My Poem “Giving Thanks”

Life is sometimes testing…
Life is sometimes depressing…
Life is sometimes a hard pill to swallow…
Life is precious, as is time –
and that is why we all need
to embrace every moment
with everybody we love,
because unfortunately
Life is not filled with
an ending number of tomorrows.

Life is never perfect –
no one ever always gets what they want…
Life is not meant to be anyone’s
personal version of perfection,
because if that were not the case
then we would be able to stop
people from leaving us
and we would always be able
to find what we have lost.

Life is a chain of changes…
Life is a series of streams…
Life is a wave of emotions
that rise high one day
and then crash down around you
when you least expect them.

Life is what it is…
Life is what it is designed to be…
Life is what it needs to be –
but that doesn’t mean that we
always have to like it;
however, sometimes it is the things
in this Life that we have absolutely
no control over –
which is most things, most of the time –
that are what make us who we are,
what we are, and why we are
the way that we are,
and it is the people who have seen us
at our worst but nevertheless still love us –
our loved ones who we share memories with –
who we should daily look at
and give thanks for
for simply being there when
we needed them the most
and sometimes people who we
only get to reconnect with
around Christmas time
or within the season of Thanksgiving.

My Poem “The Rings of Saturn”

While growing up,
when asked by someone:
what my favourite planet
of the solar system was?
I would always immediately respond
by saying the name
of the most renowned
and the most instantly identifiable
and recognisable ring-encircled
“Gas Giant” that almost everybody
on Earth is familiar with,
and that Giant of the night sky
is the one and only planet Saturn.

Why has Saturn been my favourite
planet since I was a child,
and not Mars? Jupiter?
Neptune? Or Mercury?
Well, I am not entirely sure;
however, for whatever reason,
there has literally always been
a gravity that has been
drawing my attention
to Saturn in particular –
perhaps it is because
every time that I have seen images
of its vast, iconic, beautiful,
and incredible ring system
that surrounds it,
that is all made up of tiny pieces
of rock and ice that all seem
to fit together perfectly
and combine harmoniously to create
an example of natural astrological art,
there always seems to be a synergy
that to me is symbolic
of some many fundamental things
that I believe life it’s true meaning.

To me, the rings of Saturn
symbolize how life and the universe
is in a constant state of revolution
and almost clock-work like precision,
and depending upon which
vantage point certain things
are being observed from
that can have a fundamental effect
on how they are perceived;
for example, when seen along their
peripheral edge the rings of Saturn
are almost imperceptible,
but when seen from above
or from below the majestic magnificence
of Saturn’s rings show just how
spectacular they are to behold.

From a singular human
perspective and interpretation,
the rings of Saturn resemble
a vinyl-record ingrained with
the music of an artist –
and, just like a record spinning
on a turntable, people here on Earth
have been able to find a way to listen,
to interpret, to record, and to share
the music being generated
by this impressive world,
that just like every spinning
sphere of the cosmos –
be it a star, a moon , or a planet –
is constantly resonating a signal,
a voice, a music, a song
that can only be heard by those
with the right ears to hear it.

The universe, the galaxy,
the solar system of planets
that Earth is a part of
has always been a source
of exploration and discovery,
of intrigue and inspiration,
and thanks to the inventions
of some of our most inspired
and innovative creators and inventors
we have all been able to have
the privilege to see, to hear,
and to feel the pull of
some of the cosmos’ most
awe-inspiring and incredible phenomena;
however, to me, no matter what else
is discovered and uncovered
behind the dark veil of space,
I will always look to and consider
the impressive ringed world
of Saturn to be among the most exceptional
and evocative wonders of the universe.

My Poem “Working Day”

Ice scraping… wheels spinning…
wind blowing… people shivering…
the air of the morning is freezing…
the winter weather of
this new morning is unforgiving.

Turn the heat up to the max…
watch your footing upon those slippery paths…
keep those windows closed
or you will feel the snap
of that deadly draft.

Blue sky… birds chirping as they fly…
Looks like the traffic is light?
But now red lights? Why?
I think some people need
to relearn how to drive?

Busy bees of the city –
people with somewhere to be…
On the radio I hear
that some trains have been cancelled,
that some cars have
broken down on some highways –
and I bet that there more than
a few people asking themselves right now
the question: why me?

Bikers weaving lane to lane –
those riders have got to be on their game…
A near-miss? Wow! That was close!
If that rider had been any slower then
right now they’d be toast.

Get to work with time to spare –
not the best feeling to be there…
hot coffee, calls to make,
not long until the next break…
hopefully the time today flies by –
hopefully 9 will soon turn into 5.

Driving home…
my bed is calling…
my phone is dying…
my stomach is rumbling…
might need to get
some take-out on my way –
because if I don’t
it’ll soon be too late.

Home safe… legs ache…
take-out meal still warm? Great!
Time to watch some TV? Ok!
Eyelids soon get heavy…
Hard to concentrate…
Need to sleep…
These days it is not as easy
as it used to be to stay up late.

Seems like the instant
that my head hits the pillow
my alarm clock is already waking me up –
and whether it want to or not
now I need to roll out of bed
and get up.

Another day, another dollar…
once again I am getting dressed,
and flattening down my collar –
and soon enough I am heading
out of the house
to restart the cycle,
and as always I hope and I pray
that I can once again make it through
the “rat race” of all that
life throws at the average person
on a typical, busy, often exhausting,
modern day, wild west of a working day.

