My Poem ‘Something Special’

Something special,
something wonderful;
someone beautiful,
someone inspirational;
something invoking,
something flowing;
someone there,
someone who is like air.

Everything has an origin;
everyone has a birth;
everything and anything can be a win;
everyone is a product of the Earth.
Everything is a window;
everyone is a walking and talking autobiography;
everything can tell you what you want to know;
everyone has the right to be happy.

Something unexpected;
someone addictive;
something you have known and have held on to since you were kid;
someone who you enjoy, love, live, think about,
share, have to hold, and jive with;
something outrageous;
someone gifted;
something dangerous;
someone who feeds on life,
like the world relies on a constant charge from a power-grid.

Everything is multi-cultural;
everyone, at who and what they know they are, is a natural;
everything is fragile;
everyone is renewable,
and they can be someone,
and something, special.

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My Poem ‘Near and Far’

Why do we live?
Why do we die?
Do we live so that we can die?
Do we die so that someone can live?
Should we smile after we have cried?
Should we cry for those who will always be in our hearts,
and who we will always be with?

To forget is not in our nature;
to remember is in our blood;
to pay tribute is like creating a door;
to memorialize the fallen is to keep alive the memory
of those who once ran, walked, waited, stood;
to wear a symbol of respect and remembrance
is a hopeful token that costs nothing,
but is worth more than any money could buy;
to feel and to think about what someone must have been through
is a wonderful thing;
to glimpse even for a second that which
someone may rather try to hide
shows you in a glaring and glorious light;
to lay down a flower, a wreath, a thought,
even if you are doing so for those
who will always be a complete stranger,
is like a burst of colour in a field
on a beautiful day in spring.

Every fallen hero had a life-time of dreams;
every child fears the monsters of their nightmares;
every man and woman marching forward to a beat
knows what loyalty and duty means;
everyone who does what they can for someone in need
knows that life for all its magic and beauty
is not always fair.

Every person can make a difference;
every person we meet can be a guardian angel;
every person can be a guiding presence;
every person’s reputation precedes them,
and whether they know it or not
that sense of who they are
is always floating on the surface of a perceptual ocean,
until it rises fully and becomes visible.

There can be only one life for everybody;
there can be only one body for every life;
there can be lots of ways to remember someone,
and one of the best ways is to keep thinking about them,
to keep loving them, and whenever you look for someone
and need someone they are who you will see,
and they will be always a part of the dreams that you have at night.

When we take our final step on our life’s path,
and we step to the side, and stop and watch
the rest of the world, the rest of the universe, pass us by,
we can rest, we can be at peace, we can shine,
and be there for our loved ones,
like we have always been looked on and protected
by those who came before us who reside in the light of the stars,
that is when we realize that we never leave each other,
because we are always together-
no matter how close, or distant;
no matter how near, or far.

My Poem ‘The Regulars’

There is the poet,
who is always writing his poetry;
there is the man with the gold-rimmed glasses,
who is always looking and tapping away at his laptop;
there is the woman who has a particular temperature,
a particular colour, and a particular way,
that she likes and she expects her coffee;
there is the lady who comes through the door,
and every time she comes in and I see her
she is wearing the same coloured top.

There is the man who is always doing his crossword puzzle;
there is the business man who is always lost in thought;
there is the couple who sit opposite one-another,
but who never talk;
there is the woman who is always dressed in her running-gear,
and listening to her music on her iPod-
happy to just stay in her own private bubble.

There is the man who is always reading the same novel;
there is the woman in the red blouse,
who is video-calling someone far away- I always assume;
there is the boyfriend who is constantly looking at his girlfriend,
as if no one else is more beautiful;
there is the girl who has a tattoo on her neck
in the shape of the crescent of the moon.

There is the woman who I always see eating a salad;
there is the man who always sits by the window,
in the same seat, listening to the music being played,
as he stirs and sips the coffee in his cup;
there is the woman who sits on her own in the corner,
looking down at her phone, who always looks sad;
there is the man who is always dressed
like he is about to play a game of football in a World Cup.

