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The sky is glowing;
the fields are bright green;
the trees are swaying;
the morning sunshine
is making everything look more beautiful
than I have ever seen.
The birds are singing;
the ladybirds are foraging;
the flowers are blooming;
the spirit of nature is renewing.
The wind is blowing;
the people are smiling;
the children are laughing;
the dogs are barking;
the cats are resting;
even those who have a job to do
are thoroughly enjoying being awake and alive-
looking, talking, rushing, walking,
evolving, and soaring.
The colours are vibrant;
the music is slow;
the energy all around is more tangible and potent
than you could ever want;
the liquid refreshments continue to flow.
The bells at the turn of the hour ring out;
the statues of metal and stone
look as if they are about to come to life;
there is ice-cream being eaten hurriedly before it melts;
there is the potential of a hopeful and happy future
to be seen in every shared like and dislike.
The lovers are loving;
the readers are reading;
the listeners are listening;
the searchers are searching.
The air is warm to the touch;
the unseen and unnoticed heroes and angels
are doing what they always do,
and are gifting as many people as they can
with hope, joy, love, and fun.
Caring about the well-being of another has never meant as much;
everyone and everything is thankful
as they smile and say hello to the sun.
Opening and closing our eyes.
Inhaling and exhaling.
Watching and feeling our chest rise and fall.
Stretching and reaching for daylight.
Looking at the clock and blinking,
and accidentally losing track of the time.
Lying in bed, turning and stepping out,
and touching the floor of our bedroom with our feet.
Remembering that there is this thing called “gravity”
that keeps us all in-line and walking and standing fine.
Thinking and wondering what the new day has in store.
Doing what you do, as you paddle out to the sea
that is the outside world and leave the bed
that is your island of tranquility shore.
Feeling your mind racing.
Slowly building from a crawl to a run.
Feeling your senses interlacing.
Leaving your house at the velocity of the speed of sound,
like a bullet from a gun.
Chasing a dream.
Hoping for evidence of the unseen.
Seizing every moment of every second,
like riding the energy of a bolt of lightning.
Meaning every word that you say and never holding back
is something that we can’t all do sometimes-
even the sun in the sky is sometimes obscured by cloud,
which stops its rays from shining.
Being where you need to be.
Being with who you need and are meant to be with.
Seeing the things you need to see.
Seeing everything for what it is: a gift.
Remixing the old with the new in your own mind,
and in your daily life.
Fixing the broken as best that you can.
Masking you occasional reactions
with the expressions that people know you by.
Amassing connections that all fit together
to realise the picture of your well-meant and best-laid plans.
Showing yourself for who you are.
Laughing and joking at the unexpected.
Relaxing and shining effortlessly like a star.
Leading, as well as being led.
Standing exposed.
Running for cover.
Making the most of what was chose.
Enjoying every thing about being the road runner.
It all begins at the Birmingham Moor Street train station,
on Platform One, as I stand behind the yellow line,
and the yellow painted words ‘MIND THE GAP’,
as I wait for the 10:01 train to Stratford-upon-Avon.
I love train journeys,
but I dont make them that often-
the last train journey I took was on the New York Subway
last year, and I loved every second;
for me, going somewhere, anywhere, even if it is somewhere
I have been before, but not for a while,
is always an adventure, is always inspiring, is always fun.
It’s a rainy day, but the wet weather doesn’t leave me undettered;
the cloudy sky above looks like a black and white photograph
from another world.
Travelling by rail- through the green countryside of the places I know
so well, and seeing them and passing through them at high-speed-
gives me a new perspective of them, and I love the places I know
even more than before, and their importance to me
has never rung more true than the last time I heard the sound of a bell.
Walking the streets where Shakespeare walked,
seeing and hearing all the people who are visiting England
from all over the world,
seeing tourists of all nationalities excited about being in Stratford-upon-Avon,
William Shakespeare’s home, as much as I am, makes me smile-
and as I look and listen, see and think,
the streets, the history, and the infinite stories of so many people
jump out at me, and their latent voices talk,
and this place of inspiration I can already feel inspiring me,
and the magic of words and language that I can feel everywhere is undeniable.
