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I have loved music for as long as I can remember;
in all honesty, I have loved music
longer than I have loved poetry;
I have loved music, I have been changed by music,
I have felt more alive than ever
when listening to music,
I have been overcome with emotion when listening to music;
I have closed my eyes, been taken,
carried far, deep, and high-
as if I were swimming in the voice, the lyrics,
and the sound of the music, the energy of the music,
and drifting peacefully, contently, effortlessly,
free like a feather.
Music has been a big part of my life since before I could talk;
music had me running before I could walk;
music sent me to sleep and coloured my dreams;
music awoke me every morning as a child,
and within the heart of my soul
it has always been and will always be.
I must have heard thousands of songs;
I must have heard hundreds of artists,
singers, musicians, and bands;
I must have dreamed that I were John Lennon
playing guitar and singing along with the other Beatles
about fifty times, bu I could be wrong;
I must have had more favourite songs in my life
than I could count with the fingers on both of my hands.
I love songs, styles, speeds, of every type,
and possible genre, and classification, of music;
I love songs that take a hold of both my mind and my heart,
and make me feel epic;
I love songs that have unique, poetic, empathetic,
sometimes tragic, lyrics;
I love songs that are nothing short of celestial magic.
I love female voices;
I love male voices;
I love instruments;
I love voices that are soulful, special, lyrical,
incredible, unbelievable, beautiful, different;
I love who I am when a song makes me want to dance;
I love when a song puts me in a trance;
I love what I think about when a song is playing;
I love where I go within myself,
as I sing along to every song,
and as I repeat every line without mistake,
it is almost as if I am chanting or praying;
I love a song that to me is nothing short of perfect;
I love life, art, inspiration, memories,
feelings that were made, created, felt, captured,
made infinite, because of, and for,
the love of music.
Standing up for what is right is a calling;
defending the voices of the minority
is a meaningful and satisfying cause;
being the one to stand before a seemingly overwhelming force
that almost sounds like and can seem as scary
as a lion when it is roaring;
showing all of yourself to prove that you have nothing to fear
is what you have to do sometimes,
even if you have to do it completely naked
riding through a city on the back of a horse.
Everybody has those dreams of themselves
walking around naked;
everybody wishes that they could run around free
like they used to when they were a kid;
as we get older we become more restricted;
as our opinions, hopes, and dreams, change
we want more and more to be protected.
It’s natural to want to surround yourself;
it’s the way of the world to clothe yourself in the fabric
of the time in which you live;
it’s not wrong to sometimes want to walk around in stealth;
it’s comforting to believe and hold close to your heart
the meaning and the message of a myth;
it’s great to stay and return to what makes you smile;
it’s magical to be looking around you and just see stars;
it’s liberating to be the master of your own style;
it’s carnival-like fun and exciting to want to see
and experience all that exists and is waiting to be seen,
that is as thrilling, fascinating, and inspiring,
as the thought of finding water on Mars.
The freedom to be;
the need to see;
the instinct to share;
the thrill to dare;
the simplicity to be basic;
the ease to be happy with what others take for granted
is more hypnotic and enchanting than a magic trick.
Energy never dies.
Stories are retold, and are never over.
The truth is like gold.
You can be who you want to be,
and strip yourself of what you don’t need,
and you too can be a legend and an inspiration for many,
just like the luminary hero of Coventry
who will forever be known as Lady Godiva.
Flash! Bang!
Light and sound!
In the dark there is a beautiful and magic explosion of colour-
like a supernova, or a cosmic strand that you pull down from above
that makes you rise off the ground;
or like a rainbow shattering and showering the world,
as it lights up the sky with dazzling and spectacular sights,
and mesmerizing sounds that take you back in time
to memories of you when you were a child looking up at the stars
and then being amazed and held in wonder by sparks of magic
that remind you of the thoughts that go through your mind every second-
you couldn’t replace those moments even if you were to try,
you couldn’t feel any more special
unless you had felt and been touched by the hand of heaven.
The only thing that I can compare to the sight of fireworks
exploding above me in the dark night sky,
is the sight, the sound, the feeling, the heart-pounding sensation
and intoxication of being in love-
because when you are in love your heart feels like a firework
exploding and making you feel like you have been transformed
into a constellation of stars,
and as endless and infinite as the minds eye;
and you only hear and see that one person in the crowd,
because everything and everyone else is just a buzz.
