My Poem “Everybody is a Poet”

The truth –
no matter what anybody tells you –
is that everyone is an artist,
everyone is a Poet,
everyone can do something unique,
everyone has a talent,
everyone has something that they are meant to do,
everyone has the spirit, the soul, the mind
than when honed is capable of doing anything,
expressing anything, experiencing everything
that makes life on this planet worth living…
If you can make someone smile,
if you can make someone laugh,
if you can make someone think,
if you can make someone feel something,
then I am happy to tell you
that you are an artist, you are a poet,
you are a member of a world wide
society of people who embody life
from every extreme on the scale
of reality in which we are capable of
inhaling and exhaling…
Money can’t buy you many things –
and one of the things that it can’t buy
is yourself: your life, your memories,
your experiences, your perspective,
your joy, your happiness, your hopes,
your fears, your nightmares, your concerns,
because all of those things are unique to you alone
but they can be shared and sympathized with others
because there are always others who have similar,
universal, human, psychological, physical,
and verbal insights into the kaleidoscope
of thoughts, dreams, and emotions
that drive the engine of nature
that surrounds all of us…
There are things in this life, in the universe,
that nobody can see –
when astronomers look up and back in time
to the beginning of the universe
they find an impenetrable wall of light and energy:
the innermost shockwave from the explosion
that created everything that we see,
from the moment of the Big Bang, frozen in time –
which surrounds the answers to some of the most
important questions ever asked: Why are we here?
What is the meaning of life? Is there a God?
Everybody asks questions – that is what we do,
and that is what humanity has always done…
Everybody has a story to tell
and everybody is a storyteller
and a character in their own right…
Everybody goes on a journey during their life
to find themselves and what they believe
should be their purpose while they are alive
on Earth and a member of this world…
Everybody creates a little piece of art every day,
but sometimes it can take a while to interpret
what someone is trying to say –
however, in their own way,
even if they do not realise it,
and even if they are not actually using words
to communicate their feelings and motivations,
a person’s actions can speak volumes,
and in my opinion every action that someone
makes should be classed as poetic…
I have met a lot of people throughout my life,
and I have heard, seen, and I have read stories
about people from vastly different walks of life –
and the conclusion that I have come to
is that everybody, in their own way,
is an artist, and everybody is a Poet.

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My Poem ‘Good morning, sunshine’

I’m not a song-writer,
I’m a story-teller…
I’m a believer,
but I’m not a fortune-teller…
I have been doing what I do
for longer than I can remember,
doing what I do is both a curse
and a life-saver…
if I could talk to God
I would ask him a favour:
help me, help you,
inspire the world
and give hope to the sick,
the needy, and the poor –
because that is what I want to do
and that is who I want to be…
I want to have the words within me
to change the world
and make everybody understand
that every day is like a new song
that has never been played or heard before,
and every conversation in every language
that is spoken is pure unfiltered poetry.

We all have an oasis in this world…
we all have a place on this Earth
that for us has this lure…
we all have reasons for doing
what we do between sunrise and sunset…
we all have reasons for feeling
happiness and for getting upset –
we are all thinking and feeling human-beings,
we are not unfeeling machines…
we care and we worry about personal things…
we all know what is in our heart
and we all think about “what could have been”.

We don’t have long to figure out
what we are meant to do…
growing up, sometimes we all have to go
with the flow of a tune that we don’t really know…
most of the time, if you don’t have someone else
holding you up and pushing you forward
then you can feel like you are walking
and wavering on a tight-rope
between two tent-poles.

I have been around the world…
I have met people both evil and kind…
I have been on occasion lost for words –
but since the day I met the angel,
my angel, Melissa, all I see
is true heavenly-beauty
every time I look at her face
and she says to me:
“good morning, sunshine”.

My Poem ‘The Stranger Things’

The stranger things are,
the stranger things matter;
the stranger things are what shine
far away in the dark,
and they are as beautiful and mysterious
as the planets and the stars;
the stranger things become
the more that we think about them,
and the more that we become invested
in the strange things of the world
the more our heart beats faster.

Everybody is “normal” in their own way,
and yet equally as strange;
everybody is a character in someone-else’s story,
and a figure in someone-else’s painted landscape;
everybody can be “at home”
at the same time that they are “away”;
everybody can be beyond who they see
when they look at their own reflection in a mirror
and wear within their mind a vastly-different face.

To me, the stranger things are
the more interesting they are;
to me, the longer something stays unexplained
the more intrigued and the more drawn to it I am;
to me, the stranger things in life –
the mysterious, the one-of-a-kind, the extraordinary –
are constantly leaving their mark for me to find,
like a calling-card;
to me, the stranger things –
the unknown, the questions, the fables,
the stories of aliens, fairies, and monsters –
are so inspiring and amazing,
the more I hear, the more I see, the more I imagine.

What can seem strange to one person
can seem “every-day” to another;
what can seem fantastic to a child,
or to someone who is young-at-heart,
can seem to someone with a closed-mind
like something that could only be found
between the pages of a book-cover;
what I have learned in my life,
as a story-teller and a story-reader,
is that anything and every-thing
can be a fountain and a treasure-trove
of thoughts and energy –
and that life, if nothing else,
is never boring and can be always interesting;
living and breathing in a world deeply
brings with it oracles of gifts,
and they can be found in the strangest of places
filled with the strangest of things.

