My Poem “Rain Brain”

I’m not sure what
this says about me,
but I have always enjoyed
walking in the rain…
ever since I was a child
I have always found it
thrilling and cathartic
to walk through puddles
and to watch streams
of rain water disappearing
down metals drains.

There is so much poetry to see
when you walk across
a wet pasture of grass
or when you walk through
a cathedral of tall green trees,
because you get to experience
and to immerse yourself in nature
at it’s most fertile
and at it’s most lush…
there is so much art to be found
when putting one foot in front of the other,
while making contact with the ground –
whether it is within the resplendent
colours of a flower dappled
with glistening rain droplets,
or accidentally when a droplet of oil
from a car engine falls onto the road
and explodes into a rainbow.

I know that getting wet
for seemingly no reason
isn’t for everybody –
but to me walking, seeing, listening,
and learning about the world
and the way that everybody
is connected to everything
and how everything is connected
to everybody is just as
essential as breathing;
and no matter where I am,
or whatever I am doing,
the poetic heart beating within me
will always see and feel
time after time how amazing
it is to welcome both
the shining rays of the sun
as well as the return of the rain –
as long as the price to be paid
from them does not result
in the rising of pools
of sadness and pain
from the deluge of thoughts
and emotions within our brain.

My Poem “Contactless”

We are currently living
in an increasing contactless world…
we are currently being forced
to keep at a distance away from
our family members, our friends,
our places of work, our purpose,
and we are being told that we may
all have to adjust to living in
this new and contactless life –
at least in a physical way of speaking –
for the foreseeable future…
we are all now living in a world
and at a time when seeing people
walking around wearing face-masks,
plastic gloves, and while consistently
administering hand-sanitizer
to themselves is an every-day thing…
we are all now living in the here
and in the now of having to
become sedentary individuals
who cannot congregate and be seen
to be socializing in public…
we are all now living, breathing,
and having to force ourselves
into the realization that what we used
to take for granted so much –
our own individual freedom
to be able to choose our own actions
and our own destinations –
has been temporarily impaired and curtailed
and the governments of our particular countries
are calling all the shots and telling us
what we need to be doing in order
to maintain some kind of wellbeing
for the people of the present
as well as those yet to be born…
we may all need to self-isolate
ourselves physically,
but that does not mean that we need
to self-isolate ourselves
from the rest of the world –
in fact, I would say that it is more
vital and necessary than ever
to stay connected to our network
of family, friends, and acquaintances
who live around the globe who
know exactly what each and every one of us
are all going through
for each of our own personal mental health;
because if what we must refrain
from touching and showing
physical forms of affection
that does not mean that we have to be
anti-social and stay contactless
in every sense of the word.

My Poem “Verbatim”

There is a story behind everything…
there is a reason for everything…
there is a story to be told about everybody…
there is truth to be found
about the human condition
by listening to everybody.

Everybody is capable of being
a storyteller with a varied
and a different perspective
on everything, because
everybody experiences the world uniquely –
which is why no voice
should be ever silenced or muted
because their opinions
do not run in parallel
with that of the status quo…
everybody is capable
of expressing themselves somehow –
even if it is with the power of a stare
or a passive but noticeable gesture
that is a part of the universal
art of getting your point across
and making your intentions known.

Stories are wonderful things –
however, stories have a way
of taking on a life of their own…
some stories can start out
being about something
small and insignificant –
however, when stories are internalized
and personalized then can be reshaped
and retold in many different ways…
stories can be given names –
especially those that were inspired
by real life events and circumstances…
stories always have characters in them –
and on occasion storytellers
often exaggerate the qualities
and the attributes of a particular
character in order to make the story
that they are telling more dramatic…
some stories are referred to as
“Chinese whispers”, because they grow,
because they change, because depending
on how many times they have been told,
heard, retold, and shared –
though the seed at the centre
of the same story remains the same –
little by little, with every passing
iteration and narration,
a story can lose some of it’s most
fundamental facts,
and the devil that is in the details
of a story can become a shadow
of what was initially intended
to be a story told word for word.

My Poem “New Horizons”

Every day, beginnings
and endings exist and play out
in parallel to one another:
on one side of the same world
one person can be looking
at the sun rising at the dawn of day,
while another can be looking up
at the moon and the stars
of the twilight hours of the night…
everybody lives in different worlds,
living different lives –
even people sitting three feet away
from one another, in the same cafe,
can be thinking, feeling, living,
and breathing in vastly different ways.

Everybody in their life has a path;
however, that does not mean
that the steps that need to be taken
in order to reach the place of potential
are always going to be straight
and easy to be traversed…
every day since the start of recorded
human history empires have fallen
and new dynasties have risen
to fill the vacuum left
when one piece of the tapestry of life
is cut away because it no longer
fits with the modern world that it exists within.

