My Poem “Pause”

Planes crash. Buildings fall.
Lives are lost. Time stops.
One day can feel like it is the end of the world.
Open wounds always leave scars.
Some days can never be forgotten.
Memories can sometimes feel like stars –
sometimes they feel far away,
and sometimes they can feel
close enough to touch…
the 11th of September, 2001,
is like a scar of my memory
and I will always remember
exactly when and where I was
when it was given to me.

I have visited New York City…
I have stood at Ground Zero…
I have marveled at the memorials
that are now where two towers once stood…
I have looked up at the Freedom Tower,
and every time I think about being there
where so many people lost their lives
it always brings a tear to my eye –
because I remember where I was
when New York City and the world,
and all of us who value life above all else
were rocked both physically
and emotionally to the core…
every time I think about that day
every thing that happened that day
always makes me sad and gives me pause.

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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 ‘Percussion’

The pitter-patter of raindrops
against a window early in the morning;
the foot-falls of steps
outside your door;
the dial-tone of a phone ringing;
the rumble of a crowd of people
reverberating over a floor.

The sound of drums;
the strike of lightning;
the impact of hand against instrument;
the synchronous movements
and almost-balletic arm accentuation
that make the musical performance of an artist
that much more exciting.

The voice of an instrument
that is brought to life by its player
as it was always meant
to be played and heard is magical –
the tone, the depth,
the range, the indistinguishable
call to rise of emotions
that only they can elicit
and evoke is phenomenal;
like the vocal-cords that vibrate
that allow someone to speak,
the unmistakable beat,
like that of a heart,
is its most effective
when it is allowed
to reach its natural peak.

No two ears hear the same;
no two players share the same gestures,
nor the same emotional connection
to a piece of music;
no two pieces of art
can coexist within the same frame;
every member of the same band
shares the same feeling
of being carried-away
and drifting like a flurry of snowflakes
on the wind.

The music of interaction;
the melody of harmony;
the natural cycle of repetition;
the actions of fluidity;
the language of notes;
the knowledge of keys;
the memory that never leaves;
the gift that comes with ease.

While there is still music playing,
while new songs are still being created,
while there is still the sound of waves crashing,
while new lovers of music are born
and want to become instrumentalists and percussionists,
the world will go on,
the Earth will play on and sing as-one,
the sources of all joy sadness
will continue to drum –
and those fluent in sharing
the music of the spheres of the universe
will want to continue to play
with all their heart the music
and the instruments of percussion.

My Poem ‘Embrace’

The caress of a face;
the holding of hands;
the hypnotism of a trance;
the perfect touch
of a beautiful embrace.

The spiritual, the emotional,
the physical, the transcendental,
the look, the love,
the feeling, the instinctual,
the rush, the spark,
the explosion,
the silence of light and dark
that makes real the impossible,
that is indescribable,
that is a miracle,
that is heaven on Earth,
that is as beautiful as a hummingbird,
that is the ultimate force in the universe,
that poet’s obsess over while putting into words,
that many crave, that we all know,
that can surround you and lead you
like the path of a maze,
that is exciting and phenomenal
in the way that it can make someone glow.

A wish and a prayer
can blossom like a flower;
a thought and a memory
can steal your time;
a source of happiness
can have infinite power;
a destiny can be a life-line.

Until you feel the raging fire of desire,
until you let yourself fall in love
like a crashing meteorite from above,
until you see with your own eyes
what grows and what sustains
and what reinvigorates,
and what goes on and never dies,
only when you let things happen
and you do not resist,
can you know what it is like to be a star,
or like a pacific beach near an ocean
that has been newly sun-kissed.

To have someone.
To hold someone.
To love someone.
To be as precious as gold to someone.
To accept, to support, to champion,
to be a devoted companion,
and to be the one who leaves an indelible mark
on the inside of someone
but who on the outside
only leaves an invisible trace,
is to be the beholder of light, love,
perfection like that of an angel’s face
that is as timeless and is as ever-present
even after the first embrace.

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My Poem ‘Stations’

Kisses and hugs;
smiles and tears;
handshakes and long-looks;
happiness and delight;
sadness and fears;
every emotion can be witnessed
and seen every day at a station:
at an airport- in departures, in arrivals;
at a bus station, at a coach station;
on the platform of a train station;
people- friends, family, lovers, partners,
confidants, strangers,
say goodbye, and say hello,
to each other, alongside each-other,
about to start a new journey,
or who have just arrived at their destination.

Everything that could happen
happens in a terminal;
anything that could be said
can be heard while waiting in line;
something unexpected always happens
and sparks can always be seen
when you have a mixture
of different kinds of people;
the more information available the better,
and the more distractions people have
the easier it is when they are waiting
and need something to do
to pass the time.

Luggage going out;
bags of belongings, souvenirs,
and perhaps duty-free, coming in;
tests of patience, hopes, and doubts;
tickets firmly in-hand
to somewhere they are looking forward
to returning to, and for others
once in a lifetime vouchers
to a place they have never been.

Adults, and children,
have different coping-skills
and varying methods of keeping themselves
entertained, while waiting to board a plane,
or when they are waiting for a train
depending on their disposition
for both adults and children alike,
it can be either an exciting, wonderful,
heart-pounding, and amazing, time,
waiting to get underway
that they can’t sit still, or rest,
and cannot wait to leave;
or there are those who worry that they have
remembered everything that they need,
and that there are no problems,
and they don’t need to find someone to blame.

Departing somewhere is a great feeling,
and it is very exciting;
however, for me ‘arrivals’ in an airport,
or the moment that you see a loved-one
standing and waiting for you
on the other side of a window,
is the best place to be,
and, personally, I feel happiness
for everybody when I see people reuniting
it’s one of the best moments to witness;
it’s one of those close encounters
that fills you with fascination and elation;
it’s one of those magical, cork-popping,
emotional, time-freezing, eternities,
that just overflows with fizz
you see it all, you witness the wonderful;
you feel so much when you come back
from a holiday away;
and when you take the first steps
of your vacation,
there is always something to be sensed
and felt at every time of the day
in each and every person
departing, or arriving,
at a station.