I see the lights;
I feel the vibrations;
I fly as high as a kite;
I walk with the protection of what I know for sure, and what is for real;
and I run gladly with a fever,
as if I were carrying a life-changing contagion.
I put my hand to my chest and I feel deep love, and deep pride-
like an American celebrating the freedom and independence
they are gifted and guaranteed, and which every American remembers
and celebrates every year on the 4th of July.
I feel deep love and I do not mind that that love
sometimes makes me feel intensely, and at times it can even hurt,
because what it means to see, experience, live, and love,
looks and feels as magic and wondrous as exploding fireworks.
Early in the morning,
as the stars shine at night,
love makes my heart sing,
music fills my life;
when I wake up and the rain is pouring,
as I drift off to sleep,
a song, a voice, a melody,
takes me to my dreams and set alight
my deep thoughts like a fire.
My dreams are epic,
my dreams are sometimes dark-
but they are more often than not
overwhelmingly insightful and bright.
My dreams have things in them that have significance
and hidden meaning-
whether it is the sight of a typewriter,
or the echo of a clocks tick,
or the sight of someone taking a photograph of me
as I am taking a picture of them-
it always amazes me what my own subconscious conjures up
during the day in the heat of the sun,
or at night when the moon is reflecting light back at the Earth
and at all of us and influencing our thoughts and fortunes.
We all go to bed with thoughts, feelings,
and inflections of the day before that is slowly drifting away,
and its events will soon have gone by and be no more
than a shadow, when all is said and done;
we all wake up the next day feeling different,
but with certain splinters in our mind
still playing on our thoughts
that we can’t rid ourselves of or shake easily-
some of us get up and try to start their day
and free ourselves of any lingering worries or concerns
with a daily morning run,
some of us sit up in bed and listen to music,
watch TV, read a book, write poetry,
someone of us take hold of our favourite instrument
and play to our hearts content,
some of us just sit and cry on our own,
just so we can vent.
Talking is important;
connections are essential;
letting out and letting go
can be like the cool water from a font;
remembering the people you love,
and where you want to be,
because they are to you the most wonderful and the most special,
needs to be, must be, will always be-
and that is why you must run, walk, look, see,
the magic all around in the daylight;
that is why you must run into the ocean of the unknown;
that is why you need to touch and feel a part of the light;
that is why you must be fearless, bold, and brave,
and let the world and everything in it fill your life.
What matters to you? And why?
Who matters to you?
What makes you feel the most?
Who always makes you cry?
If there were one book in the entire world
that could sum you up, which one would you choose?
Is there one film, one television show, one play,
that your passion and knowledge of says the most about you?
Is there a place that if it were not called what it is
it would have your name written all over it?
Is there a thing of your own making,
something that you had a part in creating,
that is a thing and a word to you
akin to that of magic?
Is there a place that you will always call your home?
Is there a face that will always be your idea
and example of perfection?
Is there someone who could never be cloned?
Is there something that you have seen
that you think a lot about and always stands or sits
within each and every reflection?
What matters to me is what I see,
what matters to me is what I feel,
what matters to me is a person, a look, a lock, a key,
what matters to me is a true secret that will never be revealed;
what matters to me is sharing every second of the human
and living experience,
what matters to me is a question, a road, an iris on and of
the infinite and complex cosmic and meaningful life
that we are all a part of,
what matters to me is what matters to everyone
who is able to use their senses and feel a presence,
what matters to me can’t ever be explained inside or around you
in the ground below or even circling the stars above.
Questioning is not a bad thing.
Answers are not everything.
The prize that is life is something that if you want the most of
you truly have to work for every thing in it
and you have to look up and down and around
while you concentrate on the steps that you take
and the rungs that you climb like those of a long and tall ladder.
Take every step as they come.
Embrace every thing that is unexpected.
Be glad for what you have got, not what you haven’t.
Make the most of everything,
be grateful for all that matters,
because in the end that is all that matters.
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.
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.
Above my head, skirting the cosmic veil,
a comet trails a path in the clear star-lit sky
and dusts the Earth in its wake.
I have always loved and I have always marvelled
at the sight of these glowing and solo travellers
that pass through our solar system,
and so close to Earth that they can be seen with the naked-eye
from the ground, from time to time, on a clear and unclouded night.
I have always been fascinated by what gives a comet its remarkable tail.