Without exception everybody,
at some point in their life,
has made multiple mistakes –
and often times everybody has to find
a way to adapt and to coexist
with the intentions, the actions,
and the waves of change caused
by people who influence the people of the world
through their words but who live
far removed and untouchable from those
whom they claim to speak for
often times from behind walls and gates
and in castles and in high-towers
which have a power-structure
that has existed for centuries
among many human societies around the world.

What is built must one day self-realize
that there will come a time
when the end is a necessary component
of reinvention, revitalization, renewal,
so that something can continue to be relevant
beyond the time of their prime –
and that goes for the people,
businesses, brands, and opinions
that have existed around the world…
every day there are new lives being born
and every instant there are new universes
coming into existence that are off-shoots
of other universes…
every moment there are things that happen,
there are things that are seen,
there are things and there are people
that change the world and open the windows
and the doors to brand new horizons.

My Poem “Everybody is a Poet”

The truth –
no matter what anybody tells you –
is that everyone is an artist,
everyone is a Poet,
everyone can do something unique,
everyone has a talent,
everyone has something that they are meant to do,
everyone has the spirit, the soul, the mind
than when honed is capable of doing anything,
expressing anything, experiencing everything
that makes life on this planet worth living…
If you can make someone smile,
if you can make someone laugh,
if you can make someone think,
if you can make someone feel something,
then I am happy to tell you
that you are an artist, you are a poet,
you are a member of a world wide
society of people who embody life
from every extreme on the scale
of reality in which we are capable of
inhaling and exhaling…
Money can’t buy you many things –
and one of the things that it can’t buy
is yourself: your life, your memories,
your experiences, your perspective,
your joy, your happiness, your hopes,
your fears, your nightmares, your concerns,
because all of those things are unique to you alone
but they can be shared and sympathized with others
because there are always others who have similar,
universal, human, psychological, physical,
and verbal insights into the kaleidoscope
of thoughts, dreams, and emotions
that drive the engine of nature
that surrounds all of us…
There are things in this life, in the universe,
that nobody can see –
when astronomers look up and back in time
to the beginning of the universe
they find an impenetrable wall of light and energy:
the innermost shock-wave from the explosion
that created everything that we see,
from the moment of the Big Bang, frozen in time –
which surrounds the answers to some of the most
important questions ever asked: Why are we here?
What is the meaning of life? Is there a God?
Everybody asks questions – that is what we do,
and that is what humanity has always done…
Everybody has a story to tell
and everybody is a storyteller
and a character in their own right…
Everybody goes on a journey during their life
to find themselves and what they believe
should be their purpose while they are alive
on Earth and a member of this world…
Everybody creates a little piece of art every day,
but sometimes it can take a while to interpret
what someone is trying to say –
however, in their own way,
even if they do not realize it,
and even if they are not actually using words
to communicate their feelings and motivations,
a person’s actions can speak volumes,
and in my opinion every action that someone
makes should be classed as poetic…
I have met a lot of people throughout my life,
and I have heard, seen, and I have read stories
about people from vastly different walks of life –
and the conclusion that I have come to
is that everybody, in their own way,
is an artist, and everybody is a Poet.

My Poem “Hidden Talents”

Everybody has a hidden talent, or two…
everybody has a gift
to make all their dreams come true…
everybody is an undercover creator…
everybody is an observer,
a sharer, a communicator…
everybody has a secret identity…
everybody has a secret personality…
everybody has a secret story…
everybody has a secret destiny
that is theirs and theirs alone
that has a hidden meaning at its centre
which is constantly speaking to them
and guiding them to the person
who they are meant to be…
most of the time it is only when we are alone
that we fully express our inner voices…
most of the time it is only when we allow our mind to wander
that we show the truest versions of our inner creativity…
most of the time it is only when we are dreaming
that we find ourselves truly embracing a spotlight
under which we can sing to our hearts content –
however, there are those who are lucky enough
to be able to make theirs dreams come true
and every day show in everything that they do
why it is important to believe in yourself
and make the most of every one of your
miraculous hidden talents.

