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Purple, stars, and sparkly things
are some of my sister’s favourite things-
she coordinates everything:
from her make-up, to her t-shirt,
from the colour of her socks,
to the theme of her wedding!
Purple is a nice colour,
purple is tranquil;
purple is not the colour
that I would say says everything
about my sister Clare,
but she definitely has more stars in her eyes
with every stare.
My sister Clare, has a unique flare-
there is no one else like her,
which she already knows,
and I just wanted to say
Happy Birthday, Clare!
What more could you ask for from a friend
than what your best friend blesses you with,
what more could you ask for from a best friend
than amazing, heart-felt, support, generosity, joy, and beauty,
who makes you feel so lucky to live the life that you live.
My best friend is a mother, a wife, a daughter,
a person hoping to change the world-
she has touched, brightened,
and made the lives of the people she has met
better for the gift of knowing her;
and in my opinion, she has already changed
and brought love into the hearts of many worlds.
My best friend is so awesome, funny, fantastic, and unique,
when she tweets, comments, or posts anything on the internet,
it is always the best thing that I have read all day;
my best friend is a prolific poet in her own way,
and everything she says is epic!
My best friend’s smile
is the beautiful gem in the crown
of her gorgeous grace, hopefulness, and style;
my best friend’s eyes
are like the magic that you can see and feel
in the light of beautiful blue skies;
my best friend’s heart
is so full of all the things that light the world,
it is always on show for all the world to see,
and it is in itself a beautiful work of art.
My best friend is not just my best friend,
she is the ultimate confidante,
and the person whom I trust the most,
to be there for me, for her family,
for her friends, for anyone,
and she is and always has been since we first met
the most purest source of energy, truth, and enthusiasm,
on Earth, bar none.
Every year I sit down and write my best friend a poem for her birthday,
every year in every poem I try to capture in words
why she is so special in every possible way-
I always believe that no matter what I write
I could never describe everything about her
that makes her to me my best friend-
she is like trying to describe the gorgeous light of an aurora.
Every year, what I want to say to my best friend
is that you really are the best,
and that I hope you have an amazing birthday, Sara!
There are things that are easy, and there are things that are hard;
but when you feel something deeply and intensely for someone,
and when those feelings and emotions lead you to the meaning of your life,
there is no greater beneficiary than your own heart.
I don’t think love can be defined so easily and understandably in words
than it can be and always should be expressed in thoughts,
gestures, generosity, and selflessness;
however, when used in unison with words of beauty, depth, and poetry,
the power of the magic that can be enchanted is nothing short of wondrous.
Meeting someone new who you have never met in your entire life is easy-
everyday everybody does so without even a second thought-
the chances of you walking out of your home in the morning
and never making eye-contact with the unfamiliar irises of a stranger
for the rest of the day, are, I am quite confident in saying,
very close to naught.
Meeting someone new, who you may one day choose
to trust your spirit and your soul to
is fraught with uncertainty and fear, at first-
sometimes, even to the degree that you swear that your need
to share a part of yourself with someone, if it is not fulfilled
then your heart is literally going to burst.
Human beings are advertising-animals-
we either share a lot, or a little, of ourselves with the world,
but no more than we are confident with;
as long as we emit our own aura of who and how
we would like others to see us,
then we are willing to leave everything else about us
to speculation and myth.
Falling in love at first-sight is a hard habit to break-
like Michelangelo seeing the statue of David before he sculpted him,
sometimes you cannot help yourself,
after seeing someone who you really like,
from removing all the unnecessary marble that surrounds them
and sculpting them in your mind the way that you see them-
and, unfortunately, when that optimistic and artful view
is sometimes shattered-
when art comes to life in ways unforeseen and un-envisioned-
it is hard for everyone to pick up the pieces
and put them back together again.
Meeting someone new is easy,
meeting them for the first time can be hard;
but I do not think that anyone would have it any other way-
and that is why life, love, and people,
are an entrancing and an inspiring work of heart.
Walking on the soft ocean-touched sand of an early-morning beach-
the cold, divine, sensation between my toes, on the souls of my feet,
as I look back at the footprints that I have left behind me
in the twilight sand-
the path that I have made that appears to go on beyond reach.
The sun rises with a silent, and yet spectacular,
celebratory fan-fare of colour and ocean wave choruses-
all overlapping and harmonizing with every passing second;
and then I realize that the moon is still in the sky,
still casting its own light on the sea-
and in an instant of magical serenity
that seems to last forever
both the sun and the moon share the same sky,
as if the king of the day came when the queen of the night beckoned.
The two were far apart,
but they appeared connected by a golden strand of cloud between them-
as if the two were sharing an audience together,
however what they were conveying to each-other
not even dreams could imagine.
I was so in-awe of this perfect moment,
I was so lost in thought at its meaning,
and by what Earths role is in the celestial destiny of the galaxy,
that I didn’t notice that ten feet away from me
I was sharing this moment with someone else-
someone who I had never seen before,
but who, for a second, looked away from the majestic sight
that we were both witnessing to look at me
and to smile the most beautiful smile that I had ever seen at me.
We both watched as the sun seemingly appeared to grow in size
and radiance, as if it were about to explode;
we both held our breath as the moon faded before our eyes,
as if it were saying a brief goodbye
as it returned the reign of the sky to the rightful heir to the throne.
My fellow sky-watcher and I again shared a moment between the two of us,
as we looked into each-others eyes, smiled warmly,
after having shared something so beautiful together-
and I could see in their eyes that we two would never forget this moment,
nor each-other, but that we would never see each-other again.
