My Poem “Under Arbor”

Sitting under a tree…
Sitting under a shadow
as the sun shines
and there is blue sky above me…
I take a moment alone, on my own,
to savour the moments
of precious peace…
My time here is short –
however, isn’t everybody’s these days?
My thoughts briefly drift away
as I daydream that I am far away…
I think of memories
that mean the most to me…
I remember and I see the faces
of those who give my life meaning
and who make my heart skip a beat…
Life is the most precious thing…
Love is the most important blessing…
I never get the opportunity
or the time these days to just sit
and take it easy,
and that is why I am
making the most of this moment
to breath in the fresh air
and sit in the shadow of a tree.

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My Poem ‘Mr. Traveler’

Being above the clouds
is like being a part
of something magical;
seeing the blue above
and the light below,
to me will never stop being
a dream come true;
being bound for somewhere
on the other side of an ocean
is something truly wonderful;
seeing the world from up high
to me is breathtaking –
and when I look out into the distance,
and when I look down to the Earth,
a shape, a face, a thought,
a memory comes to me out of the thin air,
and I feel blessed by the touch of the divine,
and I feel drawn to the destination
I will arrive at soon.

We all travel and we all leave a slip-stream;
those who travel by plane know
that the fastest way to travel
is by catching a ride on a jet-stream;
we all know that thrill that we feel
when we go to somewhere we have never been;
those who have chosen to journey
to the other of a rainbow know
that if you choose to take a leap into the unknown
you may see things that no one but you
will ever get the chance to see.

Astronauts rocket to space every day…
passengers travel to countries every hour…
those blessed with vivid imaginations
dive and fly to and through new worlds of creation
every minute in a infinite number of ways…
every second when every heart of ever human being beats
it is like the constant opening and closing
of the petals of the universe’s most beautiful flower.

I have been flying since I was a child;
I have been to magical lands,
and I have always come afterwards
with an further understanding of the allure
of the call of the wild;
since I was a kid I have been dreaming
about being a space-traveler;
I do not travel far that often –
however, whenever I get the chance to defy gravity
by any means I always jump to it
and I always embrace what it means
and I never take for granted how lucky I am
to be a Traveler.

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My Poem ‘The Shortest Day’

Today is the shortest day;
tonight will be the longest night;
sunrise and sunset will happen
within no time at all of each other,
as if the entire day will begin and end
within the blink of an eye.

The time to do things and to grasp the moments
are more precious today
than they ordinarily are on a normal day;
the Winter Solstice is here –
it is not even midday,
but I can already see the fading of the day’s light.

As soon as I woke up this morning,
I had this immediate feeling that there was something
in the cold early-morning air;
as soon as I started to think cogently
my mind was instantly clear,
and as I watched the sky brighten outside my window
I could do nothing but look up
and marvel at the white clouds that met my stare.

Christmas is but a few days away;
people all over the world
are doing their last pieces of Christmas shopping;
there is an anticipation to be felt all around
that something is on its way;
everybody is filled with hopes and dreams, and genuine joy,
and there is also whispers and wishes
that perhaps soon it may even start snowing.

The air is cold;
the streets are busy;
Christmas songs are playing all around me
and filling me, the atmosphere, and everybody,
with happiness, who are sitting with me here in this cafe;
there are seasons and emotions greeting and changing
and being felt all around the world;
there is energy on the verge of being set free;
there is more than meets the eye occurring today
on the shortest day.

My Poem ‘Gunpowder’

There is a full-moon shining;
there are a million stars above my head twinkling;
there is the unmistakable smell of distant fires;
there is another indistinguishable aroma,
taste, sensation, in the air,
that invigorates me-
races the blood in my veins,
enlarges my heart, expands my lungs-
and that is what everyone, everywhere,
on this night, here,
which was to be Guy Fawkes’ modus operandi
a long time ago, on a similar night,
on the fifth of November:
the powder that helps propel a bullet,
that which is contained and which explodes
within a firework-
the one and only, gunpowder.

The black sky is coloured with every colour;
flashes and bangs, light and sound,
enthrall, surprise, awe-inspire, constantly
with little-to-no pause, in rapid-frequency.
Adults look up, children grin with excitement-
everyone wants to be outside, even in the cold,
so that they can feel the rush of being awestruck,
and so that they can remember, experience,
and know what is important.

A brilliant expression of celebration;
a phenomenal invention that has changed the world,
more than anything anyone may be able to mention;
a visceral spectacle that you can see and hear
that does not come much louder-
the explosive mixture at the other end of a fuse
that sends rockets into the sky,
and hearts and imaginations souring into the great unknown;
a magical dust that should always be handled with care;
that is in the air at this time of the year,
before, and beyond, the time of the midnight hour-
the defining chemistry, and DNA of a firework:
gunpowder.

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Remember remember the 5th of November