There is the mother with her daughter;
there is the father with his son;
there is the blonde-haired man in the black jacket and blue jeans,
who drinks his drink in a rush as if it was water;
there are the friends who always look as if all they want to do
is chill-out, talk, laugh, and have fun.

There are people who I am used to seeing
when I come in to the same coffee shop, every time;
there are people of every age, colour,
inclination, and character;
there are people who stay here all day,
and some who just stay for a short time;
there are people who I would count myself a member of the same group,
and for all intents and purposes,
until I get to know everyone else better,
I will just call us all “The Regulars”.

My Poem ‘The Way to My Heart’

Everyone has their own unique colour,
everyone has a way, a walk, a word, a wardrobe, a wish,
that is theirs, which perfectly describes and shows
a great deal about the heart that is constantly beating in their chest,
as well as the heart that they always wear on their sleeve-
like a child being held tightly by a mother.

Everyone carries a box of secrets,
everyone has hidden interests and thoughts,
feelings and loves, that they snuggle up to
when they are alone and in need of some comfort, or reassurance-
like an owner giving attention and affection to a beloved pet.

Everyone has a work of art that is a self-reflection
that they look at daily,
everyone can be everything they want to be,
and can feel things intensely externally,
and deeply internally.

Everyone is remembered by someone for being something,
everyone has been more in their life-time than they think.
Everyone has a favourite song, a favourite place,
a favourite thing to do, that brings them happiness;
everyone is a participant, an instigator,
an observer, a user, a witness.

Everyone is a scrapbook, an album,
a collection of special and shared memories and experiences;
everyone is a calendar, a diary, a phone-book,
of dates, people, fascinations, numbers,
and souvenirs of their travels,
that they have packed inside them and with them wherever they go-
like someone off on an adventure,
or off on holiday with their suitcase.

Everyone makes choices in their life
that feel right at the time they are making them,
which were always meant to be made the way that they were;
everyone feels great and warm in the sun,
and when standing in the rain everyone gets wet-
for some they actually feel better and cleansed
just by the act of being in and being touched
by the droplets of a rainstorms downpour.

I have an intense light within me,
and an overwhelming fire that no one could ever just describe
as a mere flash or a spark;
I have a sight, an instinct, a pulse, a passion for life,
a love of the best and the uniqueness of everything of Earth;
I have a life-long belief in hope,
and in the power of its effect, and witnessing hope,
and giving hope to someone in need, in any way,
is the key and the way to my heart.

My Poem ‘Poetography’

It’s always strange looking back at old photographs
of yourself for some reason,
we sometimes feel more comfortable looking at picture of others-
it’s a weird moment of reflection that occurs,
and a wave of deep introspection that engulfs you
and helps to resurface memories and emotions
you have felt which are closely associated
with unforgettable thoughts that you had
and lived every second of that you dream about sometimes
when you are under the covers.

Looking at old photos, reading back old diary entries,
experiences, and memories, that you recorded,
but forgot about-
looking and finding a piece of your past
always reminds you, and always reminds me,
instantly of where I was, who I was, what I was thinking,
and what life was showing me and guiding me to
with its many sign-posts;
reading a note that we once wrote,
and which ended up being left intact for us to find again one day,
now and forever reminds me again and again
that things happen for a reason and are meant to happen
beyond any doubt.

I have been to many places,
and I love to go back to these same places on a different day,
at a different time, with a clutch of new colours
to my life and me in-toe.
Every day, everyone, and every place is different-
even though they and we may look and feel the same,
everything and everyone changes,
life in fact dictates this for its and our own survival,
and that is the best way to think
and the best way to go.

I look back often, because memories are important to me-
as are the people that I have met, all and every one.
I take pictures of lots of things, and self-portraits of myself
everyday to record and make a moment and a memory last
for as long as it can.
I look forward, and I look around me, every day at
the people in my life, and who I see every day with my cyan-coloured eyes.
I write and capture as much as I can.
I am inspired, and I share every hello that makes me smile,
and every goodbye that makes me cry.

