You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘belonging’ tag.
Every second we have to be connected to our life-line;
every minute we are awake we are thinking about the people
who fill our lives, and whose place in our heart
will always be hard to beat;
every hour we want what makes us happy all the time;
every day we stay in the know and on the move
no matter what we are doing-
whether we are lying in bed, or sitting down at work,
or making our way through the world with out own two feet.
Our online identities tie us all in to the cloud
of instant connectivity with everyone else
who has a mobile device- which in this day and age
is pretty-much everyone;
our email addresses are our key to virtual doors,
our technology obsession is an evolutionary step forward,
but also a calling-card of something similar
in our collective history that has happened before.
Instant access,
instant communication,
instant happiness,
instant messages of the population of our connected,
biological, and technological,
electronic, and frenetic, world,
light our lives, brighten our faces,
make us feel reassured.
An instant stage gives us all an audience,
to whom we can say what is on our minds,
show what is right in front of us,
and we can literally write our own instantly,
living, and constantly-changing autobiography-
like a writer writes their words so easily on a page.
Our technology has become our best friend.
Our mobile phones, our laptops, our tablets,
our music players, our media viewers,
are our mobile lives, our mobile homes,
our morning, midday, and twilight zones.
The first thing we reach for every morning
has changed over time and will change again,
but our accessories of connectivity and belonging
will always be there now and forever
in the form of our multi-faceted, multi-personalized,
multi-coloured, extensions of ourselves-
which has become for us all our nexus.
Everybody wants that special person in their life
who they can turn to, and talk to, and look to,
and listen to, whenever they need someone;
every one of us wants to fall asleep
thinking about something that that special person in our life
did for us that made us happy, and always makes us happy-
just the sight of their eyes looking back at us,
or a message from them that may be inaudible to anyone else
who read it resounds and echoes loud and clear
in the cavenous expanses of our mind,
and drives the current of our inner river,
and produces rainbows in the waterfall of our imagination.
That special someone can be all that you need to
make you want to wake up, live, and go to sleep,
feeling incredible, and like you too, for knowing them,
are special.
Love is easy.
Love is the best thing ever-
when the place is perfect, and the time is right.
Love should feel easy,
love shouldn’t ever feel a struggle-
when real love comes calling and you recognise its face at first sight,
even though you may have not seen it before,
or if you have not for a long time.
Love is unquestionable.
Love is the best, the most potent, and the most life-changing drug,
and you can express love in so many ways-
deeply, intimately, eternally, beautifully, simply,
sometimes with just a stare, a touch, a word, a kiss,
a gift of belonging, connection, togetherness-
from a boyfriend to a girlfriend,
from a wife to a husband,
from a friend to a best friend-
in the way of a hug.
Gifts of affection come in many forms-
sometimes out of the blue,
like a surprise trip somewhere for two,
a reminder that someone loves you
and was thinking about you,
and they saw something while they weren’t with you
but as soon as they saw what they saw
they knew it would be the perfect present for you.
Two people who are in love
but don’t always say it to each other,
but who try to show it every day-
and not just on Valentine’s Day-
know that as long as they have each other,
as long as they have what no one could ever take
or replace, which they know is never going anywhere-
those two people, even though they may be apart sometimes
will always know that they will forever have
a vital piece of one another in their heart,
and that knowledge and that truth and that feeling
is hidden in plain sight for them to see, recognise,
and find.
You can feel and find love five seconds after meeting someone.
You can know you have found the one person who you want
to spend the rest of you life with the instant you feel their pull,
and their force of attraction becomes more powerful
and important than gravity,
and when you look at them and every time you do
you are in-awe iof them and stunned.
You can see someone over and over again everyday,
but the time for your two hearts and lives to combine
might not ne instantaneous and may come gradually
the more you learn about each other,
and the more you see in them what you have been searching for,
and what you have always wanted;
something that can make you do something amazing
that you would never do for anyone else
and have never done before for anyone else-
like buying someone a bouquet of flowers,
writing someone a letter,
telling someone a secret,
showing someone something that means something to you
for some reason that is personal and meaningful to you.
