My Poem “Mark in the Mirror”

Sometimes we see things that are not there…
Sometimes we don’t see things
that are right in front of us…
Sometimes we can get lost in
the thought of a single stare…
Sometimes we see mistakes
and we automatically make order
out of the chaos and we filter out
all of the unnecessary things
that surround what we see –
in life, in people, in art –
and we naturally bring
the blurry into focus,
like the art of writing poetry.

Mistakes are natural,
mistakes are human –
however, mistakes are also annoying, perplexing, and for an artist
mistakes are futile in their drive
to want to share something
as close to as what they envisioned
and as close to what they imagined,
as any form of creativity can ever be…
Mistakes are imperfections –
however, mistakes are also
lessons to be learned from
and they are as necessary
for self-discovery
and self-examination
as listening and observing
to the specific rhythm and speed
with which a certain person speaks.

I have made more mistakes
than could ever be counted…
I have made more missteps
than I ever want to recall –
however, I am someone
who always makes a concerted
effort to look for all
the chinks in the armour,
to try and rectify my errors,
and to constantly search for a way
to redeem myself following
a period of illogical
inconsistencies and regrets,
and to take the time
to redefine myself
in order to weed-out
what I believe should not be
a part of my psychological
makeup, and exorcise once and for all
all the mistakes that have over time
become a part of the character
that I daily live with,
share a shadow with,
and who I see every time
I look in the mirror.

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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 ‘The Man in Blue’

Where to start, how to begin;
the first time is always the most memorable,
like the first time that you see a shooting star;
the first time for everyone is always different
for everything – however, just as seas settle,
and nerves turn into waves of excitement,
after that first time of complete and utter
scarily real reality grasping you
by the heart and taking your breath away…
something amazing happens,
something exciting rises in you
like an internal sun,
something makes sense
beyond words could ever explain.

Anyone can begin anything;
some things have a time limit,
and some things don’t;
anyone can capture the essence of a feeling,
and if you truly do not want a feeling
or a time to fade there is always a way
to make sure that it won’t.

There are some people
who read the last page of a book
before they ever read the first;
there are some people
who come into something
at the end and work their way back;
there are some people
who believe they are cursed;
there are some people
whose first word in life
is also their last.

As I have lived,
as I have grown,
as I have breathed deep
and ventured far from home,
I have seen things beyond my wildest dreams,
I have met the most beautiful angel of Earth
that I have ever seen,
I have been inspired,
I have walked through fire,
I have found a reason to live,
I have discovered that in life
it doesn’t matter where you are –
what matters the most
is who you are with.

We are all people of colour;
we all wear the shades of ourselves proudly,
because we consciously or sub-consciously
want to tell people “this is me”;
we are all exhibitionists, in our own way –
even if we do not always choose
to be the first one to show
our dance-moves on a dance-floor;
we all have some idea
of who and what we would like to be.

There are some offers
that you simply cannot refuse;
there are some people
who you could never say no to;
there are some colours
that no matter what
will always look good on you;
there are some who focus
on the little things in life
and the continued happiness of the few;
there are some people who are just like me…
and just like everyone has their favourite colour,
and in every way embodies
the empathetic qualities of their favourite colour,
I am definitely quintessential
man in blue.

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My Poem ‘The Psychology of Silence’

Silence speaks louder than sound;
silence is where true discovery is made;
silence is where truth is found;
silence is full of infinite space;
silence is where you can hear a heart beating,
or a heart breaking;
silence is a no mans land where no one can hide;
silence is waiting; silence is a tide.

There is no sound in space;
there is no sound in a vacuum;
silence has no face;
silence can hurt you.

Words on a page rise silently;
words written in ink have depth deeper
than the paper they are written on;
words are not the only poetry;
words are a way of transition.

If you can convey an intention, a feeling,
an emotion, a meaning, without making a sound,
or without the aid of anything
other than that of you and yourself,
you truly understand and are on the same wavelength
as that of nature;
if you can say something with an action
rather than with an empty sentiment,
then not only can you be a powerful presence
on the present, but also, more importantly,
a talisman for the future.

The planets of our solar system
orbit around the sun unheard;
if you were listening from high above
you wouldn’t be able to hear anything,
but you would know that humanity was there
by the tiny lights that we all make
from our place on the surface of the Earth;
everything, everyone, has a silent story
that speaks for itself, and themselves;
epic people and fantastic worlds
can be spoken to and journeyed to
within the pages of every book on every bookshelf.

A therapist uses silence as an essential tool
to open a person’s mind;
a fisherman uses silence and patience
in unison with their bait to catch their fish;
an artist uses silence along with the paint on their canvas,
and if need be could make great art blind;
anyone can decipher anything with knowledge and common-sense;
everything is there to be something
to something, or someone, else-
that is what I found and interpreted
when I analyzed what struck me
about the psychology of silence.