My Poem “Synchronicity”

Hope for the best…
be the best at what you do…
look for the best in everything…
make the best of what comes to you.

Every day is a test…
every day is a puzzle…
every day is both simple and complex…
every day is one of an infinite number
in the age of the universe –
and yet every day is special in some way,
shape, or form, because every day is not
the same as any other…
every day is as precious
and as ephemeral and as transient
as a dream or a bubble.

In this life, you have to be prepared
for the unexpected – but, at the same time,
be flexible and mindful that whatever plans
you make may need some slight adjustments
along the way in order to make them
come to fruition…
in this life, you sometimes have to use
your intuition about something
in order to give you the much needed
motivation to not be disheartened
by the negative voices
that are sometimes directed
in your direction.

Being a dreamer does not mean
that you live in a fantasy –
every idea that ever became
a reality was once the dream
and the wish of someone with a vision
of a world that they could one day
influence and leave their mark upon.

Being human means that you sometimes
have to see the end before the beginning,
you have to leap before you look,
you have to let your mind wander
and let your thoughts influence your actions,
you have to fall on your face,
get back up, and never stop
believing in the good that can come
from following and using your inner
search engine of inspiration –
filled with a life-time of moments,
images, sounds, and feelings –
that is your life and has the power
to influence the course of your life
far into the future and give you
the answer, the truth, the path,
the direction that will one day
synchronize and symbolize
every moment of your life.

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My Poem “Raining June”

It’s Summer now…
It’s the month of June…
Usually at this time of the year
when you look up at the sky
all that you can see is bright blue
and there isn’t a cloud to be found –
however, this year, today,
here in the U.K especially,
all that you can see is grey clouds
and all that you can feel
when you are out and about
walking around
is the wet droplets of rain water
assuring all concerned
that this Summer there won’t be a hosepipe ban.

Every year it’s a different story…
In years gone by you could
set your watch to the knowledge
that May to September
the weather was going to be nice
and dry and perfect for all those
activities that you necessarily
could not do while you were
inside your house –
but, like most things,
steadily the climate of the world
has changed and it has become
a lot more unpredictable.

Right now, people should be
wiping their brow of sweat
and complaining about how hot it is –
however, instead, people are
complaining that they are getting
soaked by the deluge of rain
from above and from the splash
of the puddles when cars
race past them at high-speed…
Right now, it should be as hot as hell –
however, at the moment,
there is a constant stream of droplets
from this mass outside shower –
during which the soles of shoes
are slipping,
people are sliding,
and cars are hydroplaning –
and instead of it being flaming
this June looks to be one
when almost every day
it is going to be raining.

My Poem “Talking Flowers”

Did you know that flowers can talk?
Flowers talk to bees,
bees listen to flowers –
and together both flowers and bees
commit to a mutually beneficial
relationship of pollination
in order to create the sweet nectar
which some people collect
and convert into honey
which some people sell, consume,
and take great delight in
spreading upon their toast ever morning.

New seeds are planted, more flowers grow
and bloom, and new honeybees
are drawn to the song
and the buzz that certain flowers
are born with the innate ability
to be able to sing and to speak –
and so the cycle continues,
as it has done since the first flowers
of the first garden were first grew,
because flowers and trees are like
everything that grows and is alive:
even though every living thing
is an individual in their own right
everything in this world
is just another expression
of the face of nature
and everything has their own part to play
in the plan of all things.

In general, all living things
are always listening
and they are always speaking…
flowers and plants are like people,
and in so many ways they perfected
the art of living and reproducing
themselves long before we did,
which is why it is no surprise
that flowers and plants have long been
experts on how to live, how to grow,
and how to communicate
and how to proliferate effectively
and yet seemingly silently.

My Poem “Up With The Crows”

I’ve always been an early riser…
I’ve always awoken before
the sun has risen above the horizon…
I’ve always bee someone lucky enough
to have been given the gift of being
able to hear and to be able to listen
to the beautiful symphony
and the majestic choir of the dawn chorus
sung by all manner of birds.

I’ve always been a poet who has looked,
listened, and took in the spirit
and the essence that greets me
every morning when I open up
all of my senses to all the wonders
and all the magic that I have felt –
all the inspiration that has been
conjured within my mind
that have been converted into perfect words.

Some mornings I wake up
and I am instantly and automatically
ready for the day ahead of me,
and then there are those mornings
when it takes me a minute or two
to find my bearings
and get my priorities straight…
some mornings I feel like
I am ahead of the game,
and some mornings I feel like
my brain is running late.

Every morning is definitely
a different morning than the one
that came before and it will definitely
be different from the one that will follow;
however, I am just like everybody else
and I too have my own version
of a morning routine that I believe
stands me in good stead
and starts my day off on the right foot –
and I like to think that every morning
I am prepared to zig and to zag
and to adapt to every thing that the world
is just waiting to throw my way.

