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Footsteps. Conversations.
Spinning wheels. A million eyes.
The sounds and the voices of a city-
always changing, constantly making itself be heard,
taking to itself, feeling the rush of being alive.

A cyclist weaving and racing through lines of cars,
vans, and trucks, gridlocked and stationery-
but glowing and constant red lights
doesn’t stop him for anything,
and for all he knows every light is green;
a commuter in a crowd making their way to work,
desperately holding on to the umbrella in one hand
and the take-out coffee cup
that they are holding onto tightly in the other-
just trying to get to work without bumping into someone else,
or crossing a street and almost being hit
by a fast-peddling cyclist that they nearly didn’t see.

Meeting places.
Get togethers.
The relay and transference of information and knowledge.
A starting point, a route, a destination, a direction, and end
that is merely a jumping-off point to a magical adventure-
like a song that you sing before following a yellow brick road.

There is traffic all around us-
in the sky, above the clouds around Earth,
over land, over sea, under the water, below the ground;
there is movement even in the stillness of a picture-postcard scene
that you don’t see, but which you can hear
by its noticeable feel and sound.

Life is always on the move,
and I find that absolutely phenomenal and terrific.
Life is an endless motorway that is connected and ventured down
and navigated every second by an infinite stream
and network of traffic.

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There is no sound,
there is nothing to be heard;
there is a couple sitting at the next table from me
in the cafe I am in
talking completely and fully without words,
and the beauty of their silent conversation,
even though I do not mean to pry in any way,
has me not only lost for words
but also lost in thought,
and I can feel my heart start to pound.

I can’t hear a word that they are saying to each other,
but I know that that is because their voice
is not meant to be heard by me-
they could be saying anything to each other-
but what I do know, just from observing the looks
that they are giving each other,
is that this couple is in love;
I recognize and I have seen this unmistakable,
silent, and mutual, connection of spirit
in myself and in others a thousand times,
and it never fails to read, at least to me,
like the most beautiful, natural, and special, poetry.

The eye-contact, lip-movements, and hand-gestures and signs,
they are making is entrancing,
the way they are so compelled and in-awe of each other
and do not need or want the attenton of anyone else
in the entire world is mesmerising-
I am not afraid of confessing.

I wanted to be a part of their conversation,
but I also, secretly, did find it cool that I and everyone
was an outsider because we couldn’t understand their code
and are not meant to.
I must admit I did smile at the thought of them
having so much privacy, and the gift of one to one communication
without the potential of being evesdropped on.

They looked like they only had time
and only had eyes for each other,
and that truly touched my heart and made me happy-
the joy they were feeling about talking to each other,
sitting facing each other, of one mind and intent,
was noticeable, palpable, and wonderful to see.
Communication on every level of society and by every means
all around the world in a million different ways
has always fascinated me,
and the gift of being able to reach out to someone,
especially someone that you love, in some way, in any way,
no matter who you are or how it is done
never ceases to fascinate me.

The couple that I was watching had their own language,
their own code of communication that even I could see,
surpassed the language they had been taught
to share what they want to say;
and it occurred to me after I left the cafe
that they have a code, everyone has a code,
and even I have mine-
my language, my code, is that of patterns and poetry;
and I also realised that if I or anyone wants to be a part
of any conversation, I and they have to learn and read
what is being said all around us every second,
sometimes silently without a sound,
because the answer to what is being said is
all in the signs.

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A little boy jumping in puddles,
a little girl kicking and tossing
a collection of leaves on the ground-
the joy in their faces,
the pure excitement in their bodies,
is exhilarating to see and to witness;
just as it is brilliant to see a child
be encouraged and compelled to be excited
by their parents, and not told off
for doing what they are doing-
being a kid.

A child has a right to be free more than anybody
in discovering the answer to ‘If I do this, what happens next?’-
they might learn a valuable lesson
that will stay with them their entire life,
and depending on how their parents respond to them
at particular and important moments
will be the difference between them aspiring to be more,
see more, and experience more,
and walking the line of hope and trouble,
and knowing the value of something and someone;
whether it be an acquaintance, a friend, a gift,
a house, a sunrise, a rest, a cup of coffee,
a hand-hold, a look, a relationship-
just as they will always hopefully know
the true value of a hard-earned dollar, or a pound.