My Poem “Personal Collective”

There is nothing like
being around like-minded
people who all share
the same appreciation
and the same optimistic
outlook about something,
about someone, about life,
about the future,
about the importance of humanity
working together and respecting
one another for a common purpose
to maintain the ever growing,
changing, and evolving experiment
that is the human race
that will only truly begin to
show its potential when
the collective members
of our species ventures away
from Earth, seeks out,
and sees with their own eyes
all the wonders of
the rest of the universe.

It is so great being around people
who feel free and able to express
themselves in any and every way
that they can imagine…
it is so great to be around people
who do not require any kind of
explanation as to who you are,
what you are, and why you choose
to look then way that you do,
because you are instantly
and automatically accepted
as being a member of their collective.

When you are around people
who immediately understand you –
a fellow convention attendee,
a fellow concert-goer,
a fellow fan and enthusiast
of the same TV show, film, music,
group, artist, author –
then there is always a silent connection,
a mutual wave of empathy, an excitement,
and when the shared feeling
of a group of people culminates
into a rush of adrenaline
when they get to live out
a dream and meet a star
who symbolizes and embodies
that which they have invested
countless hours and energy into –
like meeting an actor who you admire,
or a rock star whose music always
makes your heart beat fast,
or an author whose words
have touched your heart –
then follows a perhaps
once in a life-time moment
that becomes a seed of joy
that grows, blooms,
and flourishes within you
so much so that it seeps out
and spreads to other people,
and sometimes to people
who you may slowly but surely
convert and assimilate
into your very own
personal collective.

My Poem “The Illuminations”

For as long as most people can remember,
it has been a vital and necessary
rite of passage for so many
children and families
here in the United Kingdom
to travel to a place “by the seaside” –
a place that so many people have dreamt about,
a place that so many people have sung about,
and a place that so many people
think affectionately about
even after they have first visited –
and a place that has so much
history to it, as well as so many
good and positive memories
and experiences associated with it:
a place, a town called Blackpool
that is located on the West Coast
of England, on the Irish Sea,
that is renowned for so many
wonderful things,
and among all the things
that it is synonymous with –
alongside the iconic
“Blackpool Tower” –
has to be its stunning display
of spectacular illuminations
that can annually be found lining
the Promenade, near
the Blackpool Pleasure Beach,
that the people of Blackpool
always put a great deal of effort into
because they have been among
some of the most important attractions
that has kept attracting visitors
and tourists to this place for generations –
and even as people grow older,
and as new families are formed,
there isn’t a year that goes by
when people in their droves
do not look forward to visiting,
to revisiting, to enjoying,
to remembering, and being awe-inspired
by the sight of the flashing
and vibrant colours and lights
of the “Vegas of the North”, Blackpool,
and it’s stunning illuminations.

My Poem “The Forbidden”

The draw of the forbidden…
the urge to explore
the places where very few
people have been before…
the instinct to reveal the truth
of that which is hidden,
the call of the wild
that has compelled many people
to seek out, to feel,
and to capture the energy
and the spirit that some things
naturally emanate –
symbolized in many stories
as being an apple, a chalice, a ring,
a fountain, a plant, a monolith,
a message left for others to find
so that they may experience
profound revelations that will
fundamentally change the way
that they see the world,
as well as change how they see themselves,
are as prevalent in the tales
that humanity has been telling itself
since the beginning of language
and the start of our path of discovering
who we are and what we are
in the grand scheme of universal understanding.

It is the quest of the forbidden that gives
a journey into the unknown its potency…
it is the question of what lies beyond
all the maps that have been drawn
that has attracted all the explorers
that have ever been born…
it is the danger of a forbidden vortex
that storm-chasers lust to race towards
that awakens within them
the same deep longing to push the envelope
of what is possible that precludes
so many people from being able
to silence the voice inside them
that tells them loud and clear
to never decline an opportunity
to take a bite out of
the fruit of the forbidden,
to experience what it takes like,
and to see where it takes you.

My Poem “Verbatim”

There is a story behind everything…
there is a reason for everything…
there is a story to be told about everybody…
there is truth to be found
about the human condition
by listening to everybody.

Everybody is capable of being
a storyteller with a varied
and a different perspective
on everything, because
everybody experiences the world uniquely –
which is why no voice
should be ever silenced or muted
because their opinions
do not run in parallel
with that of the status quo…
everybody is capable
of expressing themselves somehow –
even if it is with the power of a stare
or a passive but noticeable gesture
that is a part of the universal
art of getting your point across
and making your intentions known.

Stories are wonderful things –
however, stories have a way
of taking on a life of their own…
some stories can start out
being about something
small and insignificant –
however, when stories are internalized
and personalized then can be reshaped
and retold in many different ways…
stories can be given names –
especially those that were inspired
by real life events and circumstances…
stories always have characters in them –
and on occasion storytellers
often exaggerate the qualities
and the attributes of a particular
character in order to make the story
that they are telling more dramatic…
some stories are referred to as
“Chinese whispers”, because they grow,
because they change, because depending
on how many times they have been told,
heard, retold, and shared –
though the seed at the centre
of the same story remains the same –
little by little, with every passing
iteration and narration,
a story can lose some of it’s most
fundamental facts,
and the devil that is in the details
of a story can become a shadow
of what was initially intended
to be a story told word for word.