My Poem “Superpower”

The life of an artist
is not always easy…
the inspiration imbibed
by an artist is the combination
of a marathon of many steps
of a long journey…
an artist sometimes has to walk
a line between darkness and light…
relationships, experiences, loss,
the stories of other people
are a vital contributing factor
in how an artist will grow
and what an artist will choose to create…
the art of an artist is
a subjective perspective of life
that is neither wrong nor right.

The explosive power of an artist’s muse
is unparalleled and indescribable,
and when fully harnessed
the inspiration felt by an artist
can feel as amazing and invigorating
and as dangerous as holding
a stick of dynamite…
art is an obsession and it can be
as addictive as a drug,
and as intoxicating as love.

Love inspires art,
and art inspires love…
art can be seen below,
as well as above…
in my opinion, artists
are like superheroes
and the gift to be able
to make art is a miracle…
art can save people,
and artists who make art that matters
have a responsibility to instill
into their creations ideas
that will help other people dream
and achieve things in their life
that will flower and continue
to reinvigorate the gift
that is their inner light
and their ultimate source of power.

Advertisements

My Poem “A Matter of Time”

There is a time for everything…
there is a reason for everything…
there is an answer for everything…
there is a purpose for everything,
for everyone, for the good, for the bad,
for the black, for the white,
for the left, for the right,
and there is always a fine line
between darkness and light
where both heroes and saviors
in all their forms live and breath,
where they are able to see,
hear, feel, and understand
the reason why things are
the way that they are
and why certain things
need to be what they need to be.

No two people are the same –
and that is an amazing thing…
no two stories are the same –
however every story shares
certain commonalities with one another
that bind them spiritually to one another
through a combination of degrees of separation.

No two hearts beat at the same rhythm,
no two minds are wired in the same way,
no two dreams are coloured in the same tone –
because every person is a walking, talking,
constantly communicating spirit
and a vessel that is constantly
changing and becoming something else,
somebody else, as they progress along
the path of the life, as they emit
and emanate their own light,
and as they race against time
to give reason, purpose,
and an answer to the question
of why they were born
and how the world has been effected
by their presence in it.

Life is not random –
it only appears as if it is sometimes,
because sometimes some things seen
to appear as if from out of nowhere…
poetry is life, and life is poetry…
darkness cannot exist without light –
and that is why every time I look up
to the stars of the night-sky
I am reminded that everything and everyone
is the matter of a particular place,
purpose, perspective, universe,
and the time that they find themselves within.

My Poem “Throwback”

Every day, I look at things,
I look at people, I look at places,
and in my mind I am thrown back in time…
Every day I am reminded about
some of the things I have done,
some of the people I have met,
some of the places I have visited,
and what always follows
is an intoxication of memories,
feelings, colours, that rise
to the surface – like the bubbles
of a glass of wine…
every day, I read things that I have written,
I remember what I did and with whom,
and I am overcome with a wave of déjà vu
that floods my thoughts with
echoes of what came before
and what I had compartmentalized…
every day, I hold on tight to who
and what means the most to me
and I try to remember every detail
of everything as accurately as I can,
while trying to correct for
Mandela Effect – which is a
prime example of how sometimes
our own memories can play tricks on us
and even blatantly make things up…
every day, something new happens to all of us –
even if we don’t realize it…
every day something new becomes
the inspiration for an explorer,
a storyteller, a musician,
a dreamer, a poet, that has such
a phenomenal and an amazing
effect that the aftershocks
from the revelations – that feel
like the tectonic shifts
that you can physically feel
when the Earth moves beneath you –
continue to influence you
in everything that you commit to afterwards…
the past, the present, the future,
the outside, the inside,
the old, the new, would not be what they are
and they would not mean what they do
without our own personal perspective…
the world is built upon things
and moments that are not meant to last –
however, if it were not for
all of the things that we sometimes lose,
all of the things that we leave behind,
and all of the things that are not meant
to last then we would never know
the true meaning, nor experience
the incredible power, of moments of nostalgia,
gratitude, and reflection from something
that can serve as a wormhole back in time
through which we can cast our mind’s eye
upon something in particular:
a throwback to an earlier time in our life.

