My Poem “The Warstone Angel”

In all of Warstone cemetery,
in Birmingham,
above only one of the many places of rest,
there stands the stone statue
of a single Angel, with one broken wing,
blessing the grave of lost
and reminding the living
who pass them by how important
the gift of life is –
and though the figure depicted
is motionless, because after all
they are a statue,
there is something about the look
upon their face that makes
you think, imagine, and possibly believe
that they could easily come to life
and float down to the ground
from their high plinth
and walk the paths that run
through the cemetery
so that they may bless
the graves of everybody
individually and know them by name
even though some of the grave stones
have long since had the identity
of those that they were erected
to remember eroded and erased…
it is comforting to think
that while we are alive,
and even after our time on this Earth
has come to an end,
that there are celestial beings
who do God’s work and who protect
those who need protecting,
who guide those in need of being guided
and who watch over the living,
as well as the dead,
so that they can find their way
to a place of peace –
and that is why I treasure
the gift of life, and that is why I believe
death is not the end for us when we die:
because some things, some places,
some revelations that people have,
even in a small way,
reveal that there is more to existence
than what we can see with our eyes –
but only those who have already
crossed over the threshold
between the world of the living
and the place of light and dark beyond
know what happens
and how much everybody
who is still Earthbound
are touched every day
by the hands of Angels
as they are silently blessed.


My Poem ‘Thirty-six’

So much has changed,
so much is different…
I still have the same name,
I still live in the same place,
and for the most part
I still have the same face –
but I am not the boy who I once was…
and, as I always do at this time of the year,
I am wondering to myself,
as I stare at my own reflection:
what about me has changed the most?

These days, I have brown hair –
where as when I was a child I was a natural-blond…
these days, I take journeys to many places on my own –
where as when I was a boy growing up in my village
the furthest away from home that I went
was down to the end of the road
and to the nearest duck-pond…
these days, I spend hours dreaming up new stories
and making up adventures for complex characters –
where as when I was a boy, I… I…
to be honest, I pretty-much did exactly the same thing –
but these days when I write something
usually I am writing from the experience
of having been through and having seen so much.

I have always asked questions…
I have always looked for the meaning of things…
I have always lived my life without feeling
burdened by other people’s expectations…
I have always looked up to the sky –
at the stars at night,
or to the blue-sky of a Summer’s day –
and I have always been awestruck by what I saw,
because every time I look up I am inspired,
and what follows is always breathtaking.

All life is about change,
about transformation, and about transition…
everyone’s life begins in the same way,
and from the day that we are born
we are all on our way
to the same destination…
all my life, my parents have been there for me
and they have given me more than a son
could ever ask for –
every day, my Mum and Dad are with me
and it is because of them that I am so blessed…
when I was a boy, I said a prayer and I made a wish:
I prayed to God that I would find my purpose,
and that while searching for the meaning of my life
I would find love and happiness…
now, I am an adult –
and, as I look around myself and at my life,
I can say with all my heart
that all my wishes and prayers have come true…
I can honestly say that my life has been one
that I would never have wanted to miss –
even knowing all that I have seen and been through,
I feel loved, and truly blessed to be who I am
and to have done all that I have done…
and I am still only 36.

My Poem ‘Mum & Son’

There is a woman
who has known me all my life…
there is a woman
who loves her family more than anything…
there is a woman
who knows how important it is,
no matter how hard it can feel,
to stand up against an aggressive adversary
and to not give up
when you have got to fight to stay alive…
there is a woman
who looks just as beautiful bald
as she does with a full-head of hair…
there is a woman, a mother,
who has a son, Mark,
and a daughter, Clare…
there is a woman
who knows and who sees
the true face of love and happiness
in the eyes of her husband, David…
there is a woman… my Mum, Bernadette,
who has loved me, who has thought about me,
and who has cared about me every day
that I have lived…
there is no other like my Mum…
there is only one son for this Mum,
and only one Mum for this son…
there is a woman – a wife, a mother –
who daily does the impossible
for the people who she loves…
no matter what she has been through,
there is a woman who has continued
to smile, to stay positive,
and to never give up hope…
there is a woman
who is the eternal friend
to those who are blessed to know her
better than anyone –
her husband, her children…
there is one woman
who I am writing this poem for,
for Mother’s Day…
because I love my Mum!