My Poem ‘Infinite Stories’

There is no greater story
than a true story;
there is no greater true story
than the story of someone’s life;
there is no greater way
for an individual story
to touch another person’s heart
than to tell it true
and to see it run free;
there is no greater epic
than a death-defying survival
to stay alive.

We all have stories;
we all love stories;
we have meet each other
because we need to;
we all know someone
who has a story from their life
that is so amazing and incredible
it is almost unbelievable to believe
that it is even true.

Passengers on a plane,
passengers on a train,
strangers on a journey,
strangers on a trip,
who can truly be honest
about who they are,
because the only thing that they share
is the shortest of connections and history –
brief encounters, stories that matter,
short exchanges, instances of new changes;
new chapters, fresh banter;
a rush of endorphin’s;
marks of beauty,
like freckles on person’s skin.

Because life is constantly asking
something new of us all,
new stories are being made all the time;
because people are constantly meeting new people
life stories are constantly inter-twinning;
because the rain will always fall,
and the sun will always shine,
somewhere, everywhere,
the pen, the keys, the fingers of a storyteller
will always be writing.

New stories begin every second;
old stories continue and are shared
time after time, day after day –
as if they are once again brand new;
legends are made for us to find
that allow us to see things
in ways that we can understand;
for every story to be
there must be a me and a you.

For better, or for worse,
all of our true stories
are ours and no one else’s;
fortunately, or not,
all of our memories are ours –
our losses, our tears,
our smiles, our glories;
for the best, all of our living days
will one day be like grains of sand on a beach,
and like the countless stars of the universe,
and that is what makes them truly ours
and truly special;
for all of our collective spoken and recorded time,
everything and everybody will always be the reason,
the source, the microphone and the speaker,
not to mention the writer and the reader,
consequential and important
in sharing the world’s inspiring
infinite stories.

My Poem ‘Cherokee’

Every group of indigenous people,
from every country and continent
around the world –
within their history,
within their teachings,
lies a deep-seeded belief
and a connection with the world,
as well as a bridge to use
to understand the importance of life and death:
both the Aboriginal people of Australia
and the Native American Indians and their tribes
have always known that the planet that is our home
has a name, an identity, and a spirit all of its own,
and they have always seen and considered
the Earth that we all walk on
as if it were the skin of an astral being,
and that there are places that are sacred
and need to be protected – so that,
like so many places of natural beauty
that have been lost, there are places
that will always remain
as they are meant to be and unscarred.

There were no greater storytellers,
there were no greater warriors,
there were no greater teachers,
there were and there are no greater
people who remember their inspiring ancestors,
than the Native Indians of North America –
everything that I have been told,
and everything that I have learned,
has been a revelation to me –
and, to me and to lots of people,
I would point to my fascination with them
and to their amazing and timeless culture
as the source from which from every question
I have received an infinite number of answers.

Since the dawn of humanity,
since the moment when
the first of all of our ancestors began to believe
in what they could feel was out there,
but that which they could not see –
the many tribes and cultures that have risen
have believed in a greater divine higher-power
that seeks to communicate a meaning
and a way of life that can be discovered at any time –
even though it may sometimes appear hidden.

The traditions, totems, dreams, thoughts, emotions,
that indigenous cultures teach us to be mindful of –
the tribes that believe that the stars of the sky
are the eyes of our ancestors
watching over us from above;
mountains, monuments, deserts, valleys,
even to this day and always,
are places and trails to some people
who believe that there are some things
and some people who must never be forgotten;
spirit-guides, animal-guides,
are said to be all around us –
and when we dream, Native American people
teach that Earth and its people
share a constant dialogue of language
and inter-connected communication.

Everybody alive shares ties
with the first tribe
that made that first journey
and took those first epic steps
that to them must have felt
as if they were on a star trek
in search of who they were;
everybody of the modern world
shares traits with whom it was
who struggled to get us all
to where we are now –
even though the faces of those first people
have long-since disappeared into history,
in each of our cells and our DNA
there are important and integral lines
of their timeless poetry;
everybody at some time has felt a presence
with them in the dark;
everybody must never forget where we all came from,
and we must all never forget
that to understand what we do not know
about the life we all have, knowing who we is the key:
that is why I relate,
and that is why I subscribe in every way,
to the teachings and to the customs,
and to the insightful and the divine wisdom
of respect for all life of the Cherokee.

My Poem ‘Imagine like Lennon’

Dreamers never stop dreaming,
dreamers take great comfort
and they feel great joy
in the knowledge
that they are not the only ones;
imagineers never stop imagining,
and because their thoughts,
dreams, and hopes never stop coming
and flowing, miraculous new discoveries
and ideas come to light
and are allowed to shine
all over the world on the eyes
and from the hearts of countless people,
as if they were new born stars and suns.