When I want to say something, or do something special
for my special someone, I like to do it with all my heart,
and I put eveything into it, and I like to leave
and give a part of me to someone in every word
and in every rhyme and message of my poetry-
and I like to play my own song,
I like to create my own music,
I like to send my voice into and over the air
for the one I love, and for the one who loves me
to find and to hear, and feel me and what I want them to feel,
and I want them to think of me whenever they hear my melody,
whenever they hear their melody,
whenever they hear our melody.
There is no more powerful light in the dark;
there is no more powerful and beautiful beacon of hope and happiness;
there is no more powerful feeling that you feel beating every second in your heart;
there is no more powerful reaction than sitting back
and marveling at the gift that you wait all year for-
the gift of family, the gift of belonging, the gift of dreams-
covered in flashing lights and tinsel, and festive ornaments,
around your tree of Christmas.
The Christmas tree is an amazing legacy;
the Christmas tree is a symbol of love and family;
the Christmas tree is the most wonderful story of an entire year;
the Christmas tree is the most inspiring and colorful,
phenomenal and emotional experience for some,
because it is something that so many people
have a hand in making it what it is,
and it can be enough to bring you to tears.
Whether it is getting the Christmas tree from the attic
that your family have had and have used
and will continue to use for years to come,
or the fantastic and amazing ritual of actually going
to a Christmas tree farm and picking a real, green,
and still growing pine tree-
everything that comes with the finding and the choosing of the one tree,
the favourite tree, the right tree, is the best and the most exciting ceremony
and custom, and it will continue to be as it has been
since the tradition of the Christmas tree began.
The feeling of a real, freshly-cut, Christmas tree is amazing.
The smell of a real, pine, Christmas tree is so intoxicating.
The sight of a real Christmas tree forest is something you never forget,
and the thought of it takes you back to when you were a child.
The idea and the understanding of what Christmas, family,
life, is all about and why it is important to remember as much as you can
about every moment can be found and felt in the seed that still remains
at the heart of every real Christmas tree.
The decorating of the tree is something that can be enjoyed and made real,
and can be the actual time and moment when Christmas begins-
when a family gathers together and unpacks all the decorations
that they have been saving to use for a whole twelve months-
it can be the cue and the first note that makes your
festive and hopeful heart sing.
For children, it is something that they will always remember
and look forward to all their lives, and it will forever
bring back happy memories for them, and remind them of the real meaning
and importance of why we do what we do;
for adults, the Christmas tree- everything about it-
can be just what they need to give them back something
they may have forgotten, and which they have been missing;
for everyone, Christmas, and a Christmas tree especially,
can be more and can mean more,
and can only feel the way that it does at this time of the year,
and it can be a way of looking forward and looking back in synchronicity,
feeling a part of something already existing,
and also of something brand new.
For the lucky ones who have the real Christmas present every day,
all year round, of having a family around them who they love
and who loves them in return, Christmas can be exhilarating,
invigorating, thrilling, and the most wonderful blessing.
This time of the year means a lot to me.
To me, Christmas is more than a season of gifts and presents
and buying the most, it is about giving and receiving a part of yourself,
a part of someone who means a lot to you, who you love,
and care about unconditionally.
This time of the year means keeping everyone as close to you
as they can possibly be.
To me, Christmas is about coming together
and gathering around what we all share,
and there is no greater thing to assemble around
than a beautiful, and breathtaking, Christmas tree.
There is a man who lives in a house on the hill,
there is a man who looks over on the village of his birth,
who comes down from his home from time to time
to be among other people, to buy a news paper,
and sometimes just to pay a bill.
People say that the man is a mystery,
people say that the man is a ghost,
people say that he lives on his own
because he is suffering from a broken heart that never mended,
people say that he doesn’t have an address-
no house name, no house number, no street name-
so you can’t contact him by post.
The man on the hill doesn’t have a name,
at least not one that is widely known,
the man on the hill can’t remember the last time
someone actually called him by his birth name-
he never says a word to anyone anymore,
no one even realizes that he is there.
People stopped ringing him years ago-
one day he decided that he had no need to be in contact with anyone,
so he disconnected his phone.
The man on the hill can be seen in the flesh,
if you are ever in the centre of England,
if you are ever in a park in Coventry
and you see a man sitting alone on a bench reading a book-
if you take the time to approach the man, to introduce yourself,
and to tell him that you’ve heard all about him,
he might raise his head, he might smile back at you,
but in his eyes you will see a very sad look.