My Poem ‘Every way as you are’

I love you, my beautiful angel…
I love you, my perfect princess…
I love you, my dream come true,
with all my heart and all my soul…
I love you now and forever…
and I will love you more and more
every day of our life together…
because you are a part of me,
because you make me so happy,
and because the love I feel for you
is endless, limitless,
and it will only become stronger…
because from the moment
that you came into my eyes
I was eternally blessed
by the love of the most
beautiful woman in the world
who I would do anything for
and who inspires me –
my heart, my soul, my mind,
my body, beyond words.

There is no one else on Earth like you –
your eyes, your smile, the way you talk,
the way you laugh, the way you sigh,
the way that you blink your eyes,
takes my breath away and captivates me
and makes my heart beat fast…
you make me want to reach out
and kiss you, just so that I can show you
how you make me feel and what you do to me.

I see, I know, I feel…
I have always seen,
I will always know,
I will always feel
with all my heart
how beautiful, precious,
and gorgeous you are…
I will always be the one
who will tell you how truly amazing
and incredible you are
and how you will always be to me –
even if you cannot see for yourself
how you truly are…
since the day that I met you
and I fell in love with you,
to me it has felt like
I have caught a falling star…
I will never stop loving you for a second,
and how happy I feel every day
knowing that you want to be with me
is truly indescribable…
because every day with you
is like a miracle of god –
because from now until the end of time
there will never be anyone as beautiful
in every way as you are, Melissa.


My Poem ‘The Whispering Gallery’

Every Sunday,
bang on 10 o’clock in the morning,
the bells of St. Martin’s church
ring-out loud and far –
and every Sunday,
when I am standing and listening
in the most perfect spot
that can be found in all the city,
over time I have discovered
an amazing phenomenon…
just as every whispering gallery
that can be found in places
that are often places of silence
and peaceful serenity,
if you whisper a wish into the air,
and it is carried away on the wind
in the right direction,
then that same wish will come true one day
after having been delivered directly to heaven
by the wings of a listening angel –
and that almost silent prayer
will echo and create epic waves,
like an ocean being skipped upon by a stone,
and you will have been blessed –
even though the evidence of what has taken place
and by whom may have already disappeared without a trace.

The bells of St. Martin’s church ring for almost an hour –
the are a source of hope for many, and they have a power.
Church bells, to me, have always had a solemn beauty to them;
church bells are like the accent of a place of worship’s voice,
and I think they are wonderfully important;
church bells have a way of drawing people to them like a beacon;
you have never felt such a feeling like that
of being as close as you can be
to the breathtaking vibrations of sound
that are produced when ancient bells are ringing
and hammers are hitting their mark in a bell-tower.

The world is one big whispering-gallery;
the Earth has places on it
where the magical can be conjured into being
with the flick of a magic-wand
disguised as an ink-pen;
some people want something so much
but they are afraid to ask for help from anybody –
sometimes things can only be heard
when they are said in the first where
and at the right when…
so, I encourage anybody who feels something special
when they are somewhere,
even if that place may not look anywhere
that may be at all “somewhere to write home about”
to let their inner-most thoughts and wishes
be set free into the atmosphere
of the worlds biggest whispering gallery.

My Poem ‘The Angel’s Wings’

‘Where do you keep your wings?’
Asked the Blessed to the Angel;
‘I don’t see any wings on your back?’

‘Well, I keep mine in my wallet,
or sometimes folded up in my back-pack –
but not all angel’s have wings,
as a matter of fact:
some are artists, some are teachers,
some are hair-stylists, some are preachers,’
said the Angel with a smile
as they sat down next to the Blessed
on the park bench.

‘Oh, really?’ Replied the Blessed with a grin,
as they slowly opened the fingers of their hands
from how they had been clenched.

‘Really!’ Replied the Angel
as they looked at the Blessed
and could see that they were now feeling
and appearing as if they now were more relaxed.
A few minutes before, however,
the Blessed had collapsed to the ground
as if they had suffered a heart-attack.