I love returning to a place I have been to before, but with new eyes,
a new heart, but with already magical accumulated experiences
and memories that I bring with me and walk with me always.
I feel more at peace here now than I did before,
I keep expecting to turn a corner and actually bump into Shakespeare
still walking these roads and paths, like me,
like I am doing today, and he and I actually looking at each other
in the eyes as our mutual spirits exchange a powerful poetic connection-
like two kindred spirits- as we two hear the voice of nature
and life’s beautiful call.
This place is a writer’s paradise;
this place is an artist’s dream;
this place is a people-watcher’s place to be,
because every thing and everyone
is worth looking at more than twice;
this place is a great place to visit, feel, and to be.
Sitting and having my lunch in The Black Swan-
with a roaring hot fire to my left,
the theatre right in front of me outside the window,
and to my right the rippling river Avon-
I sit, I look, and I don’t want to leave.
The rain is stopping now.
The blue sky is returning.
I am reflecting on the day I have had,
and the journey I have taken,
that has inspired, compelled, and availed me.
The last place in Stratford-upon-Avon that I visit
is Holy Trinity Church- the place on this pilgrimage
that I wanted to revisit and pay my respects to the great
master of language, and my eternal inspiration and idol,
the one and only William Shakespeare.
Standing before Shakespeare’s grave again,
I feel introspective-
my mind, for the first time in a while, is quiet,
and as I bow my head before his grave and monument
I feel the connection between he and I so unwaveringly and so clear.
And as I leave his church I feel something amazing come over me,
and my mind feels as turbulent and changeable and full of colour-
like heights and depths of the atmosphere.
When the end of the day came, and I was on my way home on the train,
I left Stratford-upon-Avon reinvigorated with hope, optimism,
and inspiration from so many things that I saw, felt,
and experienced for the first time and again while I was there-
the moments that will not easily be washed away,
and I just wish I could have shared my time there with someone else;
but as I think that, as I am writing about my day
and as I re-read what I have already written,
I realize I have and I am sharing everything with someone else-
with you who is reading this now,
because you are interested in me and my life
and the things that inspire me like nothing else,
and because, first and foremost, you are just like me,
and because you care.
Today has been amazing.
Today has been about me meeting Shakespeare,
and about William Shakespeare meeting me.
Today has been fun, exciting, enlightening,
and in a word: inspiring.
Today has been, and will always be,
the day I found something I have been waiting to fine for a long time-
today was an adventure, a pilgrimage, a trip back in time,
that like a great book that you never want to close or put down
opened my mind wide, and like my life so far-
every second surpassed the last.
It was the most epic, great, and amazing journey.
My day began by catching a spider in a cup that was in the bath,
and then taking them outside and releasing them
slowly onto the damp pavement.
After I watched the spider walk away,
I re-entered my house, shut the door behind me,
but I couldn’t stop thinking about the spider-
it wasn’t fear, I stopped being afraid of spiders a long time ago,
it was curiosity, I think:
this instant thought about where they came from,
where they are going, what their life consisted of,
and how our lives, although different in some respects,
were so similar.
Walking in the rain returns me to yesterday.
The touch of the long grass between my fingers,
the feeling of the wind on my face,
the softness of the green grass that I am walking on-
memories flood back to me, I am tranquil, I am warm,
I am full of energy and life,
because I am standing in the most beautiful and perfect place.
The sun breaks through the clouds
and its golden rays instantly accentuate the colour that is always there.
Walking through Brueton Park, passed the glistening water of the pond,
crossing the wooden bridge that joins the lush green banks
of the River Blythe,
taking in a breath, I am instantly struck by the beautiful
and intoxicating smell of the freshly-mown grass in the air,
and I am reminded that in order to fully-appreciate what you have
you have to share what you experience every second
with as many people as possible-
because they too will thank you and fully-appreciate
the gift that we all cherish,
the connected moments of being alive.
