My Poem “The Harvest Moon”

The Harvest Moon
shone high in the morning sky…
The Harvest Moon shined so bright
I became entranced by its light…
The Harvest Moon
hung huge and breathtaking
against the blue of the clear air above…
The Harvest Moon –
the coming of a new season
and a beacon of natural beauty,
and as awe-inspiring and as white as a dove…
The Harvest Moon
captured my attention, sparked my imagination,
and filled my vision that twilight October day…
The Harvest Moon is a sign
that winter is on the way…
The Harvest Moon has long been used by early-risers
as a torch to guide them in whatever they do…
The Harvest Moon, to me,
is an amazing celestial event
and an inspiring sight to see –
and I hope that it is not too long before
I get to see another beautiful Harvest Moon.

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My Poem ‘Forget Me Not’

One season is winding-down,
another season is rising…
one season is out-staying its welcome,
another is fast-approaching…
as always, there is a transition taking place…
there is a change of colour in nature’s palette,
and a different air of feeling on nature’s face…
the planet is turning, the world is changing…
everybody is slowly preparing for what is to come,
and there will soon be an end to all the waiting
when nature starts calling for us all
to live for the moment that we find ourselves in…
soon the flowers of Summer will rise, bloom, and shine –
and like each and every one of us
lift up their heads towards the bright energy
of the sun’s intense light.

There are a great many things that are seasonal
and are only seen when the time is right…
during the winter, people wear blacks, whites,
dark-browns, and shades of grey…
when it is spring, greens, blues, yellows,
and reds start to recur and be seen
in many choices of fashion –
perhaps they can be noticed more
because the nights start to become short
and there are now more hours of daylight?
During the summer, it is like
there is a festival of colour going on
all over the world –
from San Francisco to London,
and from France to Australia:
vibrant, energizing, mesmerizing,
and breathtaking colours that keep people
feeling good and smiling…
and when autumn reveals itself,
there are wonderful tones, echoes,
and signatures of warm browns, orange,
and copper everywhere you look –
on the leaves of the trees,
in the colour of the coats that people wear,
and even the air has an ambiance,
an accent, a smell, a fall-fullness,
and a feeling that you can only find and feel
in the autumn months in which
the celebrations of Halloween,
Guy Fawkes Night in the UK,
Thanksgiving in the US takes place…
and when forget-me-not flowers grow
and show their memorable colour-combination
of yellow and blue.

Everybody has their favourite season
and their favourite time of the year…
everybody longs to revisit memorable experiences
that they have lived…
everybody knows that when the time is right
certain things that we want to do
we will just do, because they feel right…
everybody is familiar with the many faces
of our beautiful and constantly changing planet,
and when the touch of the season that we love so much
touches our skin, and overwhelms our senses –
that is when we all enjoy
and we make the most of
every moment that we would
find so hard to ever forget.

My Poem ‘The Meaning’

As with most things
it all begins in our eyes
and with what and whom
we see with our eyes…
as with most things
we all come to things,
places, people,
from different directions
and at different times…
as with most things
there are always things
that we regret…
as with most things
a part of something
always remains within
the heart and the soul of something
even after the outer-layers
have withered away and died.

Humanity is fragile…
every day of a person’s life
they are in a constant state of change;
humanity by nature is fallible…
every day of their life
a person can do things
that when looked upon in retrospect
they would see them as a collage of mistakes;
everybody is prone to repetition
and we value our routines;
we are all so caught up in our own lives sometimes
that we are mostly oblivious
to the changing of the times
and the rhythms of life.

A life is full of meaning,
even if you can’t see it:
music, children, love, sport, art,
work can give a person’s life what they need…
no two people live the same life in the same way…
no one and nothing ever stops changing…
what matters the most in life
is what you find in the moments of silence
when there is no sound, music, or talking –
there and then is where you find
what lies within your heart
and what you cannot live without
because of the way that it fills
your life with such meaning.

My Poem ‘Walking the line’

Literally, figuratively,
physically, emotionally,
I have been walking a line
or two my entire life…
just like Johnny Cash,
near the infamous Nickajack cave
in Tennessee,
I walked the tracks of a railroad-line –
and I can honestly say
that on the beautiful morning in February,
while I was walking alongside the Tennessee river
with the love of my life
and my adoptive family,
I too had what could be called
a “spiritual experience”:
the sky was blue,
the light was golden,
and I felt more alive than I had ever felt –
I was renewed, and I did not even for a second
think to look back over my shoulder,
because all that mattered
were the moments of perfection
that I was living out in nature
and under the life-giving and incredible sun.

Walking any kind of a line
is always when and where
something life-changing begins;
walking down a road that you don’t know
is how you can discover
and learn to embrace something unknown
and completely different;
walking, and not rushing,
is how to savor the beautiful
and the miraculous things about life
that speedsters sometimes miss
because they travel at the speed of lightning;
walking has always been a passion of mine –
and I swear that you haven’t lived
until you have stopped and heard
the breathtaking sound
of the Earth when it sings.

Every day people walk the line of life and death;
every day people walk the line of light and dark;
every day people walk right and left;
every day people walk to live,
and to live they have to walk far;
every day people walk
even though every step may feel like mile;
every day people walk through all weathers;
every day people walk through fire
and must overcome a torrent of trials;
every day people walk and repent
so that one day they can be
welcomed through the gates of heaven.