My Poem “Pride”

Pride is all around us…
flags of many colours
and symbols of many things
are being displayed proudly wherever I go…
symbols of pride in ones identity
and in ones country are being worn
on the clothing of everybody who feels hope
and optimism deep within their heart…
pride is being sung and can be heard in the air…
pride in a shared passion brings people
from many different walks of life together…
pride is one of the most important things to have,
and it is one of the hardest things to lose…
pride should not need to be explained to anybody,
because Pride is just another word for Love –
and sometimes who and what you love
is not for you to choose…
people feel love with people, with places,
with things, with ideas, with ideals
that draw them to them like a moth to a flame…
people feel deep pride and they live every moment
of something that means the world to them:
whether it be their favourite singer or musician,
their favourite thing to do and experience,
or perhaps every second of the 90 minutes
that make up the two halves of their favourite game…
pride can be shown in many ways…
pride can be felt by those who know
the power of its energy every day…
pride is a person’s internal voice
that should not be silenced…
pride is the growl of courage, the howl of unity,
and the roar of family that you can see,
hear, and feel within a pack of wolves,
or within a group of lions who embody
the importance of staying strong by keeping your pride.

My Poem “The Safe Place”

Everybody has that where,
everybody has that when,
everybody has that place
and that time which matters to them…
everybody has that bubble,
everybody has that parallel world,
everybody has that mirror to step through
when they want to retreat into themselves
and create a space away from the outside world…
everybody from a young age chooses somewhere –
whether it be in front of a screen,
or in between the ear-buds of a pair of headphones,
or within the pages of a book,
or interacting and sharing with others socially
over an interconnected world wide network –
that always makes them feel comfortable and at home,
and when they are there the magic that they find
is sometimes impossible to put into words…
everybody needs a refuge, everybody needs a paradise,
everybody needs a universe within themselves
where they can dream, imagine, and play-out
things that need to be explored
that could one day be brought out
and manifested into the real world
and be transformed from meta-physical
into a physical and solid totem of peace…
everybody has the key to their own place within
where they go to to feel for a short time
that feeling of euphoria that awaits us all
when we return to our own private safe place.

My Poem ‘Morphine’

Everybody would do anything
for the one they love;
anybody would do everything
to take away their loved-one’s pain –
even get down on their knees
and plead for relief
from God above;
there is nothing worse
than not being able
to help someone in need
who means the world to you;
there is nothing more harrowing
than having to see your loved-one
wince in pain and then cry out
for someone to give them something
to take away the agony
that shoots through their entire body
when they move.

Some fights cannot be won alone;
every battle leaves scars;
some people go through things
that hurt them more than anyone else
could ever possibly know;
everybody sometimes needs a hand to hold
to guide them through the dark.

Every day is a test;
there is no one
who has all the answers to every-thing;
nobody knows what day will be someone’s last;
when things become so tormenting that we start crying,
we all start to ask to the question: why me?
and we just crave for a long and peaceful rest.

Sickness is hard on all those
who are effected by it –
family, friends, and especially
on the one who is sick;
to me, there is nothing
that is as infuriating
as seeing someone taking their life
and the life of someone else for granted;
there are times when we all wish
that we could just let go, drift off, and dream;
there are times when we all find
the pain that we are feeling too hard to bear,
and we all need to be given a dose of morphine.

My Poem ‘Christmas Time’

“So this is Christmas,
and what have you done…”
sang John Lennon on the radio
as I sat with my pen and open notebook,
as the sun shone through the windows
and reflected off the chrome panels
of a nearby building;
I was near an open door all the while –
but not for a second did I feel cold;
the Christmas songs kept playing,
the air was cozy,
and everybody around me
was locked in their own world;
the Christmas colours and lights
were bright and bold,
and just as I got to the end
of the first verse of my new poem
a familiar voice sang loud:
“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”

I sit. I stare. I blink. I smile.
I write. I think about how much
I have in common with the life of a sundial –
because I too would be nothing
without the light of the star from afar
that gives my life meaning
and endows me with all that I need
to be who I am supposed to be.

As Louis Armstrong sings
of the “trees of green”
and the “red roses too”
and the blue skies of our “wonderful world” –
I know, I see, I remember
all that he sang about
and what I too believe makes out planet
standout from any other
in the entire universe;
so often, I become both lost and overflowing
with words to describe
all that I see and all that I feel;
I do not know who I would be
if I could not write the language of my heart
on a page in connected verse of poetry.

“White Christmas” starts to play,
and instantly I am back in time
and I am imagining things that happened
so many years ago –
I remember the snow of my childhood,
I remember the happy times I spent with my family,
I remember imagining that if anybody
were to walk on the surface of the moon again
then of course I would;
I remember seeing true beauty
in fallen snowflakes
and knowing that there was more to me and to life,
and twenty years before I would ever have thought
to write anything that I would now
consider in any way poetic.

One last song plays
before I have to leave the place where I am now;
where I am going next I do not know for sure,
because I do not have a fixed plan –
however, as I think of a title
to sign-off my brand new chain of rhymes,
I decide to use the last words
of the song that I hear…
and as my poem is about the world of today,
about me, and is in itself a snap-shot of life –
this poem is about this moment,
and at this moment it is definitely
Christmas time.