Memories, photographs, recollections, moments in time,
are so important to hold on to,
because they are us, they are our lives,
they are what put the spark in the eye of humanity,
they are precious, small, forgettable,
but they are also insightful, inspiring, breath-taking, and immense.
Hold on to what you can, don’t throw anything away,
don’t take even the seemingly insignificant of encounters
and take them for granted,
bottle them up in your mind for a rainy day,
return to them often, and relive the experience.
There is a man who lives in a house on the hill,
there is a man who looks over on the village of his birth,
who comes down from his home from time to time
to be among other people, to buy a news paper,
and sometimes just to pay a bill.
People say that the man is a mystery,
people say that the man is a ghost,
people say that he lives on his own
because he is suffering from a broken heart that never mended,
people say that he doesn’t have an address-
no house name, no house number, no street name-
so you can’t contact him by post.
The man on the hill doesn’t have a name,
at least not one that is widely known,
the man on the hill can’t remember the last time
someone actually called him by his birth name-
he never says a word to anyone anymore,
no one even realizes that he is there.
People stopped ringing him years ago-
one day he decided that he had no need to be in contact with anyone,
so he disconnected his phone.
The man on the hill can be seen in the flesh,
if you are ever in the centre of England,
if you are ever in a park in Coventry
and you see a man sitting alone on a bench reading a book-
if you take the time to approach the man, to introduce yourself,
and to tell him that you’ve heard all about him,
he might raise his head, he might smile back at you,
but in his eyes you will see a very sad look.
The man on the hill walks everywhere.
The man on the hill goes out in the morning
and comes home at night,
full of new thoughts, old memories-
always seen in the same clothes, with the same haircut,
as if he has nothing else to wear.
The man on the hill used to know everyone,
and everyone used to know him-
beyond the legend that surrounds him,
beyond the shadow that he carries along with him.
The man on the hill’s story is a long, tragic, and sad tale-
a journey that came to a grinding halt one summer afternoon, long ago,
but where the man on the hill came from,
and how ended up becoming the man on the hill,
is complicated to explain, and even he would find it hard
knowing where to begin.
There is a man who lives on a hill
who once made a difference;
there is a man who lives on a hill
who thought he had the entire universe figured out,
until something happened to him that changed him forever-
and now the universe, to him, just doesn’t make any sense.
There is a man who lives on a hill,
who is waiting for the right person to come back into his life;
there is a man who lives on a hill,
who wants to simply remember what it is like to be alive.
There is a man who lives in a house, by himself,
who if you knocked on his door he would shower you with goodwill;
there is a man who just wants to be remembered,
who wants to dies happy again-
that man is the man on the hill.
While walking in the woods near my house,
I came upon a lost glove-
it was just sitting there undisturbed and unmoved
on a bush at the foot of a tree;
a lone glove, which I couldn’t tell
if it was intended to be worn on the left hand or on the right;
a lone glove that for some reason had been parted from its pairing,
which lay as if it had fallen from above,
instantly intrigued me, made me smile, and made me wonder
what and who had brought it here to the middle of the forrest
only to leave it- something just didn’t seem right.
Every time I returned to my favourite place to walk,
to think, and to marvel at Mother Nature,
I always made a point to go to where I knew the multi-coloured
and multi-patterned glove continued to lie;
for weeks, months, maybe,
I returned and to my delight the glove remained where it always was-
it always brightened my day to see it, for some reason-
maybe it was the randomness of the sight of a lone glove, a lost glove,
far-away from the hand of anyone, that amused me,
and also inspired me in some way.
One day, I returned to the woods,
I took the same path that I always take-
I walked and I looked in anticipation of seeing the lost glove,
but it was nowhere to be seen-
I walked the same path again and again, over and over,
but all I saw in the place that I remembered it being
was just a multitude of growing green.
The first time I saw the glove,
I had thought that its sudden appearance
and consequent reappearances were a sign, an insight,
an easter-egg into the inner-workings of chaos,
nature, choice, subtlety, fun;
and when I realised that the glove was gone-
it had been picked up by someone else,
reclaimed by its former owner,
or it had been taken by an animal-
I felt genuinely sad;
but every time I walk passed where it was, even now,
I wonder where it came from.