My Poem “Dreaming in Colour”

Dreams are amazing…
dreams can be magical…
dreams are entrancing…
dreams can be wonderful –
but the thing about dreams
is that they are self-contained
worlds within a person’s mind…
dream can sometimes drive
what we think and what we do
while we are awake –
but dreams are just imaginary,
unless you use what you have dreamed about
and you make it real, you make it physical,
you make it something you can hear,
see, taste, touch, feel,
and give it a life beyond
the dream world of finite time…
some dreams can feel more real than reality
when you are at the centre of them…
some dreams seem so real sometimes
because we wish what we
experience within them was genuine…
some dreams come into being
because while we have been awake
we have been dwelling upon something
that we cannot immediately
come up with an answer to…
some dreams are like rainbows,
and while we are dreaming
we all regularly change the colour
and the tone of what we are dreaming about:
most of the time we dream and we go to places
within our mind that we do not choose…
our minds are magical in their own right…
our imagination is a playground
where anything is possible…
our knowledge and our experiences
are what fuel the fires, build the worlds,
keep the lights on, and inform
the personality traits of the characters
who we populate our dreams with…
our dreams are based upon
a certain personal perspective of reality
that we all keep secret from the rest of the world…
dreams keep us going…
our desires drive us to do what we do…
you have to venture down paths
and sometimes explore the twists and the turns
of the mazes that we find ourselves within
in order to find what keeps out heart beating,
what makes us who and what we are,
and what keeps us alive, living,
seeing, and dreaming in colour.

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 ‘The Chosen One’

You are The Chosen One…
you are here for a reason…
you are capable of more
than you could ever imagine…
you are where you are…
you are doing what you are doing…
you are shining like a distant
star in the dark…
you are silent,
yet your voice is echoing…
you are instrumental…
you are elemental…
you are indomitable…
you are integral…
you are saying something…
you are expressing the intangible…
you are hearing something:
music, rain-drops, a concert,
a down-pour, a stream of consciousness,
nature, beats, a distant rumble in the clouds,
poetry, to be embraced, to be held,
to be grasped, to be assimilated –
because it all matters,
because it all makes sense,
because it all entrances…
think about it all:
who you are, who you choose to surround yourself with,
what has led you here and what has carried you this far…
for me, it is my heart that has brought me here;
this time was chosen for me
to shine my ray of light as the rain falls;
for me, moments are precious and timeless,
unregrettable and unforgettable;
my parents would have moved heaven and Earth for me
if they could while I was growing up, and even now…
choices are so important…
time should not be wasted
by wrapped yourself up with a chain of what if’s?…
an idea is magical…
realizing a mental-picture is potent…
seeing something that nobody else can see
is blessed and celestial…
if a flood looks like it is on the way,
if you think that you can’t weather it,
save what you can anywhere and any way that you can,
and try to swim through whatever comes rushing towards you,
and if all else fails build yourself a life-raft
out of anything that you can find,
and never lose the one thing that will save your life
if you let it… never lose hope…
because The Chosen One’s do not often
get a say as to when and why
they are thrust into the lime-light;
heroes become heroes because they save lives
and they give themselves freely to another
at their time of need;
the divine conductor sets the stage,
writes the melody, keeps the orchestra in-time and on-pace,
and gives gravity to everything,
and they are present every second of life –
when we die our destiny has been fulfilled,
however our impression on the sandy beach of life
still remains long after we pass-over
to what lies beyond the horizon;
anybody who touches, anybody who teaches,
anybody who takes a hold of their life
and who wants to love and share life’s
infinite riches of experience,
inspiration, and light from their perspective
does so because they must –
because they were given a choice
and asked a question, the answer to which
was in their heart their entire life –
because right from day one,
they were, as you are,
the chosen one.

My Poem ‘Unforgettable Sixth Avenue’

They don’t understand;
how could they?
Everything that happened,
everything that I wrote,
happened to me,
and I wrote it in my words
and from my perspective;
how could anyone else understand
what it was like to go through what I went through,
if they were not there at the time,
if they did not feel how I felt in the moment;
people tell that they like what I write,
but I wonder what they actually think,
what they imagine when they read something of mine,
and I wonder if anyone will ever be able
to truly be of the same mind as me.

I remember walking the streets of New York City,
like it was yesterday –
in my mind, and in my heart, I am still there,
and I want to be there:
I can still hear the sounds,
I can still taste the air,
I can still see the lights of Broadway at night,
I can still remember the moment I was found,
I can still go back there anytime of the day
in my imagination and daydream
even the smallest of details
that I still remember and love to this day,
as I will everyday.

I treasure my memories,
and I replay the best and the brightest of my life
as often as I can;
I miss people, places, times,
that will always be special to me,
more than anyone could imagine;
I relive my youth,
because those years I never want to lose;
I listen to the songs that I remember hearing
on the radio as a child, and I understand them
and what they were trying to say to me then,
now more than I ever knew.

My heart has been open wide since the day I was born;
every day of my life,
something unforgettable has happened to me,
and I remember so much
I wonder if there is anyone else
who loves being alive
and remembering their experiences as much as I do;
even now, I can easily flashback
to the most perfect day of my life,
to the night when I wrote my first poem,
or to the moment when I remember
standing on the street corner
on the “Avenue of the Americas”,
on a beautiful September afternoon,
in Manhattan, in New York City,
and being in awe of the entire world
and the gifts of life
that I can still see happening right this second,
on Sixth Avenue.

image