There are things that happen to us that are incredibly
and intensely personal, and they should be kept
and they should stay that way-
but I do believe that there are a great many things
that happen to all of us that must be shared,
because they too can light-up the life
and brighten the face of someone else and make their day.

The world can seem like a smaller place now,
because we can share any-thing and every-thing
with literally millions of people simultaneously
all around the world in an instant;
the world feels more interconnected,
and our lives have become more interlaced,
and sewn-together like a patch-work quilt.
Ever since I was a child I have always felt
someone’s presence before I saw them,
and ever since I went to school, and I started meeting
new kids and I started making friends,
I instantly realized the importance and the power,
the brilliance and the magic, of strangers,
friends, and unique once in a life-time memories.

Life begins, and passes you by in a flash
that can seem, when you look back,
to have all happened in the fraction of a second.
There is more that happens to us than we realize,
and there is more to see than could ever be seen,
by you and by me,
but I just enjoy and live every second
as if each and every one was my last on Earth,
and I love the gift of life and living free
so much that I have to write when I can
about the poetry in my heart, and all around us-
when I sit down and share with as many people as I can
the exposure of the world that I see
in my poetography.

My Poem ‘All in the signs’

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.

My Poem ‘Mementos’

A picture to remember us by,
a photo to look back on
and relive the happy memory
of a shared experience and a shared time;
a shell from the beach where two people used to walk
hand in hand and barefoot in the soft wet sand;
a ticket stub from a trip to the cinema you took with someone
to see a great film late at night;
an old receipt from your favourite restaurant,
a birthday card, a letter, a message-
a tangible memento that you can still feel
and still remember when and where and why and with whom
this meaningful and special thing to you
became a memento to you, and became so important to you
because of its connection with that someone that effected you
and always will, or because it just reminds you of the days
when you and your life were in their prime,
and everything felt perfect and right.

When times get bad,
when the waves of the sea of reality get rough,
when instead of looking forward you want to look back,
when you want to appreciate something in all it’s greatness,
when you want to remember the instant when you first fell in love,
when you want to go for a walk in the park of a relationship
when things were at their best,
when you are stuck inside on a rainy,
it’s good to take out and look at things-
things that may be spread all over your house
in places where you can constantly look to and know they are there,
things you always carry around with you in your pocket,
or things that you have collected together in a scrapbook for yourself
to look at and remember-
and that is why it is so important to keep what you can,
and don’t throw everything away.

I think photo-albums are amazing;
I think keeping a diary or writing in a journal is a fantastic thing to do,
and I think it is a brilliant way to record days, events,
and recollections of moments in your life;
I think a scrapbook is the best thing to start with a child
when they are just beginning to understand why certain things
and certain times mean more to us than others,
and why certain people constantly pop-up in the memories we have
and we return to, because it teaches them early-on,
and will remind them every time and always,
why we replay and know all the lyrics to the songs we remember and sing,
and that everyone can live on, as can we, after we die.

It’s sometimes only when we are alone
and looking for some reassurance about something
that we choose to look, re-read, remember, recall,
where something in our possession originated from
and who gave it to us-
it could be a faded photo;
it could be a worn-out piece of paper
with someone’s unique handwriting on it;
a t-shirt that you refuse to wash
because it still has someone’s smell on it;
it could be a precious, special, memory,
from which there are no souvenirs, or photos,
or anything that you can ever hold in your hand,
because it was so brief, instantaneous,
and because you simply did just have to be there to understand
the true meaning of the moment-
they are the very best, and they are the incredible,
and irreplaceable, mementos.

My Poem ‘Secrets’

I am a man of many secrets.
I am someone who has done things, heard things, seen things;
I know things that can’t ever be shown, admitted to, or said.
I am a man unlike anyone you may have met.
I am someone who has memories of places and times that happened,
but didn’t happen- about things and people that I can’t tell anyone,
but which I remember and relive every night
when I dream, when I am laying in bed.

