My Poem “A hundred years”

It has been a hundred years
since the First World War ended –
“the war to end all wars” –
and yet humanity still wages war
against itself every day…
it has been a hundred years
since brave men put their lives
on the line to bring peace
to the entire world –
and yet, every day, soldiers
still march, fight, and oppose
the might of an adversarial army and ideology
whose subscribed members
cannot always be plainly identified…
it has been a hundred years,
it has been a life-time,
it has been a century since families
put their hands together to pray
that we may never again see the day
when humanity would take up arms against itself –
and yet people still do harm to others every day,
and peace between everybody cannot be maintained…
it has been a hundred years
since the soldiers and the survivors of World War I
put down their weapons and began
the long walk of grief,
hoping to remember the fallen
and to never allow history to repeat itself;
however, 11 years after the end
of “the war to end all wars”,
another war sparked into life
and millions of people died –
and when it ended, six long years later,
the world was assured that the peace
that was won at a heavy cost would always endure…
it has been a hundred years
since an understanding was reached by many nations
to work together instead of fighting each other –
and yet, a hundred years since
war should have become a thing of the past,
our world is still in a constant struggle with itself
and not everybody wants to get along with one-another;
however, no matter the constant conflict
that still exists around the world,
I still remain hopeful that humanity
will one day find universal peace and serenity –
but hopefully it won’t need to take another hundred years
for the entire world to come to its senses
and learn to get along with each other
for the sake of our children’s future.

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My Poem “Slow down time”

The kids are growing up fast…
time isn’t slowing down for anything…
children are graduating from school
and leaving a part of themselves in the past…
this is when children look forward
and when parents look back…
this is when everybody realizes
that nothing lasts forever,
and when parents wish that they could
relive all those moments with their kids
when they were younger…
it is both a happy time and a sad time…
it is both a time for optimism
and also a time when everybody
has to say their goodbyes…
no one is dying – but, in a way,
it is the end of an era and a time
in a person’s life that will never come again…
parents only want the best for their children,
and the best parents champion their children
in whatever they choose to throw themselves into
and want to excel themselves at –
but seeing their children grow up
and change before their eyes
naturally and uncomfortably
causes parents to feel great pain…
every child cannot wait to grow up,
fall in love, have kids, and settle down –
while most parents, though greatly supportive
for the most part of their child,
just wish that time would just slow down.

My Poem ‘Manchester’

A minute of silence…
a handful of moments…
a precious gift to those
who tragically lost their lives…
sixty seconds of stillness
to remember the children of Manchester.

Only days ago
young and old gathered-together
to enjoy the music of their idol…
not even a week ago
men and women, girls and boys,
showed their love
and shared the love
that they felt for life
with one-another…
it was only the other day
that new angels were born in heaven.

Time does not stop,
but we cannot move on –
we are all still mourning the loss
of the beautiful and innocent souls
who left their homes
but who will sadly never return.

How can a father, a mother,
a sister, a brother,
a cousin, a niece, a nephew,
a relative, possibly understand
and recover from what has happened?
What can a city, a people, a country,
a way of life, a world do to make sure
that the selfish and murderous deeds
of a demonic coward that walks among us
does not win a battle in the epic struggle
that is constantly being fought
between good and evil?

The only way to keep somebody
and something alive
is to never forget them…
the only way that I know how to live
is to hope for the best
and to pray that the entire world
will one day all share
the same hopes for one-another.

After something indescribable
and shocking happens
being there for those in need
is what is the most important…
today and everyday,
everybody and everywhere,
all over the world,
will never forget
and they will always remember
the lights that went out
and were reborn in heaven,
who were born in a city
and in a country
who they will always be a part of,
and they will always remain
in the hearts and in the minds of
the people of Great Britain
and the great city of Manchester.

Dedicated to all the children and all the men and women who lost their lives on the 25th of May, 2017, and for all of the people who have been affected by the horror that took place in Manchester… you will never be forgotten.

