My Poem “Being Brave”

Even while there are still clouds
creating a fog that makes it
hard to see what is going to happen
next and when things will once again
return to a state of normalcy
there are embryos of new life
growing within people,
there are sparks of light
sending out signals,
there are new shoots
of growth coming from old plants
continuing to revitalize
our thoughts, our dreams,
our shared existence, our planet.

Small pockets of happiness
have started to reemerge…
small gestures of generosity
are being made by those
who want to do something
for somebody else…
small pieces of creativity
are being found to bring joy
to those who are struggling the worst…
the smallest of things quickly become
important in a person’s life
and they can give those in need
unlimited amounts of hope.

There is always a way out
of any dark place…
there are always lights
to guide everybody –
on Earth as well as in outer space…
there is always somewhere
that we all feel safe…
there are always possibilities –
which is why sometimes
the strongest thing that anybody can do
is to remember to take every day
as it comes and if possible
to embrace the power of being brave.

My poem ‘The Drummer’

It was all he heard…
it was all he felt…
it was all he wanted to do…
every morning, every night,
the drummer felt a longing,
and the beat was the only cure…
over and over again,
the drummer played the rhythm
of his favourite beat in his mind,
with the fingers of his hands,
and every time that he tapped his feet…
it was as if it was his own heart beating…
it was as if it was his own pulse racing…
it was the most epic sound
he had ever heard in his life,
since he was a baby
and he used to look out his bedroom window
and listen to the thundering sound
of the pita-patter on the window-pane
when it was raining…
it was more powerful
than any kind of hunger or craving…
to Mark, the music was like the heart-beat of God…
to Mark, the music that came from his soul
was something that was transcendental…
to Mark, the music was what kept him
from becoming among humanities lost…
to Mark, the music he heard was what he loved…
and to him it was beautiful.

Becoming a member of a marching-band
had been a dream of Mark’s since he was a child –
Mark had everything that any band
would ever want, or ever need: Mark loved music,
and he loved his favourite instrument…
even as a child Mark would turn his parents’
pots and pans into home-made drums,
and he used to play them,
and his parents let him be free
and express himself, and go wild –
and if anybody came around to visit
Mark and his parents
they would see and hear
Mark playing the most phenomenal of beats,
and every day of his life
music, especially his music,
has become more and more important.

Mark tried-out to be in his high-school band…
Mark had dreams of one day playing
in the marching-band of his favourite
college football team…
Mark played and practiced every minute
he was awake or asleep,
and he knew that it he just played
with all his heart
that everything in his life
would happen as he always dreamed it would,
as if it were all a part of a plan –
however, all Mark could play,
all Mark wanted to play,
all Mark loved to play
was the beat that he heard within…
and when his moment came
to show just how incredible a player
and a drummer he was Mark froze…
and then he did what he always did –
he played the music that he knew and loved.

Mark never made it into the marching-band…
Mark was disappointed to not be able to play
and march in front of his favourite football team –
but he wasn’t sad…
to lift his spirits, Mark’s parents ordered him
a band-uniform all of his own and they told him to
“never stop playing” the music that made him
the most happy and the music he had always known…
Mark’s parents told him to go out in his uniform,
with his drum, and “fill the world” with his music
that to them was like no other –
and that is exactly what Mark did:
he went out…
he walked down the main street
of his home town’s most busiest road…
he stopped people and traffic
to a stand-still everywhere he went…
and as he played he knew
that because of his music
he would always be remembered
as the boy, and later the man,
who would always be known as
“The Drummer”.

TheDrummer-sketch-sq

My Poem ‘Forensic’

Mystery, like love,
in my opinion,
is the most potent drug
known to man,
and also the only one
capable of delivering
someone to the deepest of states
of pure intoxication;
mystery haunts the mind
and walks the Earth silently
until the time is right
for its voice to be heard;
mystery makes detectives of us all –
however, the greatest of mysteries
have long-since remained unsolved
and their secrets live on
in the prism of history,
just as the intrigue of their story
will continue to inspire and enthrall
many for all eternity.

There seems to be a constant struggle
between order and disorder;
there are times in life
when something happens
and the only response you can give is: why?;
there are some people who are incapable
of staying on the right side of the law;
there must be something in the genes, I think,
that motivates and compels someone
to commit any crime.

Every whisper contains a seed of truth
that is only a minute part of a much larger story;
every detail of every-thing is evidence
of a structure of moments that goes deep,
as well as towers high;
everybody leaves a trace
that can be followed forward in time,
as well as back;
everywhere there are things
that some people can so easily miss and not see;
everyone is gravity-bound by something
that they live because of and are made whole by;
every instant and every moment
we leave something behind us
that we do not realize,
because time goes by so fast.

A state of being is psychological;
a state of reproducing is biological;
a state of acting without thinking is instinctual;
everybody trips, everyone falls;
everybody utters words of inspiration
from time to time over their lips;
everyone at one time or another
hears an empowering call;
every mystery has an answer;
every magician and illusionist
has their signature magic-trick;
every unknown gives someone a reason to wonder;
every puzzle can be solved
if you look for the coincidences
that are not just coincidences –
because in reality all things are clues
in the fascinating world of forensics.

My Poem ‘Time to Remember’

We remember the heroes;
we remember the villains;
we remember the what,
the where, the when, and the why;
we remember the people who tried;
we remember the people who achieved;
we remember those who fought the good fight
but who died while doing what they loved
and what they believed in;
we remember the good times,
and we remember the bad;
we remember the times
that went by too quickly,
that we remember coming to an end
as we looked over our shoulder and cried.

As the weather turns colder,
as the leaves change colour
and then fall to the ground,
as people wrap up more
and wear more layers,
as we buy fireworks and light bonfires
and we gather together
and we start to think about the well-being
of our significant others,
a spirit of good-will and humanity
sweeps over the world.

We should all be thankful for what we have;
there will always be someone
who will look at you
and want what means the most to you;
we all make new footprints
while walking again down familiar paths;
sometimes, especially at this time of the year,
things of importance come to light
that before you always wondered about
but you never knew.

Gifts of sentiment,
things that still carry a shine of memory,
the unique and the different,
the people who matter to you dearly,
seem to glow brighter
at the coldest and the darkest time of the year-
and now is the perfect time
to tell someone or to remind someone
that as long as they are in your thoughts
and as long as they are a part of your life
that they need not fear.

Gather, surround,
think, thank, be grateful, wrap,
step closer, invite,
reconnect the ties
that were once believed severed forever;
forgive, but do not forget;
make the most of the present;
save all that you can,
because these are the times
of your life to remember.

Time-to-remember-poem-excerpt