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I am like a cool breeze on a hot day;
I am like a flash of lightning
and the sound of thunder in a wild storm;
I am like a light that guides the way;
I am like a little boy running free
through a head-tall field of corn.

I am like a bird flying free,
and singing loud and listening always
for familiar close and distant calls;
I am like a piece of art that is being remade;
I am like the billions of water-drops that make a waterfall;
I am like the light of the stars,
and the hope that you find after searching and reaching
the centre of a maze.

I am like the leaves of a tree;
I am like the clouds of the sky;
I am the one and only me;
I am the one who feels everything
with all my heart, and who is not afraid to cry.

I am either one way, or another;
I do not often walk the line;
I am a believer that every moment
is full of energy and inspiration;
I am a lover who gives all of myself,
all of the time;
I am the space-ship
that travels to many different and distant space-stations;
I am the echo;
I am the footprint;
I am like the perfect white flakes of snow.

I am like the expression of art
that everyone creates when they are a child
in the form of a hand-print in wet paint.
I am the thoughts that fill the silence;
I am the artist that paints the infinite picture;
I am the question mark at the end of a sentence;
I am always living and hoping for what awaits in the future;
I am a man filled with fascination;
I am the one who will never give up,
and who will keep trying over and over, time and again;
I am surrounded by perfection;
I am who I always am, no matter what day it is, or what time-
no matter if it is a Saturday afternoon,
or a Thursday morning at 1 a.m.

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There is something so beautiful;
there is something so breath-taking;
there is something so amazing;
there is something so special;
there is something so mesmerizing, fascinating,
hypnotic, gorgeous, and true, and a part of you;
there is something so wonderful, brilliant, and incredible,
and nothing more personal and exceptional,
than something, or the name of someone
who means something to you,
drawn and painted on your skin in the form of a tattoo.

I am always amazed when I see someone’s tattoo
and beautiful body-art and it makes me go wow!
The human body is a thing of indescribable beauty anyway-
from birth to death-
but someones beautiful and ingrained designs
that they choose to mark their skin and paint themselves with
to me are beautiful, great, and magical,
and someone’s tattoo, to me, is also an important part of them,
and a noticeable tease of who they are,
what they like, who and what makes their heart beat fast,
and ties them and writes even more so
into the constantly-evolving human story and living myth.

I have seen tattoos and body-art of many forms-
from the beautiful painting of a heart with a keyhole inside it
on someone’s chest, to the gorgeous and phenomenal sight
of butterflies on someone’s back that I cannot get enough of;
I have seen the names of someone’s beloved and soulmate
written up someone’s arm;
I have seen and read the most staggering and wonderful
indellible inscriptions of eternal love;
I have seen song-lyrics, artists,
sacred and meaningful symbols of hope on someone’s body
that look as if they have always been a part of someone;
I have been in-awe by the sight of Angels wings,
the face of a tiger, a spider, a web,
a unique design of someone’s own imagining
that I always look in wonder,
and I always want to ask why and how
they chose the design and where the thought behind it came from.

To me, tattoos and body-art are like poetry.
To me, tattoos and body-art and are a written chapter,
an answer, and a question, that you and anyone
can see, remember, ask, think.
To me, a tattoo and body-art is a symbol
and a celebration of someone being liberated,
connected to something greater,
as well as being free.
To me, art is inspiring and the best thing in the entire world,
and the most sincere, and the most amazing expression,
and there is no better, resonant, long-lasting, and important,
than art painted on your body,
and a beautiful tattoo drawn in ink.

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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I can’t tell you what just happened;
I can’t say with complete certainty
what everything all means;
I can’t make sense why things are the way they are,
because none of what occurred was in no way planned.
I can’t forget what was said, because it meant so much-
it still does;
I can’t be someone I am not-
no matter how hard I try, no matter what direction I try to go in,
I feel in limbo, stuck in quick sand, frozen in-between,
and no one can understand how hard it is for me to not think
about the fractured mirror of my memories
that can’t ever be reformed whole in the same way again-
because there are shards and pieces missing,
and the glass will now always be covered in cracks.

