My Poem ‘Fill my life’

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.

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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 ‘Matters’

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.

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 ‘Sitting in the sun’

Sitting in the sun,
staring at my own reflection,
enjoying a chilled-out Saturday afternoon,
feeling energised by the warmth of the golden sphere
glowing and beating high above,
thinking about how my life has changed in so many ways,
and thinking about how full my life and my mind
can become before there isn’t any room,
feeling like something new has touched me,
which exhilarates me, and does not scare me,
which feels so good,
which feels like just what I need,
which feels just like falling in love.
Everyone around me is enjoying their day
and are having all kinds of fun,
everyone is watching me, as I watch them;
everyone is watching me do what I do best,
and there is no better place to do it,
while thinking about and enjoying seeing
humanities infinite complexities,
than when you stop and sit on a bench,
and feel the beat of life,
while taking a moment sitting in sun.

My Poem ‘At sunset’

I smell burning.
I feel the world turning.
I see the sun setting.
I witness the light fading.
I walk the roads that are flooding.
I feel the cold wind blowing.
I see the trees swaying.
I need to make my homecoming.
I feel my heart aching and breaking.
I feel the air and I see my breath in front of me
because it is so freezing.
I wonder if it again will start sleeting,
or even start snowing.
I have this sense of something impending.
I believe hope for me is being carried on the wind,
but like with everything in life there is no telling what
and no way of knowing or saying.

My Poem ‘Ritual’

We all have our own personal rituals;
we all have our own unique quirks
that have meaning for us which we repeat,
because they give our lives balance,
because they connect the dots in our mind
to where we need to be;
we all have our own habits and routines
that are seemingly monumentally crucial;
we all have our own ways of being
that say to the world ‘this is me’.

Some people can’t think straight, nor concentrate,
without their first cup of tea or coffee every morning;
some people feel lost and unable to function
if they don’t have that first sight of the sun,
that sings to them with the power and the voice,
and the music of their favourite artist or band performing.
Some people find it hard to get out of bed
without having something out of their reach
to take a necessary, vital, step towards;
some people feel at their best when everything makes perfect sense,
because everything we see and feel conforms
to the structures of perfection and bliss that we know,
which we take the time to build and keep standing every day
like a house of cards.

Familiarity is very important.
Our trust in what we know works for us every time
is something we hold on to tight-
walking the same route that we know,
wearing the same clothes that we feel comfortable in,
going to the same places over and over again
that like a ghost we regularly haunt,
becomes not just something that we do, but a way of life.

It is fascinating to observe, and to see in my own reflection,
what we all do, and why.
I love glimpsing a idiosyncrasy that I have never seen before-
whether it is one of someone I have never met,
or one of my own that I couldn’t hide, disguise,
or say I do not do it for a reason, because that would be a lie.

Some rituals are hereditary-
passed on from father to daughter, or from mother to son;
some daily routines of ours are like rites of passage for us,
and feel more to us than a simple custom.
Some rituals come slowly to us and grow naturally with us,
and are things that we look forward to doing-
like sitting in a coffee shop writing,
or going to the cinema to watch a movie,
or returning to our favourite shops,
or going back to the places where we have the strongest memories
and the happiest of recollections,
or eating your favourite meal at your favourite restaurant
at your favourite table, with your favourite people,
or going to a concert to listen to your favourite music.

Rituals are a daily prescription for everyone,
rituals are our key to deciphering
the finer details of life’s blueprint,
rituals are what people sometimes remember us by the most-
like a part of our aura that stays with people,
like a characteristic residual.
Rituals are what makes us human.
Rituals are there always in everything and everyone.
Their is no one alive now that I know and see
every second of every day who doesn’t have a ritual.

My Poem ‘Fair field rise’

As I look out my bedroom window,
as I watch the wind displace the leaves
as it gusts through the branches of the trees
and makes telephone cables
and power-lines sway from side to side with every blow,
as it seems as if every leaf is now well on the way
to changing colour for the season,
I look down to the street below
and I see a little boy riding his bike
on the pavement outside my house
wearing a big coat and a bobble-hat;
and instantly I feel a wave of something come over me,
as if the winds of time were blowing in unison
with the winds of the world outside, and taking me back
to a time, to an autumn day like this one, when I was a kid-
a time when I loved to play outside with my friends,
and my sister Clare,
and play a ‘catch me if you can-type of game’ called “tag”
in which I never minded being the one who was “it”.

I used to love riding my bike;
I used to love exploring the great place where I lived;
I used to love looking out my window
on a dark, rainy night, and being in awe of the sound of thunder,
and energized by the sight of a lightning-strike;
I used to love playing hide and seek-
and I swear no one could ever find me,
nor think of the right place where I was hid.

I had a very happy childhood;
I had everything a child could ever want;
I had so much love bestowed upon me,
and I was taught so many lessons and I learned so many skills
from my Mum and Dad- from appreciating the value
of the smallest of things, and the briefest of moments,
to the importance of hard work,
and knowing the best way to cut wood.