My Poem ‘A Mother’s Nature’

Every son and every daughter
needs a hero to look up to
while growing up…
every child deserves the best
that their parents can give them –
but the gift of a mother’s love
is so unparreleled and so pure,
and without the gifts
that only a mother can give
no child would know
what the power of love truly means…
mothers go through a rollercoaster of emotions
as they put the needs and the feelings
and the future of their child before their own…
mothers and fathers are both responsible
for the life, the caring, the well-being,
and the building of the nest
that is at the centre of their childs’ world –
however, a child will want for nothing
as long as they always have a place
to call their home.

So much of life is about sacrifice –
but there is nothing more important to a child,
and nothing else that they will remember more,
than those moments of true happiness and innocence
when they were a small child
just before they drifted off to sleep
and they stared into their parents’ smiling face
as they wished them good-night.

Every form of nature has seasons,
and sometimes both fathers and mothers
have to weather more than their children could ever know…
sometimes both fathers and mothers
have to go through indescribable hurt and heart-break
just so that their children might not have
to suffer the same fate of falling
to the depths to where life
sometimes makes people go.

As with most things in life,
there is no perfect blue-print,
nor is there anybody who could honestly proport
to being all-knowing when it comes
to what is best for their child –
but the most important thing
is to always be there for your child
with open-arms, to not judge your child
for who they are, and no matter what
be the one who will always nurture.

The life of a Mom can be hard sometimes,
and it can be filled with just as many tears
as there are smiles –
however, there is nobody who has never
needed and not wanted to be loved
and understood by their parents,
and at the heart of a true mother of children
there lies a pure and eternal love,
and among everything that can sustain a child
throughout their life, truly and in every way,
there is nothing more beautiful,
nor more wonderful to see,
than the gifts of love of a mother’s nature.

My Poem ‘Blind Curiosity’

When the sun went down
it was like witnessing
a great eye closing…
when the daylight
faded into the darkness of twilight
it was like seeing the world
slowly fall asleep…
when the golden light shone up
instead of down
it was like watching the world
appear to start a journey
towards a state of dreaming…
when the sky was finally devoid of colour
and the stars came out to shine their light
from unfathomable distances away…
I found myself looking,
just above the horizon,
to where the sky meets the ground,
and I was drawn high above and far away,
on a flight of fantasy,
to a place within my own imagination –
but which felt more like a part of a dream
of someone divine who could create
beautiful new worlds
from the moment that they touch
the ocean of infinite dreamers
with the toes of their feet.

I always walk blindly into a dream…
I have no preconceptions
about what I might find
when I start looking deep inside…
I have always wondered
whether we could revisit a dream –
even one that we might have had
when we were children
and after we had been read a bed-time story –
and I wonder if an adult
observing a child’s thoughts
would know instantly what they mean?
I envy the playground
that every child has within their mind –
the scope of a child’s fantasy world has no limit,
and within a child’s imagination
every moment can be the instant
of an infinite number of sunrises.

The evening sky is a magical piece of heavenly art,
as the birds return to their nests,
and as the owls, the foxes, the badgers, the bats,
the wildlife of the night start to appear,
when it is dark so many things happen…
there is so much wonder, thought, love, magic,
and imagination that blooms like a flower
constantly under the light of divinity…
there is so much life in this world,
and most of it thrives at night
when the universe recites its sonnets for us to hear,
and when the dreamers of existence leap with joy
into the realms of blind curiosity.

