My Poem “Want to take a ride?”

Some people love riding…
some people live to jump
on the saddle of a horse,
or on the saddle a bicycle,
on the seat of a scooter,
or on to the seat of a motorcycle –
especially on the weekend
when people feel like
time is on their side
and they can glide through
the quiet lanes of the countryside,
or down the open highways with
the wind blowing against their face,
while enjoying every moment
and every ounce of the feeling
of being unburduned by anything,
and some people also enjoy
the opportunity of the pure release
of their inner nature
that they get to make.

Some people have a great affection
for past times that make them feel rebellious –
as if they are doing something
that they shouldn’t be doing:
like disregarding a sign that says
“DO NOT ENTER” or “SLIPPERY WHEN WET”,
and they still decide to proceed
regardless to what awaits them within
the forbidden place before them…
some people are simply unable to fight
the feeling that rises within them
that makes them want to
face their fears, take a leap,
and expand the boundaries
of their imagination.

Some people sometimes do things
that they know other people
have died while doing…
some people sometimes do things
that are dangerous
because the experience of doing
certain activities is profoundly thrilling
and sometimes life-fulfilling…
some people who live near a beach
love to start their day by taking
their surfboard and riding the crests
of the early morning waves…
some people love being active,
being brave, and seeking out
their calling in life in many different ways.

Some people live to explore…
some people love to dive…
some people like the ritual
of waking up at dawn
and taking their dog for a long walk…
some people want nothing more
than to do what they want,
when they want, how they want –
especially those who wake up
every day when they do not have
anything in particular to do
and who can take the steps
to fully answer the question of:
“Where do you want to go?”…
some people experience
the feeling of being “more alive”
when they instively act upon
the question posed by
their adventurous side,
which is usually a variation
along the lines of:
“Want to take a ride?”

“Life should not be a journey to the grave
with the intention of arriving safely
in a pretty and well preserved body,
but rather to skid in broadside
in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up,
totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming
“Wow! What a Ride!”

– Hunter S. Thompson

My Poem ‘Sputnik’

It’s six o’clock at night,
on a cool spring evening,
and I am looking out my window to the sky
at a beautiful gold and blue light,
watching the sun setting –
and the sight of it takes my breath away;
and within seconds,
I watch the sky go from red to grey,
as all that I see becomes draped
in the dark veil of twilight.

I watch the stars appear;
I see the planets rise;
I see the ultimate display of the constellations,
and I name them one by one, as I imagine them;
and then, when I see the constellation of Orion,
I am awestruck by how wonderfully its stars
shine so clear, and my entire vision
is that of an infinite number of stars in my eyes.

I spent my day taking in nature,
listening to the world around me,
being captivated by birdsong,
and watching the building of bird-nests
in the branches of the trees above,
and in the hedges of the ground below;
I spent my day believing that I knew
all in life that I could ever need to know.

Right this second, I feel like a satellite;
right at this moment, I feel like I am alone in space,
and no one even knows I am here –
because I am just a faint moving white dot in the dark sky;
right now, I feel so far away –
like a distant flickering candle
in the window of a cottage atop a hill;
and barely noticeable –
like a star of the night;
now, I look down,
and around at everyone else on Earth,
and I see what I can of their lives:
I see true happiness,
and I wonder what that feels like.

I look up at the moon;
I gaze up at the stars;
I see the heavens –
the place from where we all came from,
and I dream that I may return there soon;
I imagine that I can reach up and touch the sky,
because in the dark the void of space
does not seem that far.

Every human being has looked above
on a star-lit night, and wondered:
are we alone in the universe?
And, is anybody else out there?
I have asked myself that very question,
and I know the definitive answer –
and I speak that answer aloud every night.

Everybody sometimes goes into their own
“hibernation mode”, in which they appear
to leave their worries in another place somewhere;
I have always found it difficult
to remove myself from the world,
and not think about what is always on my mind;
some days I wish I could be a living, breathing,
astronaut floating in space –
or a part of Earth, circling the planet,
like the very first satellite: Sputnik.

image

My Poem ‘Time Capsule’

One of the great things about poetry, and poems,
is that they are time capsules;
one of the greatest experiences for anybody to be
is an archaeologist, a digger, a finder –
a person with a question, searching for an answer;
one of the great things about capturing moments in time
is that one day in the future
you can accidentally unearth an old poem, a faded photo,
or a small gift that someone bought you,
and instantly know and remember where and when you were
at a time in your life, and in someone else’s life;
and, to some people, the pieces of time
can be like rocket fuel,
and one of the greatest things about being a writer,
like me, is that I know that I will always
have a wealth of memories in the form of living
and breathing mental pictures, and in notebooks,
filled with thoughts and emotions of mine,
that will someday number so many
they may even fill an entire library,
and I sometimes wonder what people will say and think
when my own words and experiences
are read and come to light again in the future.

I always wanted to leave something for other people to find,
a question that only I could answer –
when I was a child I even made my own time capsule
and buried it in my garden,
and for all I know it is still there;
at my school, we also buried a class time capsule –
however, what someone will find one day of mine
I cannot tell you, because unfortunately I do not remember.

The memory of the world is fluid;
to leave our mark, we need to make our own monument;
things can easily be forgotten,
and can quickly turn to dust,
if you do not etch them into reality
so that they cannot be rubbed out or undone –
and in that way they will always be
a seeing stone, a crystal ball,
and a bubble of time that will never burst.

When you read this,
remember that this is me who is writing this;
whoever you are,
remember and keep alive this moment,
and reread this poem of time,
and please keep a hold of your own memories –
it is one of the most human of things to do,
and also one of the most natural;
if you want to keep something for a rainy day
so that you, or someone else,
can rediscover it one day,
make it the thing that at that moment
is your life-long and your most precious wish.
Leave things behind you like breadcrumbs,
and keep going, and everything you leave behind,
of you, will be its own time capsule.

My Poem ‘Voilร !’

Have you ever thought about something,
and then there it was?
Have you ever thought about someone,
and then there they were?
Have you ever asked a question,
and then got an answer?
Have you ever seen something,
and thought to yourself:
“nothing could ever be better than this”?

I have always liked
the magic of the “spur of the moment”;
I have always loved
the illusionist’s favourite trick
of “now you see me, now you don’t”;
I have always longed
to be a man of surprise;
I have always made the most of every moment
that has filled my eyes.

The gift to spontaneously create something
is unbelievably amazing, to me;
the ability to be able
to make something out of practically nothing,
is like a verse right out of nature’s
magic book of poetry;
the imagination that shows itself in a piece of art,
is as phenomenal to see and to witness
as the expression of a random thought.

A magician would not be as entrancing
if he did not have the most amazing sense of timing;
a chef would not be the best they could be
if they did not know, and have an instinct,
about what ingredients go with what;
a musician with a natural talent
might need to the learn the art of refinement,
however they do not need to go through
too much intense training;
a true creative person
can do anything with whatever they have got.

I have seen the most amazing sights
when I had no expectation of seeing anything exciting;
I have heard a piece of music that has moved me –
from the strings being played by a stranger,
who plays as if they were born
holding and plucking the cords of a guitar;
I have felt enlightenment
that felt like being struck by lightning;
I have had my own moments of reveal;
and I love being there whenever there is an instance
when someone can show their magic,
and have their moment of voilร !