Some mornings, my thoughts, my feelings,
my blood, runs fast –
and some mornings, like a car
stuck in a traffic-jam,
the highway of my consciousness runs slow;
however, I can honestly report
that there hasn’t been many mornings
during my life, even as child,
when I have not woken up
with a brand new idea in my mind
that I want to caw about
and at the same time as the crows.

My Poem “Insomniac”

During the early hours of the morning
I have been awoken,
my mind has been opened
like the creaking door of an old house,
and I feel something stirring within me…
the sky outside is still dark,
everybody around me is still asleep –
however, I cannot switch of,
nor retreat to the depths beneath
where I return to the realm of my dreams…
I try listening to soothing sounds,
I try listening to the music
of Vivaldi and Mozart
hoping that the beautiful
classical music will help me fall
into a delicate trance
like that of watching a falling leaf –
however, I am still wide awake
and it appears that the delta waves
of my brain were disrupted so severely
that they could no longer maintain
there normal restorative cycle
and pull me down and deep…
I turn off all the lights,
I lay my head down in a room of darkness,
I slow my breathing and I try
to concentrate on the white noise
of the stillness of the early morning,
and I hope that I will soon be able
to resume a mood of restfulness
and renew my state of snooze
by listening to the tune of The Sandman’s muse
and curing me of my insomnia.

My Poem “Multicolored”

Everybody is an individual,
a person, a spectrum of many colours
throughout their life…
no one can help what body they are born into…
everybody constantly hopes to be able
to one day express themselves
in the way that they want to
without feeling abnormal and as if
who they are on the outside
is not meant to fit in with
how the world is, how it is meant to be,
and how it is meant to look…
no one has the right to be able
to tell anyone that they cannot
be who and what they want to be.

Music is life, life is music –
and people in all their many colours
and with all their individualistic
facets are who make the music of life
as rich as it is, and without all
the many pioneers of individualism
and the proponents of staying true
to what you believe
then the world as we know it would not exist.

The best of humanity, the icons of history
who will be revered forever,
the ground-breakers who knew
even before they learned how to talk
that they were special, different,
anomalous, and exceptional
because they saw the world
and the question posed to them
without the jadedness of a dark cloud
of preconceptions hanging over them –
they are the ones who have always been
responsible for giving our world
the gift of pure inspiration,
ingenuity, and innovation
in the many levels of every day life
that different people live upon.

The best stories ever written
are of extraordinary people
overcoming a stereotypical boundary
that ultimately leads everybody
who learns of their story
to be inspired and choose to emulate them
and follow in their footsteps…
I believe that if you are someone
who is “different” from everybody else
then you should feel proud…
monsters, trolls, and bullies are different
and they are treated differently –
which is why people who suffer
from being singled out
often plague others with the same toxicity
as they are daily exposed to.

In my opinion, if you are different
from everybody else then
you truly are “special”
in every sense of the word –
and I have always believed that
when you embrace you own
individual eccentricities
then you may find that you share
more with other people around the world
who already know who and what they are
and who choose to let the light of their
multicolored soul shine like
the constituents of depth
that give light to a star.

My Poem “Finale”

Not every story
that you find yourself drawn into
ends in the way that you want it to…
Not every story can have that
happy ending that people wants…
Not every story can be the version
that the reader or the viewer
of a story has in their head –
because stories are both a creator’s
and audience’s medium,
and one in which there is not always
a shared instinct into how a particular story
should begin, progress, unveil itself,
and ultimately end.

Every story naturally must have a beginning
and every story naturally must have an end –
and while a writer is writing a story
the world in which they are building
and the characters they are choosing
to include within their story
can change in direction, shape,
and intention from
how they were initially envisioned…
readers and viewers of a story
usually only get to read, or to see,
the finished, polished,
and final version of a story
and they are oblivious to all
the various choices, changes,
and minutiae that had to be
considered by the stories’ author
in order to make a story, their story,
as perfect as can be.

Every story is a challenge…
every story is a journey…
every creator of every story
thinks, feels, considers,
and lives every word and every line
of the story that they set out to
make a reality and one which
people might choose to invest their time into…
every author does not take the death
of a character in one of their stories lightly
and they are fully aware of how
their story can change
and be internalized differently
depending on who is enjoying them.

Writing can sometimes be hard –
however, at the same time,
writing can be one of the best
and one of the most life-changing things
you can ever commit yourself to…
when a writer first begins building a world,
a reality, a universe, the farthest thought
from their mind is that of having to finish
what they started –
so when they arrive at the moment of having
to wrap-up a story and a journey
that has meant so much to them,
take it from me, there is never an
easy way to write a perfect
and truly satisfying finale.