You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Interesting’ tag.
As pure as water from a stream,
as clear as a colour that stands out in a dream,
as resonant as a pin drop in a silent room,
as limitless as the stars that shine,
and sound like a vast orchestra playing in-tune.
As beautiful as a raindrop,
as light as a cloud,
as full of stories as a library or a book shop,
as numerous and varied as the faces of people in a crowd.
As peaceful as a gallery,
as blissful as a boat ride down a river,
as special as a single, beautiful, line of poetry,
as unpredictable as the weather.
As lightening as a joke,
as interesting as a mystery,
as surrounding as a blanket or a cloak,
as evolving and chaning as the life of a tree.
As complicated as a person,
as stimulating as a question,
as enrapturing as being in love and being loved by someone,
as revealing as an exhibition.
As perfect as a kiss,
as epic as a journey,
as precious as a wish,
as deep as a seed of self-discovery.
As strong as a parents bond,
as tender as a babies touch,
as diverse as the life that you may find in a pond,
as amazing as a gift given and one received
that will always mean so much.
As rich as the colours that can be seen under the sea,
as mystical as a sixth sense,
as heavenly as life on Earth can ever be.
As we live and experience things
that go beyond our limited understanding
we glimpse, even if it is for a fraction of a second
or within a brief flash of light,
life’s unparalleled, phenomenal, beautiful, perfect,
quintessence.
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.
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.
What brightens your day when the sun isn’t shining?
Who makes you smile when they enter a room?
What lights up the night when clouds cover a full-moon?
Who holds your hand when you can’t stop yourself from crying?
It amazes me what some people remember in great detail, others forget-
like a cloud that passes over-head in the sky,
some people can rain down their own fears and insecurities
on people they don’t know,
and then move on without regret.
When we were children a hot, bright, and beautiful, summer’s day
felt like a life-time;
when we were children our innocence and our purity of spirit
allowed us to go wherever we wanted,
and to follow without question wherever our imagination took us;
when we were children we knew there was more to see
and to be found if we looked hard enough and if we climbed;
when we were children we didn’t carry around anything on our mind,
or our shoulders- in fact, we carried our heart on our sleeves
most of the time, when making friends and getting to know
other kids on the school bus.
Getting to know a new person and introducing them to your friends
is amazing to me;
learning that you share the same taste in art, music, films,
books, food, is thrilling and incredible-
that moment when you realize you are not alone,
and the joy that you get from something is not only mutual,
but also universal, as well-
that is epic, that is a true thing of beauty.
Something that makes you think is never a bad thing,
something that makes you feel something-
even if it is not what you think it is-
is always worthy of a song, or a poem, or a story, or a video
for others to listen to, read, or watch-
it shows that you are interesting.
There is something intimate about watching someone
bare the story of their life to a crowded room,
not really talking to anyone in particular,
or having anyone in mind,
but having something to say-
not everyone has this gift to be able to delight, inspire,
captivate, and enthrall,
not everyone has the belief in what they have to say,
or in themselves, not everyone has the nerve;
but when people listen, truly listen, take-in,
and are transformed by what they have heard,
it is like watching a seemingly insurmountable wall fall.
What we are all capable of in our short lives is phenomenal,
it is unknown, it is only limited by how much we dream,
by how passionate we are about what drives us,
by confining ourselves in the cell of time.
No one needs permission to make a masterpiece,
they just need to open their sole
and watch their light shine.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 