My Poem ‘Early’

First thing in the morning,
with the dawn of the first light of the sun,
and the sound of the first birds singing –
even when the air outdoors is cold to the touch –
for some people, at the moment that they wake up,
that first realization that they are no longer
asleep and dreaming is enough of a spark
to relight the fire of their heart,
like the flame of love…
for some, when the time and the day is early,
that is when they begin their daily story.

In the Summer-time the days feel endless…
when it is Winter and it is colder
you have to keep on the move more,
and so the days feel shorter…
in the Summer-time you feel like
you have got all the time in the world
to close your eyes, relax, and rest…
but when it is Winter you feel like
you can’t catch-up with the time
that feels like it is running away from you
like a stream of rushing water.

I am naturally an early-riser,
so waking up while it is still dark outside
is an every-day thing…
I would not be me if I did not greet
that new day with open eyes
and a wide-smile, and with hope in my heart
at what it may bring…
I have been waking up
before everybody else in my family
since I was young and my hair was blond and curly…
I have a feeling that my natural instinct
to stay awake, and to not fall straight back to sleep
after I first wake up,
is ever going to change anytime soon –
just like I am never going to stop writing poetry,
I do not think I am ever going to stop
waking up early.

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My Poem ‘Forensic’

Mystery, like love,
in my opinion,
is the most potent drug
known to man,
and also the only one
capable of delivering
someone to the deepest of states
of pure intoxication;
mystery haunts the mind
and walks the Earth silently
until the time is right
for its voice to be heard;
mystery makes detectives of us all –
however, the greatest of mysteries
have long-since remained unsolved
and their secrets live on
in the prism of history,
just as the intrigue of their story
will continue to inspire and enthrall
many for all eternity.

There seems to be a constant struggle
between order and disorder;
there are times in life
when something happens
and the only response you can give is: why?;
there are some people who are incapable
of staying on the right side of the law;
there must be something in the genes, I think,
that motivates and compels someone
to commit any crime.

Every whisper contains a seed of truth
that is only a minute part of a much larger story;
every detail of every-thing is evidence
of a structure of moments that goes deep,
as well as towers high;
everybody leaves a trace
that can be followed forward in time,
as well as back;
everywhere there are things
that some people can so easily miss and not see;
everyone is gravity-bound by something
that they live because of and are made whole by;
every instant and every moment
we leave something behind us
that we do not realize,
because time goes by so fast.

A state of being is psychological;
a state of reproducing is biological;
a state of acting without thinking is instinctual;
everybody trips, everyone falls;
everybody utters words of inspiration
from time to time over their lips;
everyone at one time or another
hears an empowering call;
every mystery has an answer;
every magician and illusionist
has their signature magic-trick;
every unknown gives someone a reason to wonder;
every puzzle can be solved
if you look for the coincidences
that are not just coincidences –
because in reality all things are clues
in the fascinating world of forensics.

My Poem ‘Psychic Arithmetic’

We all know our own minds,
but other people see more of us
than we do;
we may spend all of our time
with ourselves,
but we do not see
all the things that we do;
we may all know our own
personal likes and dislikes,
but we may not all be familiar
with all of our routines;
we all may look in the mirror,
but it is other people
who see the face that constantly changes.

By acting on instinct
we all can sometimes
take our own actions for granted;
by repeating the same tasks for a while
we can find it hard to imagine
a life that is not already
a picture and a memory in our own head;
cycles and predictive patterns
are important to life on our planet;
everybody has their preferences:
what they like to drink?
what they like to eat?
what they like like to listen to,
and what they like to watch?
Some people just do not “feel right”
if they do not keep on their
preferred side of their own bed.

Some people just know us;
some people can just read us;
some people are just like an open book;
some people can tell the story
of who they are from a single look;
some people constantly analyze;
some people speak as well see with their eyes;
some people love us – no matter how predictable
and bound by our own insecurities,
obsessions and compulsions we are;
some people think that when they see us
we shine like a star;
some people are so incredibly psychic
that their gift can be deceptive;
some people teach us every day
that there is more to learn
about all forms of nature
just by looking, observing,
understanding and deciphering
the signs and mimicking the techniques
used by the best of those schooled
in the performance of psychic arithmetic.

My Poem ‘Survivor Instinct’

Once the mist has lifted,
once the dust has settled,
once a new day begins
and the dark clouds have drifted,
and the frozen time has melted,
once the sunlight breaks through
and showers to the ground,
once people find a way to say something
to fill the void of silence
once again with sound,
once everybody no longer feels guilty
for showing a smile –
everybody can learn to accept and to move on
without constantly living every hour in denial.

Some people do not blink,
some people do not know,
some people do not think,
some people care so much
that even the thought
of something tragic
happening to someone else
anywhere in the world
feels like they are
carrying a heavy load.

There are people
who would do anything
and would give anything
to someone who was in need
more than them;
there are people
who get up out of bed
hoping to help someone in some way;
there are people
who feel a need to give to charity
in the form of a donation;
there are people
who live their life
with a constant open hand
to anyone and everyone every day.

Heroes are all around us;
angels walk among us;
where there is dark you can find light;
you never know when someone
is going to safe your life.

When something is happening far away from you
it is easy to convince yourself
that it isn’t happening;
when someone is hurting
and you don’t know them
it is easy to switch off
from the image of them
as if the memory of them
was a creation of your imagining;
when you see something happening
and you know that you can do something to help,
when you believe that you can be a light
to guide someone out of a living hell,
when you see a chain
and you would give anything
to be that necessary missing link,
then do what feels the most natural to you
and use all that you feel
when you turn on your survivor instinct.