We shared another silent look,
which transcended all words that could have been said,
and then we kept on walking.
As the sun bathed me in its golden breath,
the warm air and the sea-breeze overwhelmed and invigorated me
and got inside of me-
so much so that I had to close my eyes to savour the feeling;
and then I had this instinct, this need, to open my eyes again
to look behind me to see the friend that I just made;
and although she was gone, I still felt as if I could feel their heart beating.
The moment would never come again; and yet it would,
but for a different reason, and at a different time for me-
I know this to be true, just as I know that beautiful, magical, bliss
can be found at the dawn of morning in that which connects
the air to the sea.
From the rooftops of London,
to the market squares of Belize;
from the skyscrapers of New York City,
to the districts of downtown Los Angeles-
the streets are art of the most exquisite kind,
what wonders there are to be found around every corner-
it would be a crime to be blind.
From the inspired graffiti of Banksy,
to the spectacular neon-light metropolis of Tokyo;
from the beautiful avenues of Paris,
to the Las Vegas strips illuminated hotels and casinos.
The art of our cities and towns is ever-present in its architecture,
you can see a buildings story in the colour of its bricks;
the art that has always been there
and the art that has built-up over time
melds together harmoniously to the artistic eye,
as if it was always meant to have been mixed.
From the multi-coloured facades of Portobello Road in London,
to the wavy pavements of Copacabana in Rio de Janeiro;
from the sizzling streets of Miami beach,
to the ancient suburbs of Cairo-
amazing man-made creations show off, in full-display,
humanities limitless innovation, creativity, and inspiration:
from expressions of remembrance, to the statues of our heroes-
every detail of every landmark is worthy of exploration.
The streets of our cities are like the neurons of a brain,
constantly transmitting information and details about everything
that is connected to its network;
the art of our cities streets is always on the move,
being made and remade, over and over again-
from advertisements, to the colours that people choose to wear for work.
Every street on our planet is electric and interesting
for all sorts of reasons,
and the streets of every city keep the beat of modern society
going like a heart;
all the streets are vibrant and telling,
and like anywhere you look in a gallery,
everywhere you look in any city on Earth
you will see that the streets are art.
Everyone needs inspiration,
everyone needs a hero, a role-model-
someone to look up to
to show them that through hard-work, belief, and determination,
you could one day feel your heart rise
and be carried on a wave of love of a million people.
Kids need to fall in love with things that they enjoy doing,
and through their journey of finding themselves
a child’s passion and interest in whatever makes them happy
needs to be tended to by observant and watchful eyes,
and supported always so that their love is constantly renewing.
So many children do not have that which they will need
for the rest of their lives when they are looking at the world,
questioning, and thinking about life’s possibilities;
so many kids are left to find their way
without even the hint of what direction they should go,
and without being reminded that it is important to have responsibilities.
The Olympic Games are important,
because they are a symbol, a signal,
a call to the hearts of all-
especially to the athletes of the future-
that if we work together we can do anything;
the Olympic Games are important,
because when children watch men and women
at the peak of their athleticism give everything
and put all their effort into something that they love
it will drive them on to find a new beginning.
You never stop being inspired,
but before you can take interest and fascination in something
and expand your view of it so that it fills your entire life-
you first need to know and to feel what inspiration is,
what it can do, what you can do with it, and where you can go-
you need to learn to be able to listen
to what your heart tells you first,
then to the voices of others,
think deeply about what makes you dream,
and learn to sometimes hear “Yes”
when all that people are saying to you is “No”.
I have always loved to run,
I have always felt super-human after pushing my body to its limit;
unfortunately I never fell in love with playing sports,
but I really enjoy watching sports of every kind:
football, athletics, cycling, tennis;
sports people are great and important icons for all of us
to be inspired by, to take to our hearts,
and to watch as their life becomes golden,
like the phenomenal Jessica Ennis.
On a moonlit night, dressed all in black,
a man walks the streets of his town,
reflecting on the night that has passed
and also on the realization that he cannot give back.
To taxi drivers, and early-morning passers-by,
he is like a ghost in the street lights;
and as he takes a step closer towards home,
it occurs to him that no one really knows him-
people think they do, but he is not the person
that some people believe they are capturing in their sights.
We can never truly know how we are seen by others,
nor what our emanating first-impression is-
all that the man knows is that tonight
he got a glimpse into a mirror that showed him
how people perceive him,
and he wonders if it is a recurring after-image
that when he is described everyone sees.
Maybe it is because, these days,
his words speak for him without him even opening his mouth-
he has found that actions, especially his own,
have spoken silent volumes about who people are-
and that fact he too thinks long and hard about.
Perhaps he is a closed-book
that periodically and uncontrollably
sometimes has their cover opened
and their pages turned by the winds of the world,
and if it were not for a book-mark here and there
nothing about him would be known or unfurled.
We are all a mystery to one-another,
sometimes even to our friends, and our families;
sometimes we are even a mystery to ourselves-
just because we live our lives
does not mean that we know everything about our lives;
sometimes things lie out of reach on perceptions highest shelves.
Song-writers and story-tellers have been singing about and describing
men and women in black for some time now,
but until last night and this morning
this Man in Black never understood who they were talking about
and he never thought that a person like that
would be a person like me.
He wonders if he will always be a Man in Black;
however, that is not for him to know,
that is not for him to see.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 