My Poem “The Monarchs of Women and Men”

No one can fly forever…
at some point even an angel of the skies
has to come back down to Earth…
no flight can last forever…
memories of being above the clouds
always stick in everybody’s mind –
no matter how much time has past
nor what they have seen or heard,
because the miracle of flight
is a dream that keeps on giving…
all kings and all queens
rise, reign, and die…
every Monarch at some time in their lives
has to look up to the sky
that they will always remember and say goodbye…
every thing and every person
ever remembered after their last words have been spoken
is recalled and thought upon differently –
but the best of things and the best of people
are incapable of being forgotten
because they are like the kings and queens
who inspired their people to do great things…
like the best writers, actors, singers, and musicians
who are still remembered
and their art is still enjoyed after their death,
some people can never die,
because they are the Monarchs
of all women and men.

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My Poem “Pause”

Planes crash. Buildings fall.
Lives are lost. Time stops.
One day can feel like it is the end of the world.
Open wounds always leave scars.
Some days can never be forgotten.
Memories can sometimes feel like stars –
sometimes they feel far away,
and sometimes they can feel
close enough to touch…
the 11th of September, 2001,
is like a scar of my memory
and I will always remember
exactly when and where I was
when it was given to me.

I have visited New York City…
I have stood at Ground Zero…
I have marveled at the memorials
that are now where two towers once stood…
I have looked up at the Freedom Tower,
and every time I think about being there
where so many people lost their lives
it always brings a tear to my eye –
because I remember where I was
when New York City and the world,
and all of us who value life above all else
were rocked both physically
and emotionally to the core…
every time I think about that day
every thing that happened that day
always makes me sad and gives me pause.

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My Poem ‘Memento Vitae’

Mementos of life…
Photographs of us…
Memories of days and nights…
Echoes of love…
Souvenirs of where we’ve been…
Snapshots of who we’ve known…
Reminders of what we’ve seen…
Hallmarks of home.

Hope and happiness…
Laughter and light…
Smiles and kisses…
Children who have blossomed
before our eyes…
Things to remember…
Lessons learned…
That which truly matters…
Cycles of rebirth.

Sunrises and sunsets…
Timeless songs of yesterday…
The eternal souls
of those who we will never forget…
Music that stays with us everyday…
Unbroken Vows…
Promises made under starlight…
Words of truth spoken aloud…
Miracles never to be forgotten
from the gift that is our life.

My Poem ‘The Ghost Host’

On the sandy beaches of Normandy, France…
still sailing the oceans and seas…
men, women, animals, children, continue on –
some free to act independently,
some stuck in a cycle forevermore
as if repeating the steps of a spectral dance…
as if conjured back to life,
even for a short time,
some people still live on
in the words that they have written –
it is as if the simple act of reading
and letting someone’s voice be heard again
allows them to once again breathe.

While walking the fields of old battle-grounds…
while sitting in the room of a house
thought to be haunted…
while walking through a grave-yard
without a sound to be heard all-around…
while thinking about somewhere and someone,
whose bones and whose life-force still resides there,
every time my senses and my intuition go into over-drive
and I can feel, and I can almost see the face,
and hear the voice of a passed-on spirit –
someone who is still bound to Earth and to its gravity
and who have not chosen, for whatever reason,
to ascend to heaven.

Long-dead soldiers
still walking through the woods
of the state of Georgia, in America;
homeless ghosts still walk the streets of New York City
hoping that perhaps in death
someone might notice them, finally;
patients still walk the wards
of long-since abandoned hospitals
as if they were a zombie;
homes that were once taverns, in England,
still have patrons waiting
to order a drink at imaginary bars.

When we die, I believe that
we leave more behind than what we realize;
when our spirit leaves our body,
I believe that there are sensitive people
who can tell that we are still on Earth –
as if our echo-self has the pungent smell of burnt toast;
when we close our eyes for the last time,
I do not think that that in any way, shape, or form,
is our final goodbye;
when you live a life, like many of us do,
and you share a world with other people
it is only natural to not want to leave that place –
and there are those among the living
who know that, and who recognize that want and that need,
and who choose to open themselves up
to being the conduit and the host of a ghost.

My Poem ‘9/11’

The die was cast far and wide,
the pain was felt deeply and irrevocably
on that sunny Tuesday morning,
on the Eleventh of September, 2001;
terrorists to all mankind
came out of the shadows
from where they had been hiding
and made an attack
and left a lasting scar
on all of humanity,
that to this day still pains me
even now, 14 years on.

How could anyone do such a thing?
Why? Oh my god, why?
Who would think to do such a thing?
The innocent do not deserve to die!

I mourn the lost;
I am mindful of the loved ones
and the family members
who were left behind
and who still struggle
to live and to move on,
as if nothing happened;
I still believe that the entire world
is still understandably shell-shocked;
I have been to Ground Zero,
I have stood in the place
where the shadows of
the World Trade Center still remain,
and I can honestly say that being there
where so many people lost their lives
had a profound effect on me:
the new Freedom Tower
and the pools of remembrance
that are now in place of what was once there,
in memory of the indescribable tragedy
and the massacre that took place,
will always be to me
sacred and holy ground.

I have flashed back to that day
every year since 2001;
I have imagined myself where I was,
sitting in front of my TV,
watching the news reports
of the true American horror story unfold;
I have wished many times
that what happened on that day
could somehow have been prevented
by some miracle of heaven;
I have watched the echoes
and the repercussions of what happened
on that day spread and effect
everyone and every country around the world.

I am a man of many words,
but even I struggle to put into words
the sadness that I still feel
about all the people who died
in New York City,
at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C.,
in Virginia, in Pennsylvania,
and everybody who has lost their life since;
I am a man who believes
that things happen for a reason,
but I cannot, nor could I ever,
nor could anyone for that matter,
give me an acceptable justification
that would make my confusion
about the murders that were carried out
on that day in any way lessen;
no deplorable and horrific act of terrorism
like that which played out
in front of everybody
on the 11th of September, 2001,
to me could ever make sense;
I will never forget;
I will never allow the fallen to be forgotten;
I will always hold on to the memory
of my unforgettable brothers and sisters,
as I hold up my hand
and feel my heart beating in my chest;
I will always remember
the day that will always be known as 9/11.

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