My Poem ‘Ruminant’

A deer walking through a green wood;
a horse galloping across
a beautiful open expanse;
an eagle soaring and gliding
through the air above a vast herd of buffalo;
an adventurer trekking through a jungle,
with a pack full of all that they need
to survive in the wild,
as the raindrops fall on them
and down the lip of their coat’s hood;
a small dog resting outside in the sun
in their favorite spot,
with a look about them
that says that they are feeling
inconceivable emotions of happiness;
a writer writing
while listening to their muse of music,
writing rhymes as if each word
had its own distinctive sound to them,
that sound like
that of the notes of a musical instrument.

As with everything that is made up of
and from the combination of many ingredients,
all things must ruminate and coalesce
and be infused naturally over time
by the mixture of nature and identity;
just as the present is an echo of the past,
as well as a prelude for the future,
some things must always stay the same,
and if necessary thrive on being different –
because in life strict conformity
can be the true enemy.

Inspirational people
have taken countless people
on journeys throughout history,
and the stories of their deeds
have long out-lived them
and are read and retold every day
to a whole new generation
of free-thinking and inquisitive people
looking for answers to life’s questions,
far and wide;
writers, artists, musicians,
have been struck by instant and deep inspiration
while staring at a flower swaying in the breeze;
children have been recognized for being special
because they chose to work hard
and dig deep and go that extra mile;
animals are sometimes revered for being exceptional
because they represent and they talk
to the needs that we all feel
for contentment and connection
with our surroundings
based on our ever-present instincts.

When I truly allow my thoughts
to flow and to float,
they are like a big fluffy cloud in a blue sky;
when I truly open up
and let my feelings bubble up,
they can sometimes spread
like the waters of a flood;
when I truly focus on the journey,
and not the end, I believe and I know
that life for us all goes on,
even after we die;
when I truly live and breathe
every second of the one that I love,
I feel things that almost defy description
and definition – as if I were
a part of an infinite, amazing,
cosmologically-vast and meaningful meditation.

My Poem ‘Psyched’

Every morning is a new beginning;
every time we open our eyes
we see something we have never seen before;
every time something opens our eyes wide
we all experience a sensation
that feels to us as if we are falling;
every night just before we fall asleep
every one of us psychs ourselves up
for the day that is to come –
and just as when we are a child,
the first steps that we take of anything
are as important and are as essential
as finding your balance and then walking,
or making sound and saying words
that will form the basis of talking
and sharing what you are thinking.

Whenever each of us has a task to perform,
or a thing that we must do,
each of us has to build up some kind of momentum
before we can truly move;
whenever an artist looks in front of themselves
and they see the space of a blank page,
each and every artist needs to see
an imaginary picture so that they have a guide
to follow, or the outlines of something
in between which they can colour in
with their own emotion
and individual experience colour palette
that they have been mixing together
successfully their entire lives
every single day.

Just as every artist needs a muse to inspire them,
everybody needs something or someone
to get up for and to keep them going;
just as every day, in a way,
everybody has to start again,
sometimes you just have to act on instinct
and use the power of your muscle memory
to see you through something
without any unnecessary deep-thinking.

Days must end so that others may dawn;
we all must go through darkness
so that we can appreciate the light of life;
close one door behind you
as you open another exciting new door –
and as you do, leave signposts
and suggestions for others that may follow behind you
so that you can teach what you have learned
and all that you have been taught.

For anything that you may face,
for everything that you have got to do –
do what you would do
if you had to make a high-dive:
close your eyes; take a breath;
imagine the splash,
not the jump or the fall;
and smile your widest smile
to get yourself truly psyched.

My Poem ‘The Writer Type’

I can always tell
another writer when I see them;
I can always tell poetry
whenever I read something
that someone has written;
I can always tell another poet
when I hear them speak
with so much passion,
energy, and depth of intuition
in their voice;
I can always tell
and I always know
when a writer has an idea
for something to write in some form,
because I have that feeling
multiple times a day –
and when you feel that need to write rise,
as a writer, you just know in yourself
that what is on your mind
needs to flow unabated
as a matter of necessity and destiny,
and not always as a matter of choice.

I have a sixth sense for creative people;
I have an instinct for the inspired;
I have been a member of the church of poetry
for years now, and I am its life-long disciple;
I have the greatest adoration for people
who can change the world with the power of words,
and to whom their love of language
is one of the greatest of all their desires.

I could sit with my notebook
at a table in Starbucks,
I could lay on my bed looking out the window,
I could sit on a bench in the park,
I could sit under the moonlight in the dark,
and be absolutely captivated and lost
in thought by the most incredible
and the most inspiring creation of my imagination –
as I try to interpret, convey, and convert
my thoughts into words
that perfectly capture
the constellations of my universe
into understandable verse.

When I write, it is a stream of consciousness;
when I daydream, there is never
any limit to what I can imagine;
when the rhythm of my soul takes me
and I give birth to a newborn of my own poetry,
I love the experience so much;
when the artistic animal
catches me its sights and its embrace,
there is nowhere to run…
which to me is my kind of fun!

I can always tell someone
who has seen the artistic light;
I can always understand
when someone says out-loud
that they do not know
why they are doing what they are doing –
however, in more ways than they can describe,
they just know that what they are doing
just feels right;
I can always follow the thoughts
and the emotions of someone,
and I love sharing my own
as I too spread my poetic wings and take flight;
I can always tell ‘the writer type’.