My Poem ‘Heisenberg’

The events of life are uncertain;
what will happen to us cannot be planned;
most of what makes the world work
is hidden behind an invisible curtain;
what is supposed to happen to us
is something that we have to come to and get to
on our own sometimes,
because there wont always be someone
to show us the right path and guide us by the hand.

Life is not always good.
Life is not always spectacular.
Life can sometimes feel like a lie.
Life can sometimes feel like you are standing in an ocean
with the water-level just below your head,
or like you are trying to withstand
a raging torrent in the middle of a flood.
Life can sometimes feel like you are walking around
with the pain of a fracture.
Life is what you succeed at every day,
just as long as you are willing to make an effort
in something that you believe in and feel passionately about-
and something that might not always be a work of art
that everyone will love,
but it doesn’t matter as long as you can always say that you tried.

One day can feel and can be a perfect, beautiful, sunny day,
while the next can be a rainstorm that doesn’t want to stop;
one day you can feel on top of the world,
while the next can be like you are living and existing
in an infinite reality of bubbles that are continuously forming,
floating, dancing through the air,
and then when you least expect, they go pop!

Some days can appear beautiful and bright,
some days can seem claustrophobic and dark;
some days can feel endless and hopeful,
and even at the end of the day when you think
you have seen and experienced it all,
you can suddenly look up at the sky
and see a vibrant display of colour,
even as the stars shine at night.
Some days, some days can seem like you are
constantly trying to escape from a prison,
and like a prisoner people just look at you
and see a number instead of a name-
as if at some point in your life
you were branded with a barcode
that can be read, or some other indelible mark.

You can’t always be who you want to be all the time,
because not everyone is able to understand you,
and most of the time you hide behind something
to disguise your true feelings and emotions-
so as to not start a hopeless fight, or get into a drama;
you can’t always say what you want to say,
because even though we can understand
a little of what someone says
sometimes you realize that you are in fact
talking a completely different language entirely-
because every conversation feels like a struggle,
and getting across what you want to say
just feels like it is getting harder and harder.

Every day can’t be aurora’s, shooting-stars, rainbows,
happy-filled, new adventures, that are blessed above
with blue sky and golden sunshine-
some days you may not even have a minute to yourself
to do what you want to do,
because it feels like everything is just work, work, work.
Every day is a lesson.
Every day is a mixture.
Every day is a creation of something that is of you-
some days it feels like you are a cook
cooking with an infinite number of ingredients,
that you just hope will come together at the end,
to make something worthwhile,
and so that when you look back on your life
you know that you did everything you did for a reason,
like a true Heisenberg.

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My Poem ‘Coffee’

I’m sitting in my favourite coffee shop,
enjoying a large, dark, incredible, exquisite,
cup of coffee that tastes as if the coffee beans
had been grown in the garden of Elysium,
and brewed, made, and poured on Mount Olympus by Zeus himself.
The taste in my mouth, the sensation, the experience,
the feeling of swallowing the hot coffee is like nothing else!

I am in another place, I am at another time;
I see new people that I have never seen before around me;
I recognise others that I regularly see
frequent this same coffee shop,
and at the same time of day with me-
they recognise me too,
they are in their own world…
but there is something in the air:
in the taste, in the smell,
in the temperature of where we are, that accentuates, combines,
and makes everything about these brief, enjoyable,
shared moments feel sublime!

The drug that intoxicates me,
heightened by the taste of the coffee,
opens my subconscious and makes me broadcast
my happiness and my contentment to everyone who sees me.

The world outside is calling me back,
but I don’t want to go…
The only thing that could make me happier is sharing this,
sharing everything, with someone-
someone who is like me;
someone who appreciates every second, every moment, like I do;
someone who doesn’t need to say anything,
because they feel what it is I am feeling anyway, always;
someone who just knows.

My Poem ‘In between dreams’

I am wide-awake at 1 a.m.
and I have just awoken from a dream,
in which crows and seagulls were at war with each-other
outside my bedroom window- in the sky, on the ground,
fighting for the air, the rooftops, the food to be found;
I dreamt that the crows and the seagulls were in the throws
of aerial-combat of the speed, manoeuvrability, and ferocity,
of a World War II dogfight- darting, swooping,
and attacking like winged-warriors of black and white.

4 a.m. and I am awake again.
I decide to read a book,
then I listen to some music,
then I return to my book again.
I am restless. The sun has yet to rise.
I get out of bed and decide to make myself a cup of tea-
the rooms of my home are dark, but I know this house so well
that I no longer need to rely on my eyes
to find what I can’t at first see.
I can’t remember what I was dreaming about before I woke up this time;
if I recall correctly I felt like I was still awake,
but I was definitely still dreaming-
the world looked familiar, but it didn’t make sense;
everything around me was something I felt a connection to,
but it was as if they were not mine.

Seven o’clock in the morning. I open my eyes, I close them again,
and then I open them wide, wondering whether I am awake, dreaming,
or in-between places, and I look again at my surroundings to be my guide.
Before I awoke, I dreamed that I was walking the streets of a bustling city-
not knowing where I was going, but that I had somewhere to be.
The city was full of people that I knew well,
I felt like I was walking through a memory-
everything seemed so detailed, real, clear.
I could have been dreaming, I could have been awake-
at first, it was hard to tell.
I was walking across an open square, with people standing around talking
and people sitting on benches conferring with each-other,
and no one was looking at me.
I tried to say something, but I couldn’t make a sound;
I looked to my feet and saw a notebook and a pen lying on the ground.
I picked up the pen and started to write what I wanted to say in the book,
and I realised that the notebook was already full of words and thoughts
written in blue ink and written in what looked like my hand-writing
but scattered in all directions- as if they had been shook.
Then I looked up and everyone who was looking the other way
was now watching me;
one of the women sitting on a nearby bench stood up and approached me
and took the red notebook our of my hand, closed it,
and then gave it back to me.
I was confused, disorientated,
but I wanted to know why she had just done that-
so I approached the woman who had returned to her seat,
and then I saw that she was sitting next to and talking to someone
who looked exactly like me.
I looked down at my “other-self”
to make certain I was seeing who I was seeing,
and then my other-self turned his head to look up at me,
and with a smile and a nod of his head
my dream disappeared in a flash of light
and I was opening my eyes, closing them, and opening them again.

In the morning light, as I stare out my window at the outside world,
so bright and beautiful and cloaked for now in silence,
I feel that things are not what they seem.
I get dressed, I make myself a cup of tea,
and then I muse to myself about the things that happen in between dreams.

My Poem ‘Black’

We live in the most self-expressive,
free to believe, free to create, age of global-sufficiency,
that the world has ever known-
where freedom and truth are king and queen,
without the need of a throne.

We no longer all need to be wired-in,
our words and our thoughts
can now travel instantly through the air-
every wall has a door, and anyone can go anywhere.
That is not an illusion, that is fact;
you own what you say-
there is no need for a contract.

Everyone knows that their words and their actions
have consequences all over the world- how could they not?
People are not as ill-informed
as they would like others to believe they are-
everyone knows the difference between what is right and what is wrong,
otherwise everything would happen in the light
and not in the dark.

If we don’t have the freedom to use, voice, remix,
reinterpret, and express, ourselves
in all the ways and means that we are blessed to be able to do,
then I think that that is only the start
of splitting the Earth in-two.

Freedom is the one thing in life
that no one now, in the past, or in the future,
would ever want to give-up, and forever do without;
and if there is one way to show how much freedom means to everyone,
that we want to move forward, and not back,
then I can think of no other recourse
but to turn-off the lights,
and go to black.