My Poem “The Hero’s Journey”

It occurs to me that since I
first began writing poetry
that I have been on my own version
of “The Hero’s Journey”…
perhaps I have been on
my “Hero’s Journey” since I was a child –
or, more likely, like most people
who find themselves called
to seek out adventure,
my childhood was just the preparation
that I needed to learn and to grow
before I knew what I had to do,
why I had to do it,
and where I needed to go.

My call to adventure was one of love –
and when I discovered the book
that I would come to consider
as the poetic version of a “holy text”
that was when I felt like I crossed
a threshold into a new world
where I could see patterns
and poetry all around me
and I felt truly transformed
and able to walk through doors
that I was unable to do so before.

When I first started upon
the path of the poet,
and wearing the guise
of the Poet of the Sphere,
along the way I found myself
drawn to people and inspired
by mentors and muses
who opened my eyes to things
that challenged the way
that I perceived the world around me
and I was tempted down dead ends
that would ultimately lead me to a downfall.

After my fall I found myself
within a dark and deep abyss
of my own making –
however, eventually, I was able
to pick myself up off the ground
and like the embodiment of
a mythological phoenix
rising from a fire
I felt as if I had been reborn,
and yet again I found myself
walking down a path of transformation
in order to find myself,
which was followed by
moments of revelation
that lead me to atone
for the actions that I had taken
that had lead me to emotional ruin.

Over time I was given the gift
of love from a goddess
and I was forgiven, and then I returned
from the underworld of the unknown
to the land of light where I would
rekindle the love that gives
meaning to everything that I do –
and so the cycle began again,
and again – however each time always
distinctly different in some way –
and after every new revolution
was completed I always found myself
sitting down, alone, writing,
contemplating and attempting
to interpret in verse the revelations
and the phases that combine
to make the tapestry of
my own version of
“The Hero’s Journey”.

My Poem “Iconic Vehicles”

There were so many times
while growing up
when I would stare at my television screen
and daydream that I could be the pilot
or the driver of so many of the vehicles
that I saw the heroes of my favourite
movies and television shows
driving fast and flying high with:
from Doc Brown’s Time Machine DMC DeLorean
from the Back to the Future trilogy,
to the Pontiac Firebird of The Bandit
from the Smokey and The Bandit films;
from Michael Knight’s talking Trans Am KITT,
to Batman’s Batmobile
from Tim Burton’s 1989 film
that brought The Dark Knight
to life like never before…
from Luke Skywalker’s X-wing fighter
and Han Solo’s Millenium Falcon
from the Star Wars franchise,
to the F-14 Tomcat piloted by
Tom Cruise’s character
Maverick in Top Gun;
from the Starship Enterprise’s
captained by Captain James T. Kirk
and Captain Jean-Luc Picard,
to the TARDIS of The Doctor
from Doctor Who…
from the motorbike Street Hawk,
to the advanced helicopter AirWolf;
from the A-Team’s black GMC Vantura
van with it’s red stripe
that ran along the side,
to the converted white hearse/ambulance
“Ecto-1” that was the preferred
means of travelling the city streets
of New York City by the Ghostbusters;
from the advanced submersible vehicles
that ventured and had adventures
below the waves of the sea,
like SeaQuest DSV, Thunderbird 4,
and of course Stingray…
I spent countless hours
while growing up
following the adventures
of all my on-screen heroes
and being taken on a ride
at full-speed to places
that inflamed my imagination –
and, to this day, those same cars,
those same spaceships,
those same aircraft,
those same iconic vehicles
of the protagonists
of some of my favourite fictional
childhood screen idols
still fill me with a sense of wonder
and they will never stop being
brought back to life
by the power of my imagination
and the vivid memories
that I still have of my childhood.

My Poem “The Dark Tower”

I once spent an entire summer
with Roland Deschain,
“The Gunslinger”,
as we followed
the “Man in Black”
as he fled across the desert
of a world that had “moved on”,
in the pages of the books
of Stephen King’s epic
multi-novel adventure
“The Dark Tower” –
and it was as we journeyed
and followed the path
of the beams that led
to the tower that stands
and binds the worlds
of Stephen King’s stories together
that I discovered along the way
that the best stories
are like the most memorable dreams,
and that to find something
you may have been looking for
for as long as you can remember
sometimes the doorways
that we must walk through
we can only find
when we explore the world’s
that reveal themselves
under the covers –
and now I am preparing to enter
a movie-theatre so that I may return
to the world of Stephen King
and journey again across a desert
and through magical doors
with “The Gunslinger”
and return again to “The Dark Tower”.