No matter what demons lie in your past,
you have got to keep walking
even though there may be times
when you don’t feel fine;
no matter what baggage you carry
that you think you can’t let go of,
sometimes you have got to learn
to let go of what you don’t need anymore,
and don’t look too longingly
at the light of the past
because before too long it may make you blind;
you haven’t lived in this life
if you haven’t at some point or another
been asked to pick a side;
there is no one alive
who hasn’t had to walk away from something
so that they to walk towards something –
no matter what, no matter the time,
everybody in their life
has got to walk the line.

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My Poem ‘V’

Our lives are stories
within an epic and ever-evolving,
ever-changing, ever-continuing poem
that started at the moment
that the universe began;
my own life has changed over time –
as I have grown, experienced,
thought, and felt, the world
and everybody whom I have met
has contributed into making me
who I am now at every turn;
we are more free to be who we want to be
when we are young and when we know nothing
about the need of adults to make plans;
I always knew that I had an energy
and a passion within myself –
however, it is only since I began
writing poetry and stories
that I have felt as if I were able
to allow the inspired fire
within my heart to burn.

I can still remember
the first poem I ever wrote;
I can still recall
where I was when I started
to put together the poems
and the pages and the images
of my first book;
I can still feel what it was like
when I knew that I had a gift
and that I could use words
to express my feelings
like a musician makes music
by playing notes;
I can still sit, stare,
and hold my pen and my notebook
in my hand and relive
the experience of inspirations magic touch.

Every time that I unveil
a new poetic-offspring of mine,
to me it is like seeing
the face of your own child smile
for the first time;
every time I start writing
and the words flow
and come fast like the water
of a raging-river,
the light and the energy
that binds everything together
starts to shimmer;
every time I am inspired
I can feel something inside of me
fighting to break free of me
and explode like a cannon;
every time of every writing
of a new poem is like witnessing
the golden light of an unending dawn.

I still have to pinch myself
to believe how lucky I am;
I still have to look in the mirror
and marvel at all that I have seen,
all that I have experienced,
and all that I remember from my life;
I still have to find a way every day
to use the power of what I know,
but that which other people
might not at first understand;
I still have to daily accept
the awesome feeling of pride that I feel
in myself at all that I have personally achieved
and done – especially when I flick through
and I re-read and remember
all the poems that I have written
that have been published in my books…
I still find it incredible to believe
that not only do I have one book
of my poetry and stories published –
but, in fact, instead of one,
as I write this, I am looking at the cover
of book number five.

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My Poem ‘The Changeling’

Everybody changes;
everyone has been changing
into someone else
since the day that they were born;
everybody goes through a myriad
of different faces;
everyone is a brand new dawn.

Everybody loves;
everyone cries;
everybody sometimes finds life tough;
everyone dies;
everybody has their moment to shine;
everyone sees the world slightly differently;
everybody sometimes has to cross a line;
everyone will never be you,
as you will never be everybody.

Changing is remaking;
knowledge is an endless forest;
thinking is daydreaming;
trust is a test;
interactions are fascinations;
some hello’s are also goodbyes;
reflections are misdirections;
everything is worth a try.

To care should never be thought of as a crime;
to feel should be thought of as a miracle;
to take your time should never be
thought of as a waste of time;
to miss something or someone
so much that your whole body hurts
is both hard and beautiful.

Memories replace other memories;
some people fall into shadow,
as others step into the light;
vision changes depending on the way
that you use your eyes;
stars can be blinding
when you are standing close to them,
and sometimes they are more beautiful
to look at, and to be comfortable with,
when seen from far away –
like the stars of the sky
that shine and arc through the veil
of the atmosphere at night.

Life is busy;
life can sometimes make you feel
like you are going crazy;
everyone lives different lives;
everybody has their own mind;
people should always strive
to find the thing that in all the world
to them has the power
to set off a chain-reaction
that will never stop being rejuvenating;
life is a puzzle in the making
that is amazing to those who understand
that everyone and everybody is a changeling.

My Poem ‘Imago’

The image in the mirror,
the reflection in the water,
the memories you will never forget,
the non-mistakes you will never regret,
the changing masterpiece of your life,
the height and the stream, from which,
and into which, you dive,
is you, is everything,
is what no one else will ever see,
or will ever know,
what you will be always and forever,
wherever you go.

No one will ever know your struggle;
no one will ever feel what you feel;
no one will ever know why you walked
and were splashed by all those rain puddles;
no one will ever see the image of your ideal.

There are skies of many colours,
that all mean something different to everyone;
there are situations and experiences that are also lessons;
the more intense something is,
and the more meaningful it feels,
can also mean the more fun;
you and your shadow are the ghost,
and the angel, or monster,
you can never out-run.

What you are going to be only you can decide;
who you want to spend your life with,
in one way or another,
is the answer to whom and what resides in your heart;
how easy life feels, you can only know
when you naturally realize
that you don’t even have to fly anymore,
because you can simply glide;
who will remember you when you are gone
are those who knew you and will always know you,
because of the marks and the ever-lasting echoes
of the muses of your art.

When you dream your last dream,
when you think your last thought,
when you have taught everything that you can possibly teach,
when you have been taught everything that you can be taught,
you will know that the metamorphosis you have been undertaking
is finally at an end and will be a link to everything
and everyone before and after you, like a bridge,
your entire life and its meaning will be who, and what you are,
and how you appear, and are seen, in your last image.