Being Busy is a Joy

It’s been a while since my last post, but being busy is a joy. When I’m not overseeing general work activities and three international projects then I’m either volunteering or spending time with my family… I’m not sure when I’m going to get back to writing my novel trilogy (but I have an idea for that – to be explained another time), but again being busy with things and people that are important to you is a joy.

The other day I saw my daughter reading one of my self-published works… her favourite poem of mine was one written almost 4 years ago:

My Children

If you saw my daughter role-playing
or heard my first son laugh whilst my second babbles
if you could hold them at night and capture their smiles
and tell them stories fueling dreams and imagination eternal
you too, would cry warm tears of joy

By B. L. Crisp

My children constantly remind me what’s important and what my purpose is in life both inside our family circle and outside, as well as within myself. Needless to say if I’m ever in a dark patch, I can always cry warm tears of joy.




A flock of seven ride the waves in the glow of the amber sunlight
climbing upwards as the warm tide comes in to shore,
the physical reality controlled by an illusion of time
as my senses heighten and gravity itself halts the ocean.

I had traversed through the woods submerged into the bowels of mother nature, listening to the sounds of exotic birds,
I stumbled upon ripples in a pond of ethereal transcendence that appeared through an opening. I sat…
My perception of time altered by my emotional state
creating visual gaps in light and slowing everything down.

In Harmony With You

In Harmony With You

You are my lucidity, the cosmic elements and my ether
The mother of our beautiful children, you are the gravity of our family,

You compliment my existence like the ethereal stars do the night sky
The only person who this heart of mine will explore in this world,

You are my soul mate, my source of strength and inspiration
And in harmony we grow stronger together than apart, my wife.

B. L. Crisp