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My Poem ‘The Good Reader’

From acorn to tree…
to paper… to writer…
from life to inspiration…
from the pen of a poet…
to the eyes
and the imagination of a reader…
from out of a cloud of chaos…
something new… something personal…
something that like the person
writing it down and the place
from where the paper
it is being written on came from…
something incredible made believable…
something two-dimensional brought to life
so that it may walk the walk of words
and then take a leap from the page
into the mind of the one
who is reading what is being described…
a world imagined and captured
like a bolt of lightning in a bottle…
something that is a testament
to the power of the human mind…
it is amazing what a writer can do
and what pattern of magical words
they can weave…
it is amazing what a writer
can make a person believe…
epic journey’s have begun
and have been taken
by readers following every word
of every sentence of a writer’s story…
adventures of every height, depth,
and distance have been undertaken
by people who yearn to escape reality
and let their mind and their heart run-free…
over the centuries and after all the tales
that have been told there is still nothing
better to read than a story
that is based on true-events…
even to this day there is no better thing
to experience than to be told a story
and to hear a story while sitting around
a campfire at night with a group of friends…
ghost-stories, recollections,
tales of what, where, when, how, and who with…
some stories sometimes are so amazing
and miraculous that it is hard to know
what is imaginary and what is the real-thing…
a story, like a dream, is a world
that everybody steps into, lives,
and then takes something away from…
a story, a book, a world of characters
and people who we find within a tale
that must be told and read
can teach us something that we never knew
and it can also tell us something
about ourselves…
in countless bookstores, libraries,
on countless displays and book-shelves,
there is untold treasure to be found,
infinite sunsets and sunrises to be seen,
as if staring at the horizon from a pier…
sometimes it is just impossible
to put a book or a story down
once you have begun reading it –
and no matter where a book
or a story takes you
there is only one thing that you can do,
and only one thing that you want to do:
follow the words of a writer
and be a good reader.

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My Poem ‘As it comes’

Every day when the sun rises,
every day when we greet
the brand new day in our own way,
every day when the thought of something
in particular hypnotizes –
every day, no matter what dark clouds
may hover above our heads,
it is important for each and every one of us
to hold our heads up-high
and say to ourselves that we will get through
whatever we face and make the best of our lives,
come what may.

If there were no mysteries
then there would be no questions;
if there were no questions
then there would be no potential for adventure;
if there were no adventure
then there would be no wonderful
experiences and life-lessons;
if there were no new experiences to be had
and new lessons to be learned
then our lives would not be as they are –
our lives would be a life in a day,
and there would not be a constant time-machine
that allows us all for limited times a day
to jump from the present to the past
and from the past to the future, et cetera…

Everything changes in life –
it should, and it must;
everything came from something –
we, the Earth, the stars, the galaxy,
all came from the stuff of stars and cosmic dust;
everything and everybody starts small
and then grows towards the light of their potential;
everything only happens once –
the universe does not repeat itself often,
and no matter the similarities that can be found,
even throughout nature,
one thing I know for sure
is that the world we know
and the world behind the invisible curtain
that surrounds us all can only be the way it is
because of those who are exceptional
but who do not realize that they are special.

Begin and end your day with a smile;
try not to worry too much about what you can’t control;
if and when you can be yourself and show your inner-love;
life is a test filled with many trials;
do what you do best with all your heart and all your soul;
keep going, keep positive, keep smiling,
keep living your life –
and no matter what happens,
don’t be afraid to take a running-jump
and don’t just take life as it comes.

My Poem ‘The Warped Tour Four’

Early rise… morning light…
open eyes… all is good, all feels right;
bags packed, phones charged,
an open road in front of us…
maximum speed achieved,
we are traveling with full-focus
I-75 all the way to Atlanta…
music fills us, music takes us,
music calls us, music sends out shock-waves
from far-away speakers, as well as from
the speaker in our chest that is our heart
which is louder than the loudest thunder.

