My Poem ‘Heaven smells like roses’

I believe that if hell smells like fire,
then heaven must smell like roses…
I believe that if you doubt yourself,
then you are only doing the devil’s work for them…
I believe that if you do not want
to fall under the spell of internal darkness
then I would suggest that you hold on
to the most powerful gift of all: faith,
and see where that faith in yourself will take you…
I believe that if at a young age
you think that you know every thing
that there is to know about life,
then you are in for a long life
full of surprises…
I believe that if you try not to focus
too much on the past
and what other people once made you feel about yourself
then you may actually be able to see past
the invisible mask that you wear
and which only you can see,
and then finally you will see
that you are somebody who is truly beautiful.

The sun makes both flowers and people bloom
when they feel its energizing rays…
in the light of a summer’s day
is when you can see elements
of heaven on Earth in full-display…
the sun is like a drug
that can instantly make you smile
and put you in a good mood…
the summer is a precious and memorable time –
especially around the summer holiday season
and the month of Flaming June.

I save special days and heavenly experiences
in my mind and I relive them in my day-dreams,
especially on cold and rainy winter days…
I try to remember as much as I can
about a time that I know I will always consider
to be special, one of a kind, and important to me…
when I think back to when I was a child,
even then I remember the days and the nights of summer
as being the times when the beauty of nature
made me feel happy and the most blessed…
some things are too unmistakable for words to ascribe…
some things are always going to be
a matter of faith and belief –
in god, or perhaps in yourself?
I believe that we were given seeds
from which to grow new gardens,
because we need to learn
that the path to happiness
and the revelation of perfection
can only come to us
when we see ourselves for who we are in our heart,
and when we realize that wherever heaven is
and whenever we go there
we will instantly know for sure, as I believe,
that heaven does in fact smell of roses.

My Poem ‘Petrichor’

The air is cool;
the thunder and the lightning of last night
have taken away and abated
the feeling of fire that had been burning my skin;
the stormy weather of last night
apparently put on quite a show –
however, right at this moment,
the bright morning light
is streaming through the window;
and like every day that I venture out
into the world, I am hearing things
that I have never heard before,
and I am seeing things and people
that I have never before seen.

I slept like a still sea last night;
I never once woke up
nor was I awoken by any sound of rumbling
or by any flash of light;
when I opened my eyes from my dream,
I looked and I saw the sight
of a beautiful vision before me:
an intense light, brighter than lightning,
enlightened everything and made my world shine,
and the sound that I heard
that sounded like thunder
was my heart beating in my chest;
and as the new day began,
I knew that I could no longer linger or rest –
because what I felt next, to me,
has always been the best.

Making connections;
connecting the dots;
painting a picture of impressions;
seeing the gold within the rock;
understanding the true nature of life and the world;
finding and breathing in the clear and fresh morning air,
and inhaling that extraordinary and unmistakable smell;
feeling happy and sure;
stretching and reaching out
like a newborn chick that has only just
broken free of its shell.

People feel intensely and deeply;
everybody has instincts;
people want to feel secure, as well as free;
everybody can imagine anything
and everything in a single blink;
it has always amazed me
how much our surroundings talk to us
and what they say about us;
it has always fascinated and inspired me
how much life there is above ground,
as well on the ocean floor;
it has always excited me
every time that I have considered and thought
that I and everybody were once cosmic dust,
and that what makes me and us,
who I am and who we are,
also makes the stars what they are –
and, to me, that is enough to make
anyone’s blood rush;
it has always brought alive in me the light in things,
every time that I have taken in
the wonderful planet that I live on,
after a hot day and a stormy night,
and inhaled the air
and became instantly intoxicated
by the smell of petrichor.

My Poem ‘Gunpowder’

There is a full-moon shining;
there are a million stars above my head twinkling;
there is the unmistakable smell of distant fires;
there is another indistinguishable aroma,
taste, sensation, in the air,
that invigorates me-
races the blood in my veins,
enlarges my heart, expands my lungs-
and that is what everyone, everywhere,
on this night, here,
which was to be Guy Fawkes’ modus operandi
a long time ago, on a similar night,
on the fifth of November:
the powder that helps propel a bullet,
that which is contained and which explodes
within a firework-
the one and only, gunpowder.

The black sky is coloured with every colour;
flashes and bangs, light and sound,
enthrall, surprise, awe-inspire, constantly
with little-to-no pause, in rapid-frequency.
Adults look up, children grin with excitement-
everyone wants to be outside, even in the cold,
so that they can feel the rush of being awestruck,
and so that they can remember, experience,
and know what is important.

A brilliant expression of celebration;
a phenomenal invention that has changed the world,
more than anything anyone may be able to mention;
a visceral spectacle that you can see and hear
that does not come much louder-
the explosive mixture at the other end of a fuse
that sends rockets into the sky,
and hearts and imaginations souring into the great unknown;
a magical dust that should always be handled with care;
that is in the air at this time of the year,
before, and beyond, the time of the midnight hour-
the defining chemistry, and DNA of a firework:
gunpowder.

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Remember remember the 5th of November