One of the best moments to witness
is when a child hears music for the first time,
and it instantly makes them dance, move,
and sing along to the lyrics
and replicate with complete accuracy all the right
choreography and dance-moves, words,
and the inflections of the artist
who is the author of the song they are hearing,
and it truly moves them like no other form
of communication of any kind.

Children love to express their profound joy
and overwhelming passion for life in every way-
whenever they can, wherever they can, with whoever they are with,
and they never hold back, unless they are stopped in their tracks
by something they have never seen before,
and then the expression that you see on their face
is absolutely priceless:
it’s like a mix of wonder and confusion,
bliss and captivation;
something new to a child, like a new song,
is like magic to them, and they don’t mind listening to a song,
or seeing something, over and over again.

They say that we lose much as we grow up, get older,
and sometimes we forget the pure unadulterated enjoyment
and the thrill of exposure of our inner-self
and our untempered emotions for all the world to see-
because we are so worried about what other people
will think and who society, for all its good,
tells us we aught to be-
a child doesn’t have that,
a child doesn’t need that,
a child should have boundaries,
but not those that will stop them
from doing from doing the impossible,
from overcoming and clearing the fences
that can threaten to restrict their metamorphosis too much.
A child doesn’t need to be told what they can’t do,
they need to be shown and encouraged in the things they can do
and will do;
a child can grow up anywhere
and as long as they have what they need when they need it,
a child can and will change the world-
it happens everyday, it has happened everyday of human history-
whether that child is born into poverty,
doesn’t have all that every other child they go to school with has;
whether that child is deaf, physically or mentally challenged, or blind-
any and every child can be something amazing and someone spectacular,
as long as they are surrounded by love and support,
and while they are a child they are allowed to be free,
discover, and be who they want to be,
and can make every moment of their lives
an important part of their play time.

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Every second we are transmitting;
every minute we are all broadcasting;
every hour we are all receiving;
every day we all sharing and revealing.

Every morning I feel something I have never felt before
and I reach out;
every morning I write something I might have said
a thousand times before,
but every time I say it again I mean it even more than before,
and to me it is like an ice cube that will never melt.

I have a tendency to repeat myself,
to watch something, and read something, over and over,
and to listen to a song continuously on its own
or part of a playlist;
I love seeing, hearing, and remembering,
things, music, people, places, memories, song-lyrics-
especially when all those wonderful things
combine into one perfect moment-
like the time you are listening to one of your favourite songs
while looking into the eyes of the one you love,
and sharing your first kiss.

I am addicted to communication, and sharing a connection.
If I think, read, see, or hear something
I feel other people would respond to, love,
like, and share too, I get so much pleasure in writing,
tagging, re-blogging, texting, and tweeting, messaging,
a link, a quote, a photo, a picture,
or writing a poem about it,
and seeing the ripple-effect of reactions.

I could talk for hours about hundreds of different things
and have a myriad of opinions about everything-
from religion to literature, from music to television;
I could talk for days about who I have met in my life,
what happened, and what I have seen, where I have been,
and what I heard, and why I was inspired,
because I chose to stop and listen.

Everyone and every thing has a story.
Every life, every love, every heart-break,
every inspirational, magic moment is a song, a musical,
a novel, a poem, a piece of art,
waiting in the wings to be released.
Every person, every leaf, every animal, every coffee bean,
every planet, every cloud, every fish, every grain of sand,
is on a journey, and that shared journey is a journey
of growth, motivation, reflection, impression, disconnection,
reconnection, intuition, in infinite ways,
and with infinite gifts of communication.

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There is no greater thing to give,
and there is no greater thing to receive,
there is no greater expression
that you are thinking of someone, than a card-
especially this time of the year;
to me, there is something special,
more so than any gift or present of any size,
about the knowledge that people are in each other’s thoughts
no matter where they live, nor the reality that they don’t talk
or see each other as much as they used to anymore;
to me, knowing that I have picked and written in a card for someone,
and that someone has picked and written in a card especially for me,
means something to me, and because I am who I am
I read light-years into every word, and I pay especial focus and attention
to the ever-present poetry.