The man on the hill walks everywhere.
The man on the hill goes out in the morning
and comes home at night,
full of new thoughts, old memories-
always seen in the same clothes, with the same haircut,
as if he has nothing else to wear.
The man on the hill used to know everyone,
and everyone used to know him-
beyond the legend that surrounds him,
beyond the shadow that he carries along with him.
The man on the hill’s story is a long, tragic, and sad tale-
a journey that came to a grinding halt one summer afternoon, long ago,
but where the man on the hill came from,
and how ended up becoming the man on the hill,
is complicated to explain, and even he would find it hard
knowing where to begin.
There is a man who lives on a hill
who once made a difference;
there is a man who lives on a hill
who thought he had the entire universe figured out,
until something happened to him that changed him forever-
and now the universe, to him, just doesn’t make any sense.
There is a man who lives on a hill,
who is waiting for the right person to come back into his life;
there is a man who lives on a hill,
who wants to simply remember what it is like to be alive.
There is a man who lives in a house, by himself,
who if you knocked on his door he would shower you with goodwill;
there is a man who just wants to be remembered,
who wants to dies happy again-
that man is the man on the hill.
While I lay in my bed the previous night,
a blanket of fog had risen and had covered my home;
while walking the streets and the lanes of my village,
in the early hours of the morning,
details and landmarks were obscured to me-
it was like everything was covered in foam.
The mist before me was thicker than I had seen in a long time-
it was as if my home was floating in the sky,
surrounded on all sides by cloud,
with the light of lamp-posts dimly shining like stars in a line.
It felt like I was not only walking around my home,
but also walking the pavements of my own misty mind-
the cold of the morning had stolen my thoughts,
as the fog had stolen my vision-
making me effectively blind.
There was no wind, but the air all around was bitterly cold;
there was no frost to be found on the ground,
but it felt like I was at the North Pole-
if it were not for my coat, my scarf,
and the fact that I never stopped for a second,
I believe that I would have been frozen to death;
and if it were not for the sound of my own foot-falls,
I would have thought that I had gone deaf.
There was no one to be seen, and this was 8.30 in the morning;
I found myself missing the sun more and more,
every minute without it felt like we hadn’t had a proper day’s dawning.
The green fields that I rambled across could still be seen under-foot,
but from a distance you could be forgiven
for mistaking them for ghostly-white-
no rabbits to be spotted emerging from their burrows,
nor any birds to be witnessed above in full-flight.
It was like everything- all life, but me- was frozen below the surface,
or still tucked-up in their bed;
while I carried out my morning ritual, as best I could
considering I couldn’t see what was ahead.
As soon as I reached the tree-line of my favourite wood,
a smile came across my face at the sight of this special place to me;
for reasons so complex and important I cannot describe, if only I could;
however, what I can say is that the trees that inhabit this forest
have an energy to them that I have felt no where else-
every time I come back, I feel like I can just be myself.
As soon as I walked among the trees,
the sound of life returned to my ears, and I felt free-
the smell of the trees, the sound that they make when they sway;
the wing-beats of a hawk flying through the trees-
overcame my own personal fog, and got inside of me.
As I stood there,
taking in everything that my senses would allow me to comprehend,
as sunlight streamed in and bathed me in light so clear and energizing,
I thought that I could stand there forever through every element
and season of nature until my end.
Every time I come back to this place
the experience is even more moving and profound than the last-
rain, snow, or sunshine,
wet, freezing, or baking in warmth,
the time that I spend here is just what I need-
it never goes too slow, or too fast.
When I exit the forest, and return to the outside world,
blue-sky and bird-song is everywhere around me,
and there is the faintest aroma of a cooked English breakfast on the breeze,
as leaves before me twist and swirl.
All is right with the world again,
and all is right again with me.
I have a smile on my face,
I can think clearly,
and I can see.
I think about the woods, the trees, the fields,
and how lucky I am to live where I live,
what it all means, and how when I am here I never feel alone-
and I thank my parents for raising me in this place of perfection-
the Centre of England- so that I may call it the place where I belong,
the place I love, and the place where I shall always call my home.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 