The sun shines… the heat beats… we wait in-line…
we all feel this amazing anticipation
run through our bodies, from our head to our feet…
and within no time at all we are in,
and we are instantly hit by a wave of music and energy…
we feel like we have entered another dimension and world
in which time and space stretches into infinity…
everything we hear, everything we see, everything we feel,
to me is incomparable to anything else –
and nothing could ever have prepared us all
for how unbelievable every second here would be.

Music is transformative;
sometimes it is hard to put into words
what music means to those who love it;
music is the universe’s oldest,
and it’s most potent, form of magic;
there is no better way to have an experience than to share it –
and I will forever be glad to have been surrounded
by there family I was with when I was standing
among a mass of music revelers
with whom I share a connection
that every waking and unconscious hour
makes me feel blessed.

Bands play on many stages…
music screams out loud, far, wide, and deep…
the many faces of strangers all united as-one –
a music family of many colours, all one race.

We are all here to enjoy the chain of moments,
memories, embraces, and emotions;
we are all rotating in a cycle
and in orbit of a pulsating energy core
that keeps us all in motion;
we are all a part of history in the making;
we are all the answer to how
our world is ours for the saving.

The music falls down…
the heat breaks, the sun begins to set…
the end of day song starts to play…
we are leaving the epic festival of sound
that has all day long caught our breaths…
we are heading home, we are cutting-short
what for us has been an incredible tour…
we all know that to truly make it somewhere in life
you cannot do it alone…
we had the most phenomenal day
that we will remember all our lives –
so say we, The Warped Tour Four.

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My Poem ‘The Gunslinger’

Waking up even before the sun has risen,
getting up and putting on his jeans and his boots,
the Gunslinger always goes to the open window
and stares at the horizon…
watching the sky start to slowly
look like the burning ember
of a timeless celestial fire,
the Gunslinger’s heart overflows
with an intense desire –
because he knows that he is getting ever-closer
to the centre of the universe
that lies where The Dark Tower of reality
stands and casts a shadow in his direction
for the Gunslinger to follow.

The Gunslinger carries many scars…
the Gunslinger has had more than one tussles
in more than one towns and bars…
the Gunslinger does what he does
because he is being guided by
the hands of fate upon his shoulders…
the Gunslinger knew, even as a child,
that he was meant to do something
monumentally important,
and that belief and that feeling
grew steadily stronger
the more the years flew by
and the Gunslinger got older.

He was a keen student of the past…
he was a man who had learned the hard way
that if you want to survive
what life sometimes throws at you
you have got to think, learn, and act fast…
he was someone who had been taught
that respect was one of the greatest virtues
that anyone could remember and put into practice…
he was already some-what of a legend in his own right,
and he was almost as elusive
as that of the sunken island that was Atlantis.

The Gunslinger drunk life as if it were whiskey…
the Gunslinger embraced change
as if he were holding the body of a woman…
the Gunslinger was a poet
but he never in his life
wrote a single word of poetry…
the Gunslinger had been waking up
for as long as he could remember
knowing that he had a destiny to fulfill
that he could not yet fully-understand.

The Gunslinger was real,
and yet the stuff of dreams;
the Gunslinger loved a good meal,
but he hungered more to see
something of the world
but which felt not-of-his-world
that he had imagined
but had not yet seen;
the Gunslinger knew that where he was
was but a way-station to where he was going;
the Gunslinger was inspiring others,
and he was being followed wherever he went
without his knowing.

He had always thought of his weapon
as but an extension of his own arm…
he had always considered his lightning-fast draw
as his greatest gift…
he had always used his finely-honed instincts
to keep himself and those he loved
from coming to harm…
finding the one place in the entire world
where he could take off his hat
and unbuckle his gun-holster
and lay-down his revolver
is what he had always wished.

And as the rose before him,
and as the dawn-chorus called to him,
and as his trigger-finger started to quiver,
and as the heat began to darken his skin,
he knew that he was reason
for all things and for everything…
and without even blinking an eye
he smiled and then prepared to head-out,
saddle-up, and race towards
that which would give him
the reason he was seeking
why for his entire life
he had always been “The Gunslinger”.

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Inspired by ‘The Dark Tower – The Gunslinger’ by Stephen King