My Poem “What we leave behind”

Every day we all meet people
who influence our thoughts,
our feelings, our emotions, our actions,
our intentions going forward -
what keeps us awake during the day
and what keeps us dreaming at night...
every day I see and I experience
a wave of connection touch me -
sometimes slow, gentle and subtle,
sometimes fast, hard and heavy -
and sometimes I know immediately
what this force that I feel means to me,
but sometimes it takes some time
for me to realize what has impacted upon me
and what path it will ultimately lead me down.

Every day we all give others gifts
that might be big, that might be small,
that might be useful, that might be short-lived,
that might be indellible like a tattoo,
that might be beautiful like a genuine smile
that makes a person's face beam
brighter than the brightest sunlight...
every day I share what has inspired me,
what has got under my skin,
what has changed me,
what shows itself from below the surface
of my consciousness ocean
like a shark's dorsal fin.

Every day we all leave an impression on people,
just like someone's footsteps do upon the wet sand
of a beach when the tide goes in and out,
and sometimes the impressions left
last longer than they were expected to...
every day I am grateful for certain things,
I am grateful for certain people,
I am grateful for certain choices that I have made,
I am grateful for certain experiences,
certain moments in time,
and certainties of life...
every day we all interact with objects
that have been on a journey
from the moment of their creation -
like a message in a bottle
that finds itself bobbing up and down
and being carried far across the sea,
or like a pair of shoes that take
their wearer miles before it is time
for them to give up the ghost.

Every day I hope that I have had
a positive influence and I have made
positive impact upon everybody I have met -
whether in person, literally,
virtually, intentionally, or indirectly -
and that people who might be old friends,
new friends, strangers, and those
who know me by my face and my name
but not yet personally,
are grateful and they will always be thankful
for whatever it is of mine that they find
which I have left behind.

My Poem ‘Petrichor’

The air is cool;
the thunder and the lightning of last night
have taken away and abated
the feeling of fire that had been burning my skin;
the stormy weather of last night
apparently put on quite a show –
however, right at this moment,
the bright morning light
is streaming through the window;
and like every day that I venture out
into the world, I am hearing things
that I have never heard before,
and I am seeing things and people
that I have never before seen.

I slept like a still sea last night;
I never once woke up
nor was I awoken by any sound of rumbling
or by any flash of light;
when I opened my eyes from my dream,
I looked and I saw the sight
of a beautiful vision before me:
an intense light, brighter than lightning,
enlightened everything and made my world shine,
and the sound that I heard
that sounded like thunder
was my heart beating in my chest;
and as the new day began,
I knew that I could no longer linger or rest –
because what I felt next, to me,
has always been the best.

Making connections;
connecting the dots;
painting a picture of impressions;
seeing the gold within the rock;
understanding the true nature of life and the world;
finding and breathing in the clear and fresh morning air,
and inhaling that extraordinary and unmistakable smell;
feeling happy and sure;
stretching and reaching out
like a newborn chick that has only just
broken free of its shell.

People feel intensely and deeply;
everybody has instincts;
people want to feel secure, as well as free;
everybody can imagine anything
and everything in a single blink;
it has always amazed me
how much our surroundings talk to us
and what they say about us;
it has always fascinated and inspired me
how much life there is above ground,
as well on the ocean floor;
it has always excited me
every time that I have considered and thought
that I and everybody were once cosmic dust,
and that what makes me and us,
who I am and who we are,
also makes the stars what they are –
and, to me, that is enough to make
anyone’s blood rush;
it has always brought alive in me the light in things,
every time that I have taken in
the wonderful planet that I live on,
after a hot day and a stormy night,
and inhaled the air
and became instantly intoxicated
by the smell of petrichor.

My Poem ‘Sensitive Skin’

I feel every raindrop;
I feel in awe after every burst and touch of the sun;
I feel so much strength of spirit and drive of life,
I could never give up;
I feel like my story and who I am
is written all over my skin.

I have always been sensitive to the thoughts,
the feelings, and the emotions, of those around me,
and those who are connected to me;
I would be there for my true friends until the very end,
even if doing so were to push me to life’s edge;
I live and feel every experience deeply,
as if they were my last,
and I often immortalize my memories in as much depth
as possible in a poem, or three;
I will keep going until I no longer can –
and that is my eternal pledge.

My skin is fair, and when the sun is as hot as can be
I burn to the colour of a lobster;
you would think that after everything I have seen
and been through, my skin would have become thicker
and as hard-wearing and as smooth as leather;
my skin still has impressions made on it
from when I was a child –
that have not worn away, and never will be worn away;
I still have the impressions of kisses,
and scars from times gone by,
that remind me of things and people,
every single day.

Every mark made on me is indelible,
and if seen under ultraviolet light
my skin would be like a piece of parchment,
or a creased manuscript,
that has been screwed up, thrown away,
rewritten, amended, over and over again,
that no matter what is done to it
can still be read and understood;
it is comforting for me to always remember
and see where I have come from,
and who was influential in making me Me.
Empathy, sensitivity, caring, creativity,
and an extraordinary memory,
is something that is in my blood;
the wear and the why of something,
and how something appears years after
it first originally came to be,
tells its own wonderful story.

Our skin is a map of where we have been;
our skin is touched and sculpted by our environment:
by nature, by the wind, by the rain, by the sun,
by the moon, just as the grand and great canyons,
valleys, mountains, of Earth, have been;
our skin is like the front cover
and the back cover of a living book,
in which an amazing, phenomenal, unique,
and individual story of a person’s life lies within;
there is no greater question than that of a person’s skin,
especially if you are like me, and you have sensitive skin.