My short-story/poem ‘The Trick-or-Treaters’

the-trick-or-treaters
Just before the sun went down
on October 31st,
on the evening of Halloween,
two brothers, Isaac and Reece,
and their little-sister, Hailie,
left their house to go walking up their street
to go knocking on the doors of their neighbours
and to say in one voice the phrase of the hour:
“trick-or treat”.
Every year, on Halloween, these three siblings
loved getting dressed up from head-to-toe
in costumes of their own choosing –
and this year, like every year,
Hailie was a “ghost”, Reece was a “Vampire”,
and Isaac was a “werewolf”,
and every year when they got home from “trick-or-treating”
they always returned with more candy
than they knew what to do with…
going door-to-door with one-another
was a tradition that these three loved reenacting –
come clouds and rain, or under clear sky and moon-shine;
however, they only went up the street and back again,
and since they lived in a cul-de-sac
the sooner that their trick-or-treating began
in no time at all it soon came to a sad end for another year.

Every year it was all treats and no tricks-
but, since this year there was a new neighbour
that had moved into their road,
Reece in particular hoped that maybe this year
they might return home with more
than just a bag full of sweets.

The new neighbours lived in the house
at the end of the road, up a driveway,
where a lady used to live
who had more cats than could ever be counted –
but who had sadly passed-away;
Reece, Isaac, and Hailie, did not know
the late-lady well, only her name:
“Mrs. Leech” – however, word got around
and it was thought that now
her sister had taken on her house
following Mrs. Leech’s passing,
and her name was apparently: “Ms. Beetle” –
“like the car, and not the British band”,
the mailman had recently pointed out.

It was Halloween again,
and Hailie, Reece, and Isaac
had knocked on every door of their street – but one –
and all three were carrying a considerable
amount of treats to return home with;
however, they had not yet visited Ms. Beetle’s house,
which they had left until last on purpose.

The walk up the driveway to Ms. Beetle’s house
at the bottom of the street was done slowly –
and as soon as the trio of siblings walked up
onto the wooden porch of Ms. Beetle’s house,
and they knocked on the front-door,
neither one of them knew what to expect –
however, they certainly didn’t expect
the door to open seemingly on its own,
and they most certainly didn’t expect to see
Ms. Beetle dressed all in black
mixing away at a giant cauldron-shaped
black container with bubbles and gases
jetting up from the green mixture…
and they most certainly, definitely,
did not expect Ms. Beetle to look
at all three of them and say:
“so, what will it be? Trick or treat?”
Ms. Beetle then began to cackle at the top of her lungs –
and that was when all three of the kids screamed,
then turned around, and jumped off
of Ms. Beetle’s porch, and they ran
all the way up the street and all the way home,
leaving behind all their treats
that they had collected from the night.

The next day, their was a knock at the door
of Hailie, Reece, and Isaac’s house –
and when their Mom answered the door
Ms. Beetle was standing there on the other side
and smiling from ear-to-ear
and holding out in front of her
the three bags of candy that the kids had left behind.
Ms. Beetle apologized for the night before,
and she gave the kids their bags of candy
and she told them that she was pleased to meet them,
and that this year she gave them both a trick and a treat –
but she also said that there was no telling
what she was going to do next year,
and the only way they will know
would be if they were brave enough
to come knocking on her door again,
and all ask her: “trick-or-treat”?

My Poem ‘Rush’

Children dash… children sprint…
children can make moments last…
children don’t even realize
just how much the days of their early lives
race by so fast –
because, to a child, they can act as quick
as they can think, in a flash,
and their drive is the endless energy
that they find at a moments-notice,
even before the adults around them
have time to blink.

Even as they grow up,
some people do not lose their love
for the sensation of the wind against their face,
even as other interests compel them,
some people never give up their love of a chase –
as if they are still in school on sports-day
still competing in a race;
even as their hair-colour changes,
some people can never stop their heart
beating to a charged rhythm;
even as the world creates new obsessions and distractions,
some people live better in mind, body, and soul,
when they are pushing themselves to the limit –
like a soldier on a mission.

It’s why a boxer enters into a ring…
it’s why a rock-star gets up on a stage to sing…
it’s why someone keeps doing something that they love…
it’s why people run, dive, fly, and jump…
it’s because, when you feel like you have got lightning
surging through your blood,
you never want to halt doing
whatever gives you that unbelievable rush.