Category Archives: Spiritual Poetry

The Game of Life

the game of life

It is the emptiness that fills me, 
The void at the heart of Life
Where the whistling winds of eternity roar.
It is only in the space between thought, desire and expectation,
It is only in the pause between one attachment and the next
Where the kiss of true belonging can be recognised and felt.
Am I afraid to fall headlong, heart surrendered into the great expanse of Nothing?
I know that I am not.
I know that I have already plunged and continue to plunge into myself,
And it is the echo of the free-fall into Heavenly Grace
That I would recreate in moments of faulty comprehension.

The precipice is a myth, the greatest myth ever told,
But by belief and repetition it gains a half-life, a shadow identity,
But it is not real, it is not real, it is not real.
When the promise of Heaven threatens to rip open my skin,
Scatter my bones and burn away the last vestiges of who I think I am
I lean away from the ecstatic abyss into a game I have created.
Why? Why not?
The game is not done with, it still plays out.
When I am ready for the most beautiful pain,
The sweetest agony,
When you are ready too,
We will plunge together into Divine Union
And then all will cease to exist,
Every thought will be forgotten,
Every emotion erased
And only the Bliss of Being will remain,
Undifferentiated, still, silent.
Creation will wind down and fold into the still silent point.

But for now we play at forgetting and remembering,
That is the joy of the Game of Life.
So, if you, like me, are a seeker,
Understand why you seek,
Know what you seek.
Enjoy the gift you have given yourself,
Treat it with playful reverence,
It has yet to begin, it is eternal and it is over.
It is all these things,
But above all remember that you are never lost,
I am here remembering you, you are here as a testament to me.
You are home; you are the destination and the journey.
You are Life living Itself.

© Sue Claughton, 2016


I wrote this poem four years ago, but wanted to share it today as it’s spring again and the trees are looking incredibly beautiful.  I took this photo in Tinkers Clough, a little wooded valley behind my house.



Do you see what I see

On this beautiful spring morning?

Will you pause in your rushing

Busy day to open your heart

And step into life?

For this life, your life, is happening

Right now, and this powerful moment

Is your gateway, your passage to freedom.


And now you have stepped through the portal

Do you see this tree outside the window?

Only yesterday its naked limbs

Stretched skeletal fingers;

A supplicant’s prayer to a distant golden god.

And the god, in its wisdom and love,

Sent rays of replenishment,

Nourishing this tree with the gift of new life.


And just this morning, as the sun god rose,

And traced a curve of brilliance through the skies,

This tree swelled with a blessing received.

It shook itself from within, shuddering as it

Cast off winter’s thinness and re-emerged,

Re-birthing itself, admiring its new fuller form,

As the luminescence of its beauty unfurled,

Leaf upon leaf, revealing its fecundity.


Take a walk with me now, out into the garden.

Lie with me beneath this beautiful tree,

Rest supine, let the earth support you,

As we gaze up through this divine canopy

Of lush spring life, woven with songs to delight the soul.

Hear the sigh of spring leaves cocooning birdsong chatter,

Eavesdrop on the breeze as its breath flirts at ease,

And stay still, just for a moment, as we become Tree.


© Sue Claughton, 2016

I Crave Simple

i crave simple





I can’t bear the fuss and noise of life,
The complicated mess of it all.
I crave simple.
I desire peace and stillness
And naturalness.
All this striving and pushing and needing,
Is not for me.

Give me a shoreline at dusk,
A forest at dawn,
A still silent night with the stars overhead
And the warm, slow hum of Gaia beneath my feet.
That is all I need.

Give me food, shelter and myself,
I’m done with the rest of it.
I don’t need or understand any of it,
It snarls me up inside,
This toxic greed for more,
More, more, more than you need.
I’m done with it all.

Give me the freedom to spread out,
Gently, lovingly and with relief into the space
Of me, give me this and no more.
No, don’t give it to me!
I take it, no more, no less.

I undertake to take nothing
That is not mine,
I only want to pull all that is me,
Into my heart, into the core of me,
I’m sick of being other than me.
I’m tired of the 3D contamination
That taints me,
It is time, time to simply be me.

So go where you will,
You that is other than me and my kind.
Leave me in peace, alone,
Just as I am.
I’m sick of it all, physically and emotionally.
I have no desire for this world,
To change it or to find my place,
None at all,
I’m an alien here,
I must be me, free.

Insanity and sanity nudge into
Each other.
Your intuition is trying to show you,
What is real.
Can you feel into it, sense what is so?
Don’t discount the whispers,
They are your lifeline out of here,
They exist on the knife edge
Of joy and despair.

© Sue Claughton, 2016

The Funeral





I’ve never gone to the funeral of a bad person,
It seems that everyone, no matter how awful,
Is transformed by death.
Or is it we who are changed?
The people left behind,
Who realise in the finality of another’s death
That they weren’t so very bad after all.