‘Why don’t angel’s just walk around
with their wings on-show?’
Asked the Blessed, ‘Or turn on the light
above their head to tell everybody who they are?
Why don’t they illuminate their halo?’

‘Because, in this day-and-age,
if they did that then everyone would want a ‘selfie’
with them, wouldn’t they?’ Said the angel with a smile
and a chuckled laugh.
‘Most Angel’s keep a low-profile until they are needed.
That didn’t used to be the case a long time ago,
a couple of thousand years ago in the past.
Most of us Angel’s only truly stretch out our wings
when we are trying to get them dry
after we have taken a bath.’

‘Angel’s take baths?’ Asked the Blessed,
‘why don’t you just go for a fly?
I’m sure that a quick flap
would get in no time get them dry?’

‘Good point!’ Replied the Angel
with a sparkle in their eyes;
‘thing is though, the feathers of our wings
‘poof-up’ so badly after they get wet –
or maybe that could just be mine?’

‘Wow!’ Exclaimed the Blessed with a laugh,
‘I had no idea that angel’s could be so funny?’

‘You would be amazed at how many Angel’s
were also comedians when they are on Earth.
Me? I learned all my best one-liners
from Bill Murray on the set of Groundhog Day!
You know, considering that it is a movie
about a man repeating himself over-and-over again,
until he discovers that being a selfless person
is the only way break the endless-cycle,
it wasn’t as boring as you may think in any way.’

‘That is one of my favourite films, actually!
I must have seen it a million times.’

‘Mine too!’ Said the Angel;
‘that film is a classic!
And it is also a wonderful
modern-day parable, in my opinion.
To me, like all great art,
it is one of a kind.’

‘I feel so much better now!’ Said the Blessed.
‘I still can’t remember a thing
about what happened,
but thanks again for helping me!’

‘My pleasure!’ Replied the Angel
as he stood up from his seat
and helped steady the Blessed to their feet.

‘I better be going now.
Thank you so much!
You are my hero! You are my angel!’
Said the Blessed with a smile
before walking away, and looking around
at the beauty of their surroundings,
and taking in every chirp and tweet
of the birds that they heard singing.

And as the Angel watched the Blessed walk away,
they sat down again on the bench,
they crossed their legs,
they closed their eyes,
and they smiled…
and as the sun shone brightly on them
they unfurled their hidden wings of pure-white –
and then with the grace of God
they returned to heaven
in a flash of golden sunlight.

My Poem ‘Song of the Mockingbird’

Far away from Tennessee,
as my ears anticipate
and my eyes look forward,
my heart and my thoughts
are thousands of miles away
across the sea –
and even though I cannot say for sure,
I swear that I hear a song calling to me,
and even though I have yet to see one
outside of the still of a picture,
I believe with all my heart
that the song that I hear
is the true call of a Mockingbird.

In my dreams,
fireflies and lightning bugs
dance and fly through the air
around my love and I;
I dream that I am standing in the dark
outside in the Georgia heat,
locked in a tight embrace
and in awe with the one
to whom I am bound
as we fall under the spell of each other,
and with the beauty of nature;
my dreams, I believe, are also shared dreams
that serve as a doorway to bridge
two thresholds, at any time –
morning, noon, and night;
I believe, and I know,
that you, yourself,
with someone else
can not only tell the future,
but you can make and you can grow
a future that will last forever.

I wish I could take flight right now
and fly across the ocean;
as I write this,
my eyes are drawn to the west;
I wish I could write a poem or a song
to sing so that everybody
could not only read, but also feel,
all of my emotions;
as I gaze out and I see
what lies beyond the horizon,
I feel true love,
and I know that I am blessed.

There are some songs
that are easy to learn
and sing for all to hear, word-for-word;
there are some voices
that are so distinctive
it would take all the gifts of a vocal mimic
in order to make them seem
as if their call were one spoken
by someone of a native tongue
or a particular language who is fluent;
there are some feelings and some spirits
that can freely and easily
fly through the air
over borders, expanses, and fences;
there are some people
who are so beautiful and amazing
in every way that their plumage
and their meaning is one that is known
the world around for being
as one of a kind and as special
as the song of the Mockingbird.