My Poem ‘Experimentation’

Everything begins with experimentation…
most of the things that we love the most
once began as something unknown…
most things we seemingly
stumble upon at random…
most of the things that we take with us wherever we go
are the things that remind us of the wonders
that we remember of our childhood home…
we grow up with certain things…
we grow up with people who we know, and who know us…
we lose things… we have to look in more than one direction
in order to find our focus.

When we start looking beyond our comfort-zone,
when we start following a voice
that calls to us like an S.O.S,
when we start caring about a people
and a world that is not our own,
when we start finding others who bring out our best…
a chain-reaction of events without-end forms…
a new thing is born…
a new way of exploring
the infinite possibilities of the universe is launched…
a new sword to defend you from the dark of the world is forged.

Everything is a continuation…
everybody is a DJ – and every day we all remix what we see,
what we hear, what we feel, in our mind and in our imagination…
when we look around, when we want to journey to somewhere
with a definitive-destination, and we stop to think
about why any of us are here and what should be
our new source of motivation…
when we want a bit of the old and a bit of the new,
when we want both the contemporary and the retro,
then it doesn’t hurt to spin the wheel of inspiration
and dabble in a bit of artistic experimentation.

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My Poem ‘Welcome Back’

It’s been a long time
since I thought like a poet,
or wrote a rhyme…
I didn’t know if
I would be able to do it again,
when I opened my notebook
and I picked up my pen.

I have been enjoying life
living every day surrounded by love,
but now I am traveling
into the morning light
and flying like a dove…
an island on the other side
of the Atlantic Ocean is calling:
I am going back home
to where the temperature is low
and snowflakes are falling.

I don’t want to leave where my journey began –
I am happy to see my family again,
but I am truly sad to be leaving
the love of my life and my second family…
I can still see the last face I saw
before I left America behind for a while,
I can still see in my mind
the house that has been my home
for two weeks, or more,
that has the family name
hanging over it of “Dial”.

Once in a life-time memories made,
but now I am flying on a plane
to the land of Shakespeare,
red TELEPHONE boxes,
green-fields, and The Beatles…
in 10 hours, I will be back home in England –
however, already I feel a sensation
of ‘butterflies’, and pins-and-needles.

My mind is always in the rear-view mirror,
I am always reliving in my mind
moments that other people
might think too small
and too brief to be remembered…
when I left the U.S. tears fell down my cheeks –
whenever I have to make a difficult leap
it is always hard for me to know
what to say and how to speak –
however, though time has gone by too fast,
I know that this time will not be my last,
being where I think about every hour of the day,
with those whom cannot wait to see me again
and wish me a heart-felt ‘Welcome back!’

My Poem ‘The Messenger’

Everybody is here on this Earth,
everybody is a part of this world,
for a reason – but, sometimes,
most of the time, more often than not,
people have no idea why…
I, however, know exactly why I am here,
why I am alive, and what my reason to live is
and will be until the day I die:
I am a messenger, but not a messenger
that you may expect,
I do not look like any “messenger”
that I have seen in my life –
I do not wear a uniform,
and what I does not always require me to drive…
I suppose I am like an old-fashioned telephone receiver,
and when I receive a very important call
with a very important message to be delivered to someone
I answer it without question or hesitation
and I go to pass on what I have been asked to deliver.

I never know who the sender is,
I never know who the recipient will be –
I only know a face, sometimes I even know a first-name;
I do not know what the message I am delivering is
sometimes until the moment that I deliver it…
I don’t even know where I am going
until I see the signs showing me the way
to where I need to get to –
it’s like I am painting a picture of something
that hasn’t happened yet as I take each and every step,
and it is only at the end of my delivery
that I can see the complete picture in its entirety,
like stepping back and looking at a canvas
newly-framed and mounted on the wall of a gallery.

I have delivered more messages than I can remember:
a young man sitting on a bus…
I remember telling him something
that his older sister wanted him to know:
that even though she had run away from home she still loved him
and that they would see each-other again one day –
some of the messages are so emotional to deliver,
I cannot help but break-down in tears
as I give them their message,
but in the same breath I love being the bearer of hope
and that sometimes invisible and silent hand
upon a person’s shoulder
telling them that every-thing is going to be alright.

I am not sure why I was chosen…
I am not sure who it was who chose me…
I am not sure if I am doing God’s work…
I am not sure what happens next
after I reach out, on behalf of someone else,
to another person…
I am not sure if my delivery of the message
is delivered in the same way as was intended –
most of the time I can deliver
what the message is with a look
and with a burst of thought,
like I am the conductor
of some kind of psychic-electricity;
sometimes I just let the message do all the work
and I just watch from behind my own eyes
while my body acts as if it has been possessed
by some kind of magical curse.

To most people who meet me,
I am nothing more than a stranger;
to a higher-power,
I am the one whom they chose
to be their psychic-amplifier;
to the sender of the messages that I send,
I am a link to someone who they want to talk to
without having to use their own voice –
I am their secret-teller,
I am one of their story-tellers…
I am here, I am there,
to be close and near to someone,
so that I can be who from a small child
I was always destined to be:
‘The Messenger’.

My Poem ‘The Zone’

The best days
have yet to be lived;
the best poems
have yet to be written;
the best of things
anybody is able to have
and are able to give;
the best way to learn
how to create
is to look, to listen,
to think, and to imagine.

Moving forwards;
stepping backwards;
looking left, looking right;
learning new words;
discovering new worlds;
saving the best for last;
constantly reaching towards the light.

What gives a writer such power,
what gives a warrior such strength,
what gives a cheetah such speed,
is the same heart that helped
build the tallest of towers,
is the same will that once made
knights of armour fight to the death,
and it is the same fire of inspiration
within me that can be found
emblazoned in every line
and verse of my poetry.

If you want to be strong
you have got to walk tall;
if you want to get through
to the other side of something
you have got to push;
if you want to savour the moment of something
be sure to remember not to rush;
if you want to know
the right way to go
then sometimes you have got to feel the path
before you see it
and make the final judgment call.

Everything is a resource;
every spark is a power source;
every idea is a leap into the unknown;
everyone has a secret place they can go to
when they need to truly focus on something
and get into the zone.