Seeing the good in another when they have gone,
Noticing the kindness, the lovely uniqueness
Of a life gone forever, deciding to overlook
The faults in favour of all that made us smile and laugh,
Being forgiving and generous with our affection,
To a person that is no longer here…

Funerals are silly affairs in many ways,
Favourite songs played and flowers displayed
To comfort the living, to reassure us that we loved,
We cared, we noticed and remembered, what?
A few paltry details to sum up a life lived.

Give me your flowers, forgiveness,
love and attention now,
Give me your laughter, kindness
And companionship today.
Give me you, honestly and with conviction,
Or walk away if you wish,
Either way I’ll pass on the black ostrich feathers,
The garlands of lilies and the eulogy of my life.

Bury me without tears, ceremony or favour.
Lay me down and let me be.
I wasn’t so very different from anyone you know,
I was good, I was bad, I was foolish,
I was me, just as you will be you.
Don’t try to make my life stand for something.
I am not a metaphor to bolster you,
I lived and then I died,
What happened in between only has meaning for me.

Have your funeral if you will, but know
It is a funeral for you, not for me.

© Sue Claughton, 2016

The Garden Of Lost Dreams

Have you ever wondered
Where every spiralling
Possibility goes?

Do they all take root
And grow,
In an out of the way
Corner of the Universe,
That is dark to your eyes,
But nonetheless exists?

Is the place
Your ideas and passions
Are relegated to,
Any less real
Than this place,
Now, where your
Attention rests?

If you become still,
Very still and silent,
Could it be possible
To feel the scattering
Of your hopes and dreams?

They are surely attached
To your heart,
The place of their birth.

And if this is so,
It is never too late
To dislodge them,
To reel them in,
To find a home for them,
Here, right where you are,

Because these possibilities
Are your seeds,
And within them lies new life,
A better life, a truer life.
A life born from fearless passion,
Before good sense and reason
Banished them as childish dreams.

If you cannot or will not
Call them home,
I will say farewell
With a boldness I imagine
And make true with every step.
I will go where you do not,
To tend the garden
Of lost dreams.

I will never retrace my steps
Back to you,
But the invitation always remains,
Silently and without judgement,
In the space where I once stood,
For you to join me,
Because once I’ve gone,
I cannot be reeled in.

I belong to no one,
My heart stays with me
In love with the living
Of truth, joy and peace.
But above all I follow
The call of love.

And that is why you can follow
But I can never return,
Because love never wavers
In its course, and once
A heart is plucked by the current
It can only go onward, never back.

© Sue Claughton, 2016

garden of lost dreams

The Sacrament of Breathing

sacrament of breathing




Inhaling and exhaling,

I breathe my life into being.

This oxygen is not a commodity;

I can’t capture it,

I can’t keep it locked behind my ribs,

Hidden in my lungs

As an insurance policy in case of lack.

This life supporting elixir isn’t mine to own,

It will pass through me,

Like all of life’s gifts and graces.


This quiet and gentle breath,

This universal embrace and release

Is the rhythm, the backbeat of life,

A priceless gift of replenishment.

This intimacy, this lover’s caress,

As my lungs expand and contract

Brings me into sacred harmony

With the eternal ebb and flow,

That sustains life’s dance of form.


If I only ever sit with the breath,

I need never follow a guru,

Worship at an alter,

Or study sacred texts.

The breath will take me to the hidden places,

The secret caverns of my soul.

It will calm me, enlighten me and centre me

In the heart of my own becoming.

And on its last embrace it will deliver its greatest gift.


© Sue Claughton, 2016










You wake up one day,
And you realise
You just don’t fit.
It’s like there’s a gap
Between you and the rest of the world.
Everything is a blur:
People, events, life.
There’s too much noise,
Everything is fast, frantic, flat.
None of it seems real anymore.
You can’t remember how it started
And you don’t want to go back,
So, for now, you’re on your own,
A misfit, newly coded, for a world
That’s birthing from the old.

Sometimes, you wonder,
Do they even see me?
Can they tell I’m no longer
The same as them? Was I ever?
It’s hard to make sense of it,
So you trust your heart,
It has brought you this far, SO far.
You don’t wait, you consolidate.
You’re not lonely,
How could you be?
Because now you see and feel
What it means to be fully alive
And present where everything
Is just SO beautifully and gloriously
ALIVE, conscious, communicating
All-the-time with every-thing!

In towns and cities,
In offices, shops and homes,
All around the world,
You are the misfits,
Sleeper cells of the
New consciousness.
A blueprint for humanity,
Cosmic eggs waiting to hatch.
You are healthy, healed, whole
In a sick world that’s getting sicker,
And you know that you heal
Others, simply by being exactly
Who you are.