The glove that was once lost was found by me.
I did not take it, I did not claim it,
but for a short-time it was a talisman to me,
a charm of life that I was always pleased to see,
a seed of joy, a flower of hope that grows in my imagination,
which I am in-awe of;
and that is why I will never forget the autumn days
of the lost glove.
Chaos, confusion-
at times these states of being
seem like the fundamental forces that rule all of our lives,
but then something happens that brings order back into the world,
back into our lives, and gives us again a reason to stay alive.
Life can hurt sometimes.
Through no fault of your own, through no planning on your part,
you find yourself falling on your face, falling on your knees,
hoping for someone to reach out a hand and save you,
because you believe that you can no longer save yourself alone.
Life is a succession of opportunities that are presented to us-
that if we take the time to truly think about,
those opportunities could take you somewhere that you never envisioned,
and build a world around you that wherever you are
you know that you are home.
You need people around you-
you need a family, you need friends,
you need to go forward and not back.
We all think that we can do things on our own,
we all think that no one can possibly understand what we are going through
when we are literally on our hands and knees-
but we are wrong, there is always someone there,
we just need to look for them, because there are people out there to help;
sometimes you have to get out of the drivers seat of your life
and hand someone else the keys.
It’s hard to let go of what has been pulling you down.
It’s hard to listen when someone is telling you what you should do.
It’s hard to free yourself of your pride and step in another direction.
It’s hard to not worry and to look at your reflection and not see a frown.
Your family is all that matters.
If they are your true family they will be there for you no matter what,
if they mean anything to you, and if you mean anything to them,
they will stand by your side and be there for you
no matter how much you have got.
People have more than they sometimes realize,
sometimes the less you think you have of something
the more of it you have in abundance;
life is not a straight-line, after-all-
if anything, it’s more of a dance.
Life never turns out how we dream it will be,
life just has to be accepted for what it is:
amazing, astonishing, challenging, thought-provoking;
but things that mean the most in this life have to be worked-on,
worked for, and worked towards, if they are to mean anything at all
after we are all gone-
that is the challenge that we all face every day,
that is the journey that some people have to take
while walking the motorway.
Let’s go for a walk in the woods, just you and me;
let’s go hand-in-hand, as golden leaves fall all around us,
and conkers drop to the forest floor
from the branches of tall horse-chestnut trees.
Let’s go for a walk in the woods,
as the seasons change before our eyes;
let’s go for a walk in the woods
and be showered in sunlight,
as it breaks through from above and below
to hail the arrival of new life and new skies.
Let’s go for a walk in the woods
and watch spiders spin webs,
and rabbits appear fleetingly from their burrows;
let’s go for a walk in the woods
and let our imaginations run wild
while we search for the origin of every shadow.
Let’s go for a walk in the woods,
let us just stand there surrounded by transformation
going on underground and in the air;
let us just stop and breath in perfection into out lungs
and feel its effect on our mind and sight;
let us become intoxicated by nature and the suns light
and walk without a direction until day turns into night.
Let’s go for a walk in the woods
and say nothing with words, but everything with a smile,
everything with a look, everything with a touch;
let’s go for a walk in the woods
and feel inseparable while in each-others clutch.
Let’s go for a walk in the woods, day-after-day,
in the sun, in the rain, in the wind, and in the snow;
let’s go for a walk in the woods
and appreciate how fortunate we are to be here at this time,
in this place, and what we leave behind when it is time to go.
Let’s go for a walk in the woods,
let us run through the woods as if we were children
who could go anywhere we wanted, without fear-
closing our eyes, with our arms out-stretched like wings-
not even realizing the gift that we have of choosing
who it is that we want to be.
Let’s go for a walk in the woods
and walk in our own footprints-
content, because we are together,
because, as far as we are both concerned,
it will always be just you and me.
The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere 