".


Then I went to schools,

There they taught me rules,

The first the rule was to "write your name",

I recognized a different game.


Junior High breezed through,

The years passed by, they flew,

The days were filled with sitting still,

My parents worked to pay the bill,

I gained a lot of nothing missed,

Always writing, my hand a fist.


And now that years have passed,

I'm on my own at last,

When memory of that ball comes back,

I reminisce, I see the lack,

That ball is bouncing back to me,

It tells me learning should be free.

 © 2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Education should be 'free' ie: free mind to learn about what one chooses and not only what it is in writing in a page of a book, or thoughts of opinion that have been masterfully manipulated to concoct another's idea of the 'truth'. That is not an education. That is simply the idea someone else gives you that you have one (an education).

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Are we really arguing again?

This house is too small
I feel bigger and I need a way out
My arms burst through the ever closed windows
My legs and feet through the basement floor and then soil
This foundation that should stabilize is not even the original
That grew me into a flower from seedling
Spare the house for them
But let me break free

The Creatures in the Well


My hateful thoughts go in the well,

My bad emotions I do sell.

But it draws me back,

And what do the beings in the well lack?


They try to touch me and suck me in,

But this I of course do win!

For the Cultist pulls me away,

By grabbing me gone from the scene.


Now in the house I watch,

Through the window it does match.

And always the snow is there,

But I don't know where...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A vision I had through meditation.

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A house.
Made of woodchips,
From a park.
Little bitty pieces,
It isn’t complete,
it’s in the process
of being built,
little shards of wood being
and fit
I miss together.

It is more of a building really.
Big windows reflect the sun.
It is beautiful
and messy.

I have seen it several times.
But I can’t remember

and breathtaking.
I don’t feel the cold,
only see it
in coats
and scarves
and gloves.
The pine trees
towards the earth,
tired from holding
the weight of the world
on their braches.

So many people.
They look like ants, don't they?
Always busy,
always working,
but do they ever have enough time?

I always loved marbles.
But this is the floor,
the ground,
blinding marble.
Everyone thinks it’s so pretty.

You want to know a secret?
I don’t like marble.

Look, over there-
People walking up
People walking
All too busy
to notice the boy,
even though he stands out.

These people-
I know them.
Old friends,
Why are they here?

Be still, my heart.

We run, run quickly
Giggle giggle.
We are not quiet.
We are not sad.
We are happy.

Cement floor
at the bottom.
We run behind the stairs,
hearts pounding

He wants to kiss me.
I want to kiss him.
But not now-
no, not now.
I have to go back,
Then we can go.
Be alone.
Go away.

Back up the stairs,
into the sun
into the people
into the suffocation.
But I do not notice;
his hands are in mine,
we laugh,
we dance,
our hearts sing.

This way, love.
This way.
Come over here
through this door
through this place
through the maze.
Turn this corner,
don’t let go,
this will be a rough one.

Then He appears.
My cell guard,
My jailer.
He sees our hands,
and turns around.

Look Daddy,
look who showed up.
Giggle giggle.
I am so weak.

His face
is a storm.
spewing anger.

My heart drops.
It always hurts more
when it falls from

Dread fills me,
hate fills me.
My lips spill over
with blood.
I taste metal
on my tongue.
My lungs collapse,
no more air.
No more life.
My bones shatter;
glass from the windows
of that
I realize-
He wants to kill the boy
My boy
My love.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this several months ago and just now found it on my computer :) Please critique freely, I want to write well and need feedback!

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