I remember smiling a lot when I was a child,
I remember laughing, creating, watching,
constantly asking questions, and learning from everyone,
I remember times when I used to sit quietly,
I remember times when I used to run wild,
I remember having so much fun.
I remember the good times, and the bad;
I remember the people I knew and who knew me who just suddenly died,
I remember the times when I had to say goodbye.
I remember all the times when I felt so happy
I thought my heart was going to explode;
I remember the tears that came after a fall,
and the times when I didn’t know what was going on,
and I felt sad.

The world has changed.
I have slowly, but surely, grown up.
The home I have known all my life
feels like a picture that is constantly being reframed.
I am outwardly very different from the boy I was-
from my shoe-size, to my likes and dislikes,
to my hair colour, and hair cut.
Inside I am still the same-
I feel and I know that, even now.
Inside I am under no illusion in my belief
that in everything I do, and to everyone I meet, I make a difference;
I don’t always know why, in what way, or how,
but I do feel, and I have always felt,
like everything that I was doing had a purpose and meant something-
even if I was writing a story, or painting a picture,
even as a child I knew that there was so much more to be seen
than could ever be seen, and that no matter the dark clouds
that sometimes swirled around above your head
there would always be something to have hope for,
that there is always a silver-lining to everything,
and that there would one day be a great,
beautiful, and bright future.

Looking at my own reflection in the glass of my window,
as the sun shines on my face,
I look into my own eyes-
the eyes that have seen thousands of sunrises,
the eyes that have seen so much beauty, hope, and inspiration,
in their time, and which have imprinted on them images
that I will take to the grave,
of sights and faces that nothing could ever erase.
I look at my own reflection,
and I see the boy that I was,
and the joy and the hope in his eyes, in my eyes;
I look at my own reflection, and I see the man who I am,
the boy who I am always going to be,
who still lives in the place, the house, the home,
with the memories he treasures,
and will always remember and return to,
in the middle house of three, on Fair field rise.

My Poem ‘Starbucks’

Every time I can, any day I am free,
I like to visit my favourite coffee shop wherever I am,
in whatever town or city I am in,
and sit down, listen to the always great music playing,
take in the ambiance of inside and outside,
maybe even have a Blueberry muffin
in my usual seat, at my usual table, looking out the window,
while enjoying a frothie caramel-drizzled coffee.

I love coming back to my favourite coffee shop,
I love visiting a store I have never been to before,
and because of the inspiration that I imbibe from being here,
and because the atmosphere is always amazing and different every time,
I always stay in to drink and eat-
for me, every time I come to Starbucks, it is never just a short-stop.

I have been to many different coffee shops,
I have been to many different Starbucks in different cities
and towns around the world-
from Birmingham, Solihull, and Coventry, in the UK,
to one or two of the many Starbucks in New York City-
early in the morning for breakfast,
in the afternoon for lunch,
or late at night surrounded by bright lights.
Every experience I have had in Starbucks
has been one that I always remember, and I am always inspired by,
and every time I come to Starbucks
I do feel like something wonderful and new has been awakened in me.

I have been to Starbucks alone,
I have shared deep, meaningful, and phenomenal
states of transcendence and conversation with friends,
I have written poetry after taking a mere sip of a Machiatto,
and feeling like I have been transported to a wonderful,
inspiring, fascinating, connected, inclusive, Wi-Fi, worry-free zone.

I have never wanted to be anywhere else than in Starbucks
on a rainy day like today,
enjoying my favourite caffeine-filled beverage,
looking around, thinking and seeing where my attention will take me,
enjoying every moment, and making the most of every second
of reflection and refraction-
not knowing where my thoughts, where my imagination,
will carry me, nor where it will all end.

In Starbucks you can sit down in a comfy chair,
chat with your friends, laugh, joke, surf the internet,
drink, eat, write a poem, read a book;
in Starbucks you can be anonymous,
you can be anybody, you can say anything, you can feel so much,
you can meet someone you have known for years,
you can meet someone new,
you can realise something you never knew-
because there is no other place that I love coming back to,
than my favourite coffee shop, the place with the deepest of cups,
the one and only, Starbucks.

My Poem ‘The Music’

I closed my eyes,
I could hear the music not only in my ears,
but also in my heart and in my mind-
in every cell in my body, electrifying my skin,
making every hair stand on-end-
the energy, the feeling, the transformation
was nothing short of divine.

Even the sound of the rain on the nearby window
had a rhythm, a voice, a tone,
a unique music all of it own.

I could hear a song, an expression, an emotion-
like the sense of intense and claustrophobic air
that you get before a storm that effects the way you hear,
see, and think, and which touches you to the bone.

It was as if every voice of everyone,
every vibration of instrument
was speaking as-one-
a question and an answer that you could feel
and hear everywhere you went.

I felt a sense of calm take-hold of my heart.
I looked and saw a shimmering ghost-like reflection
in the mist of the raindrops as they fell and rose
to and from the ground.

I felt pain in my eyes, as if I had cried too much
for too long;
or like when you feel something so deeply,
but what you are feeling is hard to impart.

I looked inwards, behind my own eyes,
and I felt like a monarch that had newly been crowned;
I felt like I was in someone else’s skin,
but nothing was wrong.

The music was all that there was,
the music filled the entire world.
The music is always there at moments of ecstasy, need,
and at times of pain and loss.
The music is what you hear when a secret of the universe
is about to be revealed.