My Poem ‘The Hummingbird House’

Standing in a room
surrounded in every direction
by flying hummingbirds;
the childhood dream
of a little girl walking
through a vast field of yellow daises
beneath a cloudless bright-blue sky;
standing on a green hilltop
looking down at your home below;
the adventure of a not-yet
grown up boy’s life-time,
and a return to a place
that he knows so well
it is almost as indelibly under his skin
it could almost be a tattoo;
on a cold winter’s day
the light shines differently
than it does at the same time of day
during the summer;
people change just as much as the seasons do;
a simple act of kindness can be something
that some people hold on to for luck
like a four-leafed clover;
when you become intoxicated by a moment
time goes wonderfully slow.

Dreams are our life’s internal movie-theatre;
our dreams are like the software
that runs the most powerful super-computer;
emotions are our way of interpreting
the meaning of what we see,
what we hear, what we feel,
and what we think;
all of our memories share and are
connected to an infinite number of mutual links.

Two different people
can look up at the same cloudy sky
and see two radically different formations;
a hundred people can be in the same place
at the same time for many different reasons;
a thousand people could each give you
a thousand and one different answers
to the same question;
all of human-kind begins anew
a different cycle every time
there is the rise of a new generation.

A house made of glass tells no lies,
but at the same time is precious to the touch
because of what it is;
a rose is one of the most beautiful gifts of nature,
but it also has the means to protect itself;
to me, someone with a thousand books to read
is richer than someone with a thousand dollars to spend;
a dream that has come true for you
is also known by another name: happiness;
heaven is a story that has no end;
everybody and anybody who has ever stopped
and stood, and who has ever looked
at a beautiful sight with an open mouth,
knows intimately what it is like
to have been inside a hummingbird house.

My Poem ‘David’s Magic’

There once was a little boy called “David”,
who grew up in a small village
in the middle of the great forests
and the green fields of the English countryside,
who was the best son any father and mother could ever ask for,
who was always laughing, joking, smiling,
who had the most imaginative, amazing, and unburdened mind,
who loved his family so much, and who felt so lucky
to have the loving family he had, and the happiest of lives.

David’s enthusiasm for life extended in every direction,
and his passion for things, and for people’s well-being,
was one of great depth;
David’s natural caring nature was amazing to behold,
and his energy was like the locomotives that he loved
and looked at in-awe – unstoppable;
but David was never one to ever be seen out of breath.

On a weekend morning,
as the sun was rising over the nearby Chelmsley Woods,
David could be seen riding his bike with his basket on the front,
delivering loaves of freshly baked bread from the local bakery
to the houses of his home village – come rain, or shine;
David was well known to all who lived in this idyllic English hamlet,
where you literally did not have to at any time
think about locking any of the doors of your house,
but David was so trusting, and trusted by all who knew him,
anybody who you might ask to describe David in one sentence,
would most likely use the same four words, in the same order:
one of a kind.

David loved trains;
David adored planes;
David bred racing pigeons in his backyard;
David liked helping both his Mum and his Dad,
and anybody in need;
and if he truly wanted something
he wasn’t afraid to put every effort
into attaining what he wanted by working hard.

David was smart;
David was handsome, and charming;
David was exceptionally gifted at art;
David was a phenomenal ornithologist,
and he could identify any bird in any tree, or in any bush,
simply from hearing two seconds of their calling.

David was a self-taught boy, and young man,
and he learned things at lightning-speed,
and he had to learn how to cope with everything
that life can throw at a person, from a young age;
David lost his parents when he was still a boy –
but, even to this day, he has never thought that tragedy and loss
should ever be thought of as a lasting cage.

David was a boy who treasured life,
and who was always seizing every moment,
and making the most of every second;
David was a popular boy,
who had lots of friends,
and when possible he was always having fun:
whether he was helping someone,
putting together and painting Airfix models of airplanes,
or making something amazing out of wood;
there was always the opinion of David
that if anything could be done,
then David could, and David most definitely would.