I love taking the time to make a card.
I love sitting down while thinking about the person I am writing to,
and letting my feelings and emotions flow from me
and become imbued in the ink that I am writing in.
I love having the gift to be able to express so easily
what others sometimes find hard.
I love retracing my own footprints
and reuniting with old memories of friends and family
at special moments of our shared lives together,
and remembering and reliving those things we have seen,
and returning to the place where we have been.

There is a card for every occasion.
There is a card for everyone.
There is a card to be made in everyone’s imagination.
There is a card to be created that can be a simple sentence
and sentiment that even though it may only be short
can be what you really want to say in a way
that is the culmination of elation, affection, explanation,
and liberation, that needs no translation.

Messages are precious. Time is finite.
What we say sometimes is fast, frenetic,
unforgettable, and often times in a rush.
How we spend our days and hours is often split and divided
between different relationships with very different people that we know,
and it is sometimes hard to know where you are
until you turn out the light at night.

To me, a card- a birthday card, a Christmas card,
a postcard, a get well card, an anniversary card-
is a great and a wonderful thing,
because it is an opportunity, a place, a way,
a method, and a means, that is more special and means more
than a text message, an email, or a phone call-
for some that is the only way they have to reach out
and make contact with someone,
and those messages and calls mean the world,
and being able to share something, anything,
from one person to another is so incredible.

The right card to send someone and the right thing to write inside
can take a lot of thought, but it shouldn’t have to be a science
and it doesn’t have to be a masterpiece of art.
The right message and remark does not have to be the most amazing
and poetic declaration ever written, or ever said-
as long as what you really want to communicate is there for anyone
and all to see and read by anybody who sends, receives,
opens, writes, and reads, something in a card.

I thought that I lost my voice, once;
I thought that I lost my muse;
I thought that I would never talk again,
and then light returned to shine amongst the dark-
words came to mind, tongue, and pen,
and inspiration found its mark.

As you get older, hours pass like seconds, months pass like days;
but you never forget your first love,
you never forget what, and who, continues to bring happiness,
hope, and meaning into your life, worthy of praise.

This year was the year when everything changed for me.
These past twelve months
sometimes feel like they have all happened at once;
but I will never forget how much
every minute, every word, every conversation, every friend,
every moment, meant to me, how much they will always mean to me.

I have been on a journey my entire life,
from crib to constellations,
looking for someone who could tell me where I was supposed to go,
what I was supposed to do;
but it wasn’t until someone reached-out their hand from afar,
and touched me on the shoulder,
that I realized my journey had only just begun,
and since then the things that have happened
have been like a dream come true.

I wake-up every morning and greet my friends,
like the lights in the dark that they are,
with a smile, and with the same belief in them
that they have always shown in me-
to have such friends as mine,
you cannot help yourself from thinking of them
as if they were family.
My friends and my family have made this year a year to remember;
my friends and my family have been with me every step of the way,
even if they may not know it;
my friends and my family are engraved into my mind and heart forever;
my friends and my family have been all that I have ever needed,
and they are who have meant the most to me in this year of fruition-
this year of the poet.

One hundred and forty characters is all that you get
to describe what you are doing, sort of like a vignette:
a short, but informative, sentence about your circumstance;
or a recommendation that you follow a fellow friendly acquaintance.
At the end of every week,
and in the form of Twitter ‘tweet’,
many Twitter followers and friends
make requests to one another and send
a tweet that usually includes #FF, or #FollowFriday,
followed by the username of the friend that they want to send your way.

Over time, Twitter has become more than the sum of it’s parts,
to some it has become a place very important and dear to their hearts.
From a simple internet messaging service, Twitter has evolved
into a place where connections can be made and you can become involved
in the latest new thing of the moment and be there at it’s birth,
get the news from around the world, and talk to people from all corner’s of the earth.

Twitter, to me, is an extremely engaging way
to communicate, converse, and to convey;
to talk to fascinating and talented people, or otherwise;
to tell someone why you chose to follow them, or even to advise.
Twitter has become the followed, and the follower;
with a great many of it’s community who have been endowed to empower.
Twitter, and tweeting, has a draw, and also an attraction that is very rare;
perhaps, one day their wont be anyone who isn’t ‘tweeting’ every-when and everywhere?

brevis tamen notitia

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