My Poem “Genius”

Guardians are always with us…
we all have personal deities
protecting us and watching over us…
spirits are all around us,
and when we need them the most
they comfort us and they help us…
we all have benevolent daemons
and angels on our shoulders
who are always speaking to us…
from birth to death
every one of us has a soul
that gives something important to us…
we all have a kindred friend
who only wants what is best for us…
everybody has a place and a person
within them that is their
own personal “Genius”.

My Poem ‘The Ghost Train’

Ever wonder how ghosts get around?
Ever wonder how ghosts travel from town to town,
when they are not hanging around in cemeteries
or scaring people as they haunt a particular house?
Some ghost are haunt-o-holics,
some ghosts just can’t move on –
but there are some ghosts
who like to get out-and-about
and who like to go to other places – hey, why not?
It’s not as if ghosts need to wait in-line or buy a ticket?
While some ghosts are essentially agoraphobic, you could say,
and don’t like going anywhere
and would much rather just stay at home –
there are some ghosts, however,
who don’t want to rest in peace for too long
before wanting to make a break for it
and see the rest of the world.

There is a “train” for the dearly-departed
who choose to stay on Earth
when they are given their choice
to either pass-on or stay right where they are;
there is a train that is the fastest in the universe
that runs 24-hours a day, all-year-round,
to every corner of the planet,
that is the quietest form of transport ever envisioned –
this train is so underground
it doesn’t even make a sound.

Ghosts have a lot of time on their hands;
ghosts still like doing what they loved
to do when they were alive –
ghost may be dead,
but that doesn’t mean
they can’t make plans.
Ghosts know more than anyone
how short life for the living really is…
some people die and become ghosts
and instantly get bitten by the “travel-bug”
and in no time at all become tourist-spirits.

Getting on the “Ghost Train”
is no problem for the no-longer-living;
if you know how to board the “Ghost Train”
then you can get on whenever and wherever you are –
all the world is the “Ghost Train’s” station;
there is no place that the “Ghost Train” will not stop,
and there is no limit to the number of passengers
it is capable of transporting –
to those do not know about the “Ghost Train”
at first it can seem like an absolute sensation.

There are many things that the living cannot explain;
there is knowledge and there are answers to questions
that those who are still breathing
are not able to understand
because they have too much
clogging-up their already over-active brains.

There is something that travels farther than a plane,
along rails that could be thought of
as if they were some kind of speed-of-thought fast-lane…
there is a way to get from anywhere to anywhere on Earth
for ghosts, and for all intents and purposes
it is aptly called by those who ride it:
“The Ghost Train”.

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 ‘The Green Day’

Today is the day
that we celebrate
the man, the legend,
and Ireland’s favourite saint…
today is the day
when we all want to be Irish,
even if it is just for 24-hours,
and when we all have an excuse,
if we need one,
to wear something green…
today is the day
when I am sure that even from space
the entire planet glows with an emerald light…
today is the day
that may only be remembered by some
through a haze of memory
as if it were just all a part of a dream.

Shamrocks are on show;
Irish beer flows;
everywhere you look green is all that see;
everybody from morning ’til night
raises their glasses
and feels their spirits rise
and fly free.

Green, to me, has always represented life,
abundance, growth, and energy;
today on Saint Patrick’s day
we can all know and see the face divinity;
green, to me, has always felt ethereal
and magical in some way;
today on Saint Patrick’s day
we can all be filled with a strength
to get through anything in life,
come what may.

God has always had his messengers on Earth,
and for centuries they have spread
the meaning of life throughout the world
through his teachings;
the meaning of life is to love and be loved,
however learning how to do so
comes in a variety of different ways;
living your life to its fullest is important
because life is precious
and the time that we have to live is fleeting;
it is a great thing
to be able to share the joy of life,
and there is no better time or way
to be our most human of selves
than on the day of green
that is Saint Patrick’s day.

The Green Day-poem