People never say everything.
People have so much to say sometimes they end up saying nothing.
People find it hard to admit an unfiltered truth.
People will do anything to keep a secret
that could change the way people see them-
so much so that they will go to great lengths
to not make their secrets obvious,
and they try to not leave any questions behind them,
nor any sort of clues.

Many of the secrets that we keep are to protect something,
or someone that needs to be surrounded and enclosed,
because if knowledge of it became well-known
there may be ramifications and ripple-effects
that could follow you afterwards everywhere you go.
Everyone carries a secret with them every second of every day;
everyone has to live with a shadow hanging over them
that they only see when they look in the mirror,
and they feel the pressure of keeping their tongue at bay.

Most secrets are not Earth-shattering,
but they are reality and identity fracturing.
Most secrets are a thousand secrets in one,
but they become something you fit in the palm of your hand
when you are on the run.

People say that want to know every detail about something,
but that in itself is a secret,
because secretly, perhaps even to them,
it is the not knowing that keeps something interesting-
the more you know is not always the best.

Honesty may be a policy, but as a way of life complete honesty
can be hurtful, destructive, the worst thing for so many reasons.
It is only when we are told that we were being told what we wanted
do we wish we were still being lied to,
but most of the time we wish that what was said and heard
was the truth- but that is a gift that is like nature,
because nature doesn’t lie-
it is complicated, hard to fanthom at times,
and cannot ever be tamed, but you know where you stand with
and in nature, and it tells you and shows you
so many of its secrets every day of every season.

Secrets are like mysteries,
and a world without mystery
no one would choose to live in.
Secrets are a question and an answer,
and they keep life continuously interesting.

Secrets are what compel everyone to meet,
and to talk to someone they don’t know and have never met.
Secrets are important,
but choosing to not say all that you know
and what is on your mind can sometimes be hard,
even for a man of many hidden secrets.

My Poem ‘The Christmas Tree’

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.

My Poem ‘Intensity of Life’

I put everything into every thing;
I give all my attention to something or someone as much as I can;
I make the most out of every instance,
and I hear and I feel the significance and the difference
in any and every thing;
I believe every word, every song, every action,
every gift, every talent, every touch, every look,
has meaning to it, and that there are life-changing moments of light
and clarity that are a beacon to a new direction you are destined to take,
and not just a flash in the pan.

I am so sentimental.
I never forget a thing.
I love holding on to pieces of the past,
and remembering the actions of people
whose life was torn away from them before their time,
like a constant memorial.
I have a hard time letting go of people who meant something to me
and to this world, who gave so much every day
without a second thought to the recompense their choices would bring,
who would have given all that they could to anyone, to their last.

Everyone is searching for peace.
Everyone wants a little satisfaction once in a while.
Everyone is eager and grateful for some much needed release.
Everyone wants something in their life to make them smile.
That is why people keep so much and never throw anything away,
that is why some people cherish memories, photographs,
messages, and letters, from those who we will never see in the flesh again,
but who still live, and who you can still hear and talk to,
because of the connection that will forever be in what they shared with you-
for some it is what gets them through the hours of every day.

Don’t ever forget a thing.
Don’t ever regret a thing.
Don’t ever forget anyone who touched your heart,
made you smile, made you think, made you dream.
Don’t ever regret any thing that has happened,
because if they never happened you wouldn’t be able to ask
the question of what could have been-
and then not be able to see the amazing journey
that you took to get to where you are from where you started,
and remember all the great things than happened in between.

I never get enough of the intensity and the passion of somebody.
I never get enough of seeing the intensity of someone’s light.
I never get enough of the intensity, the love, that you feel
when you know that the well-being of others is a welcome, full-time, job
for someone, and not just something they can simply pick up
and put down like a hobby.
I never get enough of feeling the intensity of life.