It’s raining outside today.
I am crying a monsoon of tears inside.
The weather is symbolic and an expression of how I am feeling-
cold, clouded, grey, uncertain, depressing;
I can’t help but question what people have said to me in the past
and rethink their sentiments,
and I wish I could restore so easily what I have lost
and what has been taken away, because I can’t take back and collect
all the tears that I have cried.

I just want the sun to come out and burn away the clouds
and make things how they were again;
I just want to know without any doubt that I am not going mad,
that I didn’t just imagine the world that I saw
and thought I knew;
I just don’t want to be told what I want to hear-
I want what I have always wanted:
a life to share with someone, inspiration, friends, family, love,
and a happy new year.

The future feels more uncertain now than it has ever been-
there is still hope, light, energy, holding on to me,
sustaining me, reminding me that not all that we lose is lost forever,
and right now that is what I need.

I wont walk away.
I wont forget.
I wont delete anyone from my life.
I wont retouch or alter the picture emblazoned in my head.
I wont stop hoping.
I wont stop believing.
I wont tear up anything and throw it in the bin.
I will come to understand what has happened one day, I am sure,
but until then I will remember everything,
and go back and figure out what has changed and why,
and perhaps what I could have and should have seen and done something about,
but the question is: where do I begin?

1/1/2014,
Starbucks, Coventry

Under star-lit sky;
beneath the pulse of flashing lights;
when you can feel the vibration travel
from your feet to the irises of your eyes,
when the universal energy floods your mind,
and it doesn’t even matter whether it is day or night-
because you and your music are resonating and moving
to the same frequency, the same vibe-
feeling like a pulsar, and going to places
that no other drug than music can take you to,
and showing you things that are so instant, special, and amazing,
they take you high in ways you couldn’t ever relay or describe.

In your room on your own,
in a public place surrounded in every direction
by people you don’t know;
in a moment of need, in a flash of inspiration,
you hear the song that you have been waiting for,
you become the words and the melody
that makes you feel alive like the new day’s dawn.
You give out a silent but deafening call,
and those who are listening, reveling, receiving,
hear you, and you feel like you are in an infinite room
without any walls.

We all create our own reality;
we all live in moments of infinite meaning and complexity;
we all find the one at the right time,
even if we don’t know it;
we all want a fusion of our dreams
and what we are here to do, make, and complete
in this life, on this planet;
we all can do no wrong if we give our heart
and believe in everything we do;
we all can know no limits if we remember
that everything in life has a cycle,
we all move in a circle,
we all exist in a sphere of constantly interacting
and changing relationships of me and you.

It is the best feeling in the world;
it is the magic that really happens in every note of music,
in every expression of art, in every written or printed word;
it is what excites us when we feel something incredible;
it is what colours our face;
it is what widens our smile, and dilates our eyes;
it is what makes us punch the air;
it is what makes us feel tearful, eternal;
it is what we can all feel and discover in our own perfect time-
because what is out there is everything and everybody,
and is wholly universal.

I wonder how many people leave their house and home these days
every morning without a plan or a roadmap
of what they are going to do;
I wonder how many people embrace
the not knowing what is going to happen;
I wonder how many people are truly free to think,
stop talking, look, and listen;
I wonder how many people are truly able
to stay in one spot and not move.
I am lucky to be able to do just that,
I am lucky to be able to sit back and relax
with a coffee in a comfy chair, like I am doing now,
looking out, and thinking about so many things-
I know not what-
and just writing something, anything,
whatever is on my mind, and what I see-
wanting to say what I can’t say outloud.

People love to express themselves so much,
people love to talk and share more than they realize,
people can’t wait to divulge,
people can’t wait to tell someone something face to face-
it’s written all over their expressions,
and you can tell that they have been desperate to disclose
their inner thoughts and opinions,
from the twinkle that you see in their eyes.

I don’t mean to be a watcher, and an observer of other people
just going about their daily lives;
I don’t mean to be a magpie of the interesting things
that I hear people say-
the chat of friends meeting up after a long while,
the back and forth of boyfriends, girlfriends,
husbands, and wives;
but I am always fascinated and entranced
by the stories of everyone I briefly come into contact with-
while I just sit there, drink,
take out my notebook, and think;
but I don’t think people truly realize how much they give.

I do this a lot, actually.
Every week I find myself at my favourite coffee house,
and I write about what is on my mind-
what I am feeling, and I am always asking a question of myself,
as I talk at the top of my voice
in the language of poetry,
because some things, I have discovered, cannot be said
without first finding the words and the means
to say what you want to say,
without the feeling of being limited in any way, or confined.

This poem, like most of my poems,
is a memory, a time-capsule,
a black and white fraction of time,
that was a part of my day, today.
This poem, like most of my poems,
is, and was, just a musing, a burst of inspiration,
and creativity, that I wanted to share,
and write, right away.

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The universe spins, and then stops in-place-
like the tumbler of a lock,
the correct key and combination has been found
to be able to break the seal and the silence
and see what is behind the door that we call space.
Space has no end, the universe goes on unimpeded-
they are the eternal example of knowing the answer to something,
but not knowing the question that preceded.

Just as the Human face is capable of conveying
an endless array of expressions and emotions,
the face of the universe has its own limitless,
constantly evolving and changing, spectacle-
that is but one layer:
the translucent skin of its covering,
the surface level of its oceans.

Most of the time, to us, the universe wears its “poker-face”-
that is because we see most of it from so far away
that it almost looks as if it were occurring in still-life;
but the closer that you get the more detail that you see,
and the more it tells you about itself,
and the undiscovered facets and wonders that are rife.

The skin of the universe has a pigment to it
the colour of which we have yet to see or dream of.
At this point, we are only familiar with the colours of the spectrum;
but there exists more colour within the atom of a sun
than you could ever see in a rainbow in the sky above.

Appearance isn’t everything.
What you think you are seeing is rarely reality.
If you were an omnipotent god, who went by the name of “Hindsight”,
you would know that in the gaps between moments
there is so much more to see.

Expressions are an insight into something or someone’s character,
but they cannot tell you the whole story of the face alone-
we need to know more about what is happening underneath and inside
before the ultimate truth can be known.

Every face was once new and young
and unmarked by the weather of existence,
but over time every face changes-
so too has the universe’-
in fact, you could probably say that it is life’s universal profession:
and that, to me, is the example of the eternal expression.

The pen is not the poet,
but the poet cannot be without the pen;
the poet can have all the inspiration and insight in the universe,
but without the means and the implements to express their creativity
their words know not where they are, nor when.

The pen with which a poet writes their poetry
is one of the most powerful agents
and perpetuators of expression ever invented;
with a pen at their fingertips a poet can wield words of power
and of silent articulation the cogency of which is unprecedented.

In the hands of an artist,
a pen is like a magicians magic wand, or the sceptre of an emperor, or a king-
in the hands of someone who can understand the language of order
within an alphabet of chaos
a pen can bring paper and ink to life and make them sing.

There is something wonderfully visceral to a writer
about actually writing the literal interpretation of their imaginings;
there is something incredibly profound about the weight of a pen in your hand,
and the balance and dexterousness that you have to bring.

There is a connection that develops over time
between a writer and his pen that may perplex the thoughts of an onlooker-
sometimes that connection is the only outlet a writer has
for his potent, poetic, imagination pressure cooker.

In the 21st Century you can write on a tablet, a phone, a computer,
on a blog, a wall, or in a good old-fashioned notepad, or a book, with a pen-
I have written poetry in every way, everywhere,
and without question or hesitation a pen and piece of paper
will forever be the source of inception of every one of my poems
again and again.

Even though I get a rush from writing poetry
with the elegance, refinement, and style of ink and pen,
I still keep in my mind and never forget
that I am the poet,
and that: le stylo ne fait pas le poete.

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