Since the start of this world-shattering pandemic I know deep in my soul that I have missed the sound of a particular source of music - a soundtrack, a beat, a rhythm of life that can be heard, felt, and seen within your minds eye, whether it be morning, noon, or night: the same pulse of inspiration that first surged within me at the very moment when I knew that I was born to be a poet. What I love about writing and what keeps me coming back to the blank page time and again is the same thing that I miss about sitting in a café surrounded by people, before the days of mandatory masks and before compulsory social distancing. The thrill of the unknown, the magic of the instantaneous, the order and the chaos that to me always made sense and which I could always easily pull into focus: all that being an artist is all about... you can't plan for it, you can only create it when you feel it within you boiling away with such ferocity that you know it is about to explode - which is why artists need to capture what occurs to them before whatever idea forms combusts into dust and becomes as spectral as a ghost. I yearn to go back in time... I wish that I could return to a place at a point in the past where and when I truly believed every moment would always last... I still cannot believe that we are all living in the world that greets my senses and compels my thoughts and my emotions so overwhelmingly... I wish that I could do something, I wish that I could write something, I wish that I could imagine something that might serve to transport everybody away from our current stark reality - perhaps to a moment of peace, joy, and love that the world once enjoyed, or to a time in the future when I know the memory of our current present will not be as potent. I have personal places and I have particular times where and when I return to within my thoughts and within my dreams that mean the world to me that feel so close to me that I could reach out and grasp them: perfect moments the like of which everybody has, which we all would do anything to get back to, which we never stop missing and which are among life's most precious of blessings.
The days as a child
that I spent daydreaming;
the days as a child
that I spent simply being;
the days as a child
that I spent reading, creating,
making, watching, listening, and learning,
were the best and the most care-free of my life;
and my memories and recollections
of the days when I was a boy, thinking back,
were truly inspiring, exciting;
and there are times now, as an adult,
when I look around and I think,
and I sometimes wish,
that I were still the boy that I was,
and still dreaming.
I am constantly writing down memories;
I am always drawing maps in my mind
to lead me back to where I have been;
I am continuously saving things;
I am frequently returning
to the places that I had to leave.
Things must change;
sometimes in life
you have to navigate and find your way
through something that feels like a maze;
even though most things that we do in life
happen and never leave any trace,
it is important to remember the important things –
like places and faces –
that make you say out-loud:
‘those were the days’!