I have always dreamed about
what it would be like to be on the surface of a comet
as it passed by Earth, to see our testament oasis
to the infinite possibilities of choice and life,
and to gaze-out in wonder as the comet atomised and fragmented
and floated to Earth like winter snowflakes.
A photograph of the night-sky can never truly capture its beauty;
a camera can see into the depths of space,
but it can only return with an after-image-
a photocopy, a poor-mans facsimile, and representation
about what is truly out there:
colours that we don’t yet have a name for,
forces that dictate the reason for everything
that we don’t yet understand and perhaps never will,
life existing in forms we are incapable of envisioning
because we are not yet ready to see them.
We look longingly at pictures of nebulae, new planets,
moons, shooting-stars, and comets,
because they remind us of ourselves,
and they fore-shadow what we will one day find in the universe:
another and another and another example of complicated
and constantly evolving life-
the evidence of which will come of no surprise
to those who have for centuries believed, looked, read, and listened.
For thousands of years,
humanity has been in the perfect vantage-point
of the astro-auditorium to witness epic changes,
and to ask questions about what they are seeing
and about how the mere witnessing of something that is galactic
and out of our control will fuel the need of someone
to keep watching and finding new pieces to the vast
multi-levelled universal puzzle.
As is customary, to answer multi-faceted questions
you need to employ multi-faceted means of investigation, discovery,
and definition, until one day one layer of the picture
starts to take-shape in a way that could not have been planned,
that is the only way of making sense of what is right in front of you,
that is genuinely new and unthought of before- something like:
what if our universe is not the only universe out there in existence,
and maybe in the grand-scheme of things,
as seen in an infinite image of everything,
our universe is nothing but a puddle.
There is nothing more magical than sitting in a well-lit theatre,
staring at a blank movie-screen,
when suddenly the lights go down around you,
the film-projector turns on and the screen comes alive
with images of advertisements, film-trailers, and movie-teasers,
before getting to the main-event, before the spectacle of magic
that you have paid the price of a ticket to see,
is projected before you- so that you may immerse yourself in it
and come away from it with something that you didn’t arrive with;
just like how you feel when you see the ancient cave-paintings
of our ancestors in the early dwellings and places of importance
that have been discovered in parts of Africa and Australia.
For our entire existence, humanity has looked, learned,
and will continue to look and learn, and record,
and pass-on their discoveries to a new generation
for them to interpret in their own way-
in the same way, that when we look at cave paintings
we see art, our lineage, our humble beginnings;
perhaps our descendants will one day look at all life, as-one,
in the same way that we now watch a film in a cinema.
A seemingly unremarkable man of average height,
stands alone in the street,
slowly being turned into a living snowman,
as the snow falls and covers him in a coat of white.
Strangers trudge through the near foot-deep snow,
slowly passing him by without even a blink of an eye;
children have snowball fights around him,
while the snow-covered man just stands there in his place
looking up at the sky.
The stars cannot be seen,
a grey cloak of clouds has obscured them;
but the mysterious man’s eyes make up for the lack of constellations,
as they shine in the moonlight like never before,
and like they will continue to shine again and again.
He knows a thousand magic tricks,
but on this snowy night the only thing that this magician knows
is that, in the now silent, cold, beautiful, open-air,
the magic of the world is present in every snowflake when it snows.
In a blink of an eye, the magician is now 9 years old-
standing in the snow of a glorious white night,
holding a book of magic tricks in his gloved hands,
and wearing a scarf that reaches down to his ankles,
to protect him from the cold.
As the magician closes his eyes,
he imagines above his head that the clouds have disappeared
and that the light of the galaxy can now be reflected on the snow floor-
to his knowledge he has yet to learn the spell that can control the weather,
but he is willing to give the thought that he can his all.
When the magician opens his eyes,
the frozen moon above his head seems to glow much brighter,
and appears to have grown larger, whiter,
as if it almost fills the sky-
a sky that was once filled with falling snow, and bereft of stars,
is now still, perfect, and beautiful,
the magician could almost cry.
Stars sparkle like fixed snow flakes in the clear night-sky,
all is white, all is peaceful, as the winter wind continues to blow.
A billion wonderful things happened today,
and one person feels and knows that more than most-
a man who sometimes thinks of himself as a ghost,
but who is right now, and forever,
a magician in the snow.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 