life
My Poem “Strum”
I am not exactly sure what
it was that overcame me,
but from the moment that
I first saw and I first heard
someone playing a ukulele
I was immediately entranced
and fascinated by this
stringed instrument,
that looks like a miniature guitar,
that naturally seems to have this
calming tone to it when a player
strums its cords that range G C E A…
I am not exact sure why
I was compelled to buy my D.I.Y.
ukulele from the bookstore I found it in –
so that I could leisurely learn
how to play an instrument of my own choosing?
To feel a wave of emotional connection
and a sense of fun when driving
my fingers over the four strings
that I physically tied
from the bridge to the pegs of the headstock?
I’m not sure, but that is exactly what happened:
because as soon as I began to innocently
move my fingers over the four strings
of the ukulele that I had to glue, screw, and attach all the separate
components of, I felt this instant
and emotionally charged feedback
from the sounds that I created,
and I felt a rush of instant creative inspiration.
There is something special about
making things with your own two hands…
there is something about having
a project in front of you
to put your heart and your mind to…
there is something about the visceral
connection that a lot of people feel
when they handle a piece of wood
that has been crafted into the vital
parts of an instrument…
there is something almost spiritual
about holding something
and feeling as if what you have
in your hands has its own identity,
its own story, its own voice, its own soul…
there is something wonderful about
finding something brand new
that you never could have imagined
that you would ever discover
that would give you the gift
of grasping something profound.
I have always been in awe
of those naturally gifted artists
who can pick up an instrument
and instinctually know how to play
something in such a way that they
can illicit an emotional response
from their audience and immediately
generate a continuum of connection
without even knowing that they are doing so…
I have always wanted to learn how
to play a musical instrument
and to be good enough to be able
to capture and to sustain someone’s,
anyone’s, attention, in a good way –
and hopefully not bore them to tears…
I have known some singers, some song-writers,
and some instrumentalists over my life,
and I have had many moments of feeling
this heartfelt bond with several voices,
sounds, songs – and when I write my own poetry
I attempt to write in such a way
that my words can be interpreted lyrically,
as if they were songs in and of themselves;
however, now I believe that I have found
something that I will use in the future
as an accompaniment to what I write,
and perhaps I will get inspiration for
the poetry that I will write to come
just by strumming upon the strings
of my new ukulele.
My Poem “A Summer Like No Other”
The Summer season is usually
a time that most people
look forward to and plan for…
the Summer is usually when
people have once in a lifetime
experiences that they
have never had before…
the Summer season is usually
when people spend most of
their time outdoors…
the Summer is usually when
everybody is smiling
from ear to ear and embracing
the rays of the sun
that seem to shine a light
on certain aspects of life
that inspire moments of awe.
The Summer season is supposed to be
when people enjoy certain examples
of beauty as they come into bloom…
the Summer is usually when people
like to take their time
when talking to one another,
face to face, instead of feeling
like every interaction is just one long zoom…
the Summer season is supposed to be
when people feel optimistic,
and they are generally in a good mood…
the Summer is supposed to be
when most people are singing with joy
and not crying because they had got
a bad case of the blues.
This Summer has already been filled
with so many examples of good news,
as well as the ultimate example
of bad news which we all know about
which in truth has felt like
one long, continuous, and engulfing
cloud that has been the epitome
of a bad dream that has
unfortunately come true…
this Summer has been one that
will forever be etched upon
the psyche of everybody
far into the future…
this Summer has been a time
in the lives of everybody alive
that will be something spoken about,
chronicled, and remembered as a
Summer when the whole world
had to do what they had to do
to protect the most vulnerable
and to preserve as much as possible
for the next generation…
the events of this year
will haunt humanity like a spectre,
because this year has felt like
a Summer like no other, and memorable
in most cases for all the wrong reasons.
My Poem “Turnaround”
There are times when
there is a prolonged period
of inactivity, of inability,
of inaction, of hibernation
when some animals and some people
experience a status of stasis –
when life and time regresses
and even slows down to some degree;
however, for every time of hibernation
and rehabilitation there must come
a moment when there is a physical,
a psychological, and an instinctual
reawakening that initially may only
be a transitional period
between darkness and light,
between conservation and drive –
and when such a long season
of staying inside comes to an end
there can be momentary thoughts
and feelings of trepidation,
but no matter what anybody or anything
does in life there are sometimes
risks that need to be taken
to turn a world from upside down to
right side up and when you have to
naturally start looking forwards
instead of backwards –
especially when you want to see everything that may have changed
in the interim of a certain confinement
slowly but surely resume and restart,
so that the future of everything and everyone who you know has recently
been through so much will over time
restore and turn themselves around.
My Poem “We Can’t Go On Like This”
We can’t go on like this forever…
we can’t go on staying away from places,
wearing masks, and being socially
distant from one another…
we can’t go on living in insulated bubbles –
because if we do then we must
expect ourselves to over time
become suffocated from real life
and traumatised emotionally
as well as psychologically as if were
we prisoners who had committed a crime…
we can’t go on living a life as if one
that parallels those of the past –
because the destiny of humanity
is to be interconnected both emotionally
as well as physically, and if we are not
then I believe that we may one day
find ourselves regressing as a species and over time aggressively devolving
into even smaller tribes.
We can’t go on not exploring new things
and not finding ourselves somewhere
that we never expected ourselves to be…
we can’t go on not sharing new
personal experiences –
even those made under
the most extreme and
stressful of circumstances…
we can’t go on not living like
we need to live for our further development
so as to ensure that we live to see
the day when the entire world faces
all the threats that present themselves
together
rather than individually and country by country.
People can’t go on not working,
people can’t go on not providing,
people can’t go on as they are
and as they have had to
for far too long as it is –
however I know that everybody
around the world can collectively
agree that no matter what happens
humanity will survive what is going on now,
but in the long term we cannot go on like this.
My Poem “The Red Kites”
Against the bright blue of the morning sky
I see the dark silhouettes of many
birds of prey circling above
as they use the warm air currents
to fly, to glide, to quiver, and to hover
over the trees and the fields below –
and it took my a while to realise
who I was looking up at
and what I was looking up at,
however I instantly knew
that were not eagles, they were not hawks,
they were not seaguls, nor crows –
but it was not until I saw
the unmistakable reddish-brown
of the birds body and the black-streaked
pale grey feathers of their head,
and the forked feathers of their tail,
that I knew the identity of whom
and what I was looking at
and who and what were looking down upon me:
Red Kites, soaring like nothing
I had ever seen before,
gently drifting majestically
like princes and princesses of the air,
seemingly without a care, hunters,
acting on instinct and just being
who and what they were meant to be,
at the same time embodying the greatest
wish of life: the gift to be free –
and it was as I watched them
circle high above my head
that I wished I could be
just like the Red Kites,
because as they soared so effortlessly
they seemed as if they were like
something out of a dream
from my childhood and from a world
that my imagination brought to life
every day and every night.