As David grew up, he would see, hear, and do things,
and go places many of us would never contemplate,
and can’t imagine –
growing up, David would try his hand, and be the best at:
being a mechanic, a garage owner, an underground coal miner,
a JCB driver, a truck driver, an inventor, a designer,
a builder, a logger, a home-mover, the best husband,
and the most incredible father, and hero ever;
and even as an adult with children,
people still remember, talk fondly about,
think with warm memories, recollections, and feelings,
in their heart, for David;
and as his son, and as one of his lucky and loving children,
who have the happy privilege and honour, every day
to look into the blue eyes of our Dad in person, or in a photo,
there isn’t a second that goes by when I do not feel
eternal wonder and love of my Dad’s spirit,
my Dad’s smile, my Dad’s life, my Dad,
David’s, unbelievable magic.

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My Poem ‘The Eternal Boy’

What I think is one of the most amazing things
about being a child, is that when you are a child
you have no filter;
I personally think that despite their lack of words
and vocabulary, a child is an incredible and terrific communicator.
A child is the perfect communicator,
because they never stop asking questions,
and they always have an answer or an expression for everything;
a child will say anything, cry, laugh, dance, and sing,
without any feeling of embarrassment
or thought of doing anything wrong;
a child acts and bounces around in every way
like a coiled spring;
a child feels their most joyous and free
when they are testing the limits of what they are told.

I sometimes feel like Peter Pan,
like the boy who never grew up;
I sometimes feel like I am fighting against those in life
whom do not understand me, and whom would choose
to silence me and subdue my creativity,
and keep me from flying among the clouds in my own world –
my own personal Captain Hook.
Imagination is the key,
and something that people as they grow older forget that they have;
imagination and freedom of expression
is what we are all born with.

Growing up doesn’t mean losing yourself;
growing older doesn’t mean changing your child-like disposition;
growing physically doesn’t mean forgetting the awe of magic
that you can have even as an adult;
growing emotionally doesn’t mean cutting short
your journey of wonder expedition.

There are things that not even what happens to us in life
can change or erase;
there are things that cannot be found unless you look;
there are things that are forever crystallized
on the expressions of everybody’s face;
there are things that you just can’t stop or stub;
there is a spark of life and pure happiness
that stays with you from when we are a child,
and a reminder to us all that we should
never completely grow up.

My Poem ‘Ghost on my bed’

When I was a child,
around the age of eight or nine,
I was sleeping in bed,
when I suddenly woke up in the dark-
I’m not sure what time it was,
but it was definitely after midnight-
and the lasting memory
that has stayed with me every day since
is that of me turning over in my bed
to look down at the light
coming from underneath my bedroom door,
and even though it was seemingly warm in my bed,
the air around me had gone incredibly cold-
as if I were sleeping in a bedroom
that was also a fridge;
and I also remember, from out of nowhere,
the feeling that I was being watched,
and that I was not alone.

I must have been lying there
for what must have been only a few seconds,
when I turned my head to look away from the light
towards the dark of my bedroom wall,
when I suddenly felt the mattress I was sleeping on
sink, as if someone was sitting on my bed besides me,
and I could feel their weight,
and their touch on the back of my neck.
It was definitely not the wind,
it was definitely not my imagination;
it was definitely someone, or something;
it was definitely a presence, a spirit,
a phantom, an apparition,
that felt real and was real-
it was a life that was still living in some form,
who had come to pay me a visit.

I did not make a sound;
I did not cry;
I did not look around;
I did feel frightened and unsettled, I am not going to lie;
I just lay there; I just listened;
I just closed my eyes and wondered whether
when I woke up in the morning
whomever was now sitting on my bed would still be there;
I just remember drifting away,
until I saw the light of my dreams glisten.

I woke up in the morning,
still with the memory of the night before
alive and burning in my mind.
I opened the curtains to let the new day’s sunlight in,
and I looked around, and I sighed.
To this day, I do not know what, or who,
came to me on that night a long time ago;
I do not know if they were once alive and they knew me,
or someone I know who is not yet dead;
I do not know who was there in the gloom of my room,
but I do know that one night when I was a boy
there was a ghost who sat on my bed.