An artist in an artist from birth;
a storyteller is a reader of other stories
by other writers, who has always felt
compelled to create stories of their own
and take people on a journey;
many artists have sought inspiration from above,
like the first drop of rain
that began all the oceans of Earth;
to be who you are meant to be in all walks of life,
and in all stages of creativity and evolution,
everybody must be able to just be.

There is a moment, there is a spark,
there is a light, that brightens the dark,
there is an instant of change,
there is a time to step back
and rethink and reinvent,
there is sometimes one perfect expression
that is beyond any and all words
that could ever fill a single page;
there must be a world within you
where you can go to that is even more
limitless and boundless than the universe,
where your inner identity can run free;
there must be an outlet for you to do what you know;
there is always someone who has a great many things
in common with you, in any and every direction
to every degree;
there is always a side to you
that you cannot completely show.

Being a poet is like being a player
of an imaginary instrument
that only you have the knowledge
and the gift to be able to play
as exquisitely as it can possibly be played;
musicians of physical instruments
are able to play their music
and give rise to vibrations
that literally can touch and speak
to the blood, the heart-beats,
and the very core and source of who someone is;
if some things were tangible,
instead of being unbelievably fragile,
and if not everything that meant the most
was not sometimes a struggle,
then there would always be something missing –
however, that is often the case
when choosing a course that is the most
untroublesome and easy;
to dare to dream is to take a chance on a risk.

Heroes are important;
music is a miracle;
every experience is a lesson;
you cannot always have, or get, what you want;
life is too phenomenal to shut yourself away from it –
to enjoy living to the fullest is essential;
greatness cannot be attained alone,
nor can you know or call yourself great –
those who truly know us are the only ones
who can describe us and tell us who we are;
to me, music is where inspiration lives
how we are all supposed to live;
to me, music is heaven, and anyone and everyone
who can feel the meaning of music
deep inside them knows how life-changing
and world-changing it is in all its infinite forms;
and that is why music is so important to me –
because it inspires me to dream like Dylan,
to think like Einstein,
and to imagine like Lennon.

My Poem ‘The Showman’

The audience, the stage,
the lights, the time,
the anticipation, the murmuration,
the feeling in the air
as the lights begin to fade…
and then the Magician appears
into a white spot-light of illumination –
all eyes are looking at him,
he has everyone in a trance,
the Showman begins to tell his story,
and the music starts to play,
as the Mentalist leads us all
in an unforgettable and tremendous dance.

The Showman is a true master of his art;
the Magician is a true wizard of his magic;
the Mentalist has so much to think about
and has to be ten steps ahead of his audiences;
the Storyteller is weaving together
and telling a tale to everybody,
but he is also having to adapt
to the seemingly random choices and responses
of his ticket-paying gathering –
however, every second, the Conjuror
is undoubtedly in control:
he never once shows any sign of nerves,
stage-fright, or not knowing what is happening
and what is going to happen –
because they know that things are playing out
just as they predicted they would,
and everything and everybody
is following their blueprint for the night,
and the pieces of the puzzle
that they have laid out and fragmented deliberately
are coming together according to their plan
and their pattern.

The Showman asks his audience for their trust,
and as a member of their audience,
and because you want to be
under the Magician’s spell as much as possible,
and for as long as you can,
you not only want to give the Mentalist your full-attention,
but you also want to give them
your cooperation and participation.

Being in the audience of a true Showman is a gift;
being there when the lights go down, and the show begins,
is magical in and of itself;
being hypnotized and entranced
literally gives people a lift;
listening intently to the Mentalist’s incantations,
and willingly going on a journey to another place,
and feeling as if you are in a different state of being –
as if you are dreaming;
when you leave the theatre, after the show has ended,
figuring out what happened, and when,
is sometimes hard to recount and tell.

Every second of the Magicians performance is amazing;
every colour, every word, is precise and meaningful;
every person selected at random from the audience
and who gets to tread the boards of the stage
with the Mentalist has an unforgettable experience;
every sound, every visual,
is fascinating and electrifying;
every time the Magician comes into the audience
and literally overcomes people
with their touch and presence,
being so close, is phenomenal;
every act, after the fact,
feels like it happened in a flash –
even at the interval of the show,
you can’t believe that the time
you have been in your seat in the theatre
has gone by so fast.

At the end of the show,
when the performer comes back onto the stage
to take a bow and enjoy a rousing
and roaring standing-ovation,
the Conjuror, the Magician, the Mentalist,
leaves the stage – but then reappears
to connect the dots back to the first thoughts
that they had verbalized,
the first pieces of the puzzle:
and when they reveal the true message
that makes everything that has come before,
everything they have shown and demonstrated –
like a conductor of music
with an audience of instruments
in front of them and under their power –
everybody feels something profound,
and when the artist, the star, the entertainer,
the virtuoso leaves the stage for the last and final time
the cheers and the response is electric –
and, in truth, you don’t want the magic to ever end.

When the show is over,
and you, the audience,
have to leave the theatre,
everyone is awash with great and magnificent emotions –
and as they walk away,
everybody cannot wait until the next time
they are in the audience, and can be a witness,
to the entrancing showmanship
of the remarkable Showman.

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