You are a child of the wild.
Under an open sky
– with the stars and moon,
Here, you belong.
You belong in the living forests,
On the whispering shorelines,
Here, you find your peace.
Face upturned in a sun streamed meadow,
Another flower, blooming
Under the sun,
You find companionship
With the silent nodding heads
Of wild flowers, your sisters all.
Lying on a hilltop,
You melt into earth,
Your heartbeat indivisible
From the deep bass thrum,
Gaia’s breast, your metronome.
This is your new ‘real’,
It makes sense, you fit.
Rest here, idle awhile,
Ground yourself
Until the spinning settles,
Until time is a word that doesn’t
Demand anything because
You no longer know or care
What it is.

 © Sue Claughton, 2016


Dedicated with love to all Lightworkers, Starseeds and Earth Angels

I Am Love

I am a healer of worlds,

I am the ties that bind

Heart to high heart,

High heart to soul.

I am the sacred negotiator,

Who balances with harmony,

Who has no fear of hate.


I am the spell weaver

Of emotions, a heart surgeon

With a scalpel that never inflicts pain.

I show you a different way

To be whole, new yet weathered,

Tempered by my all

Encompassing embrace.


I bring light to the darkness

Of a cupped heart, held together

With dreams, hopes and years

Of tears. I melt barriers;

There is no disgrace

In feeling deeply into

Your scared and lonely place.


I take you there, I wait.

Time heals, wisdom is

Another word

For learning to recognise fate…


I am love because

There is no other way.

I fight the good fight

To liberate, to heal,

To allow you to dictate

How love will take shape

For you, for the life you create.


© Sue Claughton, 2016

Death’s Gift

death's gift




I will die.

Somewhere in the field of time

On a map where X already marks the spot,

I am drawing my last breath.

I am closing my eyes

For the very last time.

So much is uncertain,

Undecided yet, but this is not.


Whose hand will I grasp

As death leads me away?

Not alone, not cold, not in pain,

Please not that. Let it be as I have lived

– a woman rooted in the heart of life.

None of this I know.

But I do know that I will meet death.

It is certain. The wheel will turn.

Will I remember this Now moment

When my heart beats its last?


It is bittersweet to contemplate

One’s own demise.

It elicits a tenderness,

A soft almost maternal love

For this name, this identity

That intuitively pens a poem

On death. But it is also

A poem about life’s vibrant rush,

Life’s inexhaustible urge to create anew.


I can only die because I have lived,

And I must die to live again and again.

Now, in this very moment,

I live and die and live again

As my lungs and heart dictates:

You are not done yet, live longer

Live deeper, live truer.

And when what’s done is truly done,

Over and out for this incarnation,

Less than a heartbeat passes

Before I breathe new life

Into the skin, bones and blood

Of a new beginning.


Remember me if you can, new life living itself.

Remember me and remind yourself

That death is more friend than foe.

My death allows you to live and love.

So although I may mourn at life’s end,

It is given, this one glorious life, to you.

It is my gift to creation,

This idea of personhood expressing itself

Dipping and drinking deeply

From the sea of infinite possibility.


Unconditionally, I pass the mantle on to you.

Even while I still breathe,

I acknowledge that you will be and I,

What will I be? A memory? A cellular imprint?

Or alluded to in visions that hint of a former self?

I sense you already, as a seed within my

Dreams, a shadow at the edge of sleep.

Can you feel me giving way to you?

Accommodating you because I

Understand the difference between

Karma and destiny?


Celebrate all that lies before you.

And remember, if you fear death,

You will fear life too, because in every

Life well lived, we must learn to die.

Learn to love death, to walk with it,

Because it surely walks with you.

Allow death to greet you,

Permit it to teach you how to rise

Anew in every fresh and pristine moment.


© Sue Claughton, 2016







I am giving birth to myself,

That is what is happening here.

A new life is birthing itself from the old

And I am midwife, mother and child.

I am the process of awakening

And I am its glorious outcome.


This half-life, this shadow world,

Jostling with loss and pain and fear

Is not real, it is nothing compared to

The indescribable magnificence

That is concealed behind and within

What most of us accept and call life.


And now, it is falling away,

It is dissolving,

Hour by hour and day by day,

My faith, my love for this life of Oneness,

Is nudging me from darkness into light,

From separation towards unity.


This new life is the life I was born for,

I exist in a world where the idea of me

Is, was and will be.

I inhabit a world within a world,

A world that is neither past nor future.

This new, joyful existence is no dream.


I am birthing this world

Into physical reality.

I am stepping into the creative process

And weaving a world from the very strands

Of Life itself, from the building blocks of creation.

I am awake, I am aware, I am Love made manifest.


© Sue Claughton, 2016