My Poem “Rhapsody”

The voices of everybody over-lap…
one minute the music is jazz,
the next the beautiful melody of a piano…
the echoes of a chorus of sounds
are carried through the air
like the waves of an ocean…
there are moments of time that run slow
and there are those that race past
and then are gone again in a flash…
there is a dance of people,
of language, of emotions,
of noise, of stillness, of silence…
the beats of a heart,
the thoughts of a mind,
the air and the ambiance
that flows gently like a stream
can gradually become a waterfall –
the place, the people, the music,
the moment that is filled
with an infinite number of instants
that make them who and what they are
is what is at the heart
and what is the true essence
of what poetry, to me, is all about…
the best poetry comes from the heart of a poet
who feels a moment of time and an experience
so deeply and so profoundly
that it can only be expressed as a rhapsody.

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My Poem “Words Enough and Time”

If only there were
enough words in the world
and limitless time in our lives
for each and every one of us
to find peace of mind
to fill our soul
with only the things of life
and the universe
that are among the most
wondrous and beautiful…
during an eclipse of daylight,
under the silent shadow
of a celestial event,
within the brief window
of day becoming night,
every one of us
can feel as if our lives
have become frozen
in an instant of twilight…
if only there were a way
for thoughts to break-free,
if only there were a way
for us to see the unseen,
if only there were a way
to describe the true meaning
and the transcendental
beauty of a sunrise…
if only there were
words enough and time.

My Poem “Left to Write”

Fast or slow…
Long or short…
Something you feel,
something you know…
Something to be discovered,
something to be revealed…
In a notebook, on a screen…
At home, or somewhere
you have never been…
From eyes and ears
to mind and imagination…
From the inside to the outside…
In silence, from sound…
In the sky, or while standing
upon solid-ground…
From dreams to reality…
From a burst of sunlight…
From the stars of infinity…
Just like that comes a poem,
and it never ceases to amaze me
what a writer can create
when they are simply
left to write.

My Poem ‘Plane-spotting’

There are things that I remember
from when I was a kid
that are still so full of colour
and still so vivid and clear…
there are places that are forever
preserved within my memory
from when I was a child
that I can always return to
within the blink of an eye…
there are times when you think back
on your life and your memory
can play tricks on you
and you can accidentally and falsely
remember things that never really happened –
but, when I close my eyes
and I think back to being ten years-old again,
on a summer Sunday evening
just before the sun went down,
and I can see my Mum, my little-sister,
my Dad, and I can see my own face
being reflected in the rear-view mirror
of our family car as we prepare to go home
after a busy afternoon of plane-spotting.

My Dad has always been a train-spotter,
a plane-spotter, a car-driver,
and when he was younger
he was even a motorcycle-rider…
my Dad has always been a music-lover…
my Dad has always been the best father…
my Dad has always been of a lover
rather than a fighter…
I learned from a young age
that when it comes to deciding
and knowing what the best thing to do
in any given situation at any time of the day or night,
then my Dad is the one who always knows better.

Everybody who has ever met my Dad
never forgets my Dad –
my Dad has one of those faces
that hasn’t changed that much since he was a school-boy
growing up in his home-village of Coleshill…
when I was younger, as a family
we were always going to airports and air-shows
so that we could see and marvel
at the aircraft that we saw souring through the sky,
and my Dad always knew what every plane was
and he could tell you what type they were
with a single look…
going to places with my family when I was a kid
are timeless memories that I will never forget
because they mean so much to me…
I will always remember those moments
when I would look at my Dad
and I could see the genuine joy
that he took from being with his family
who he loved while he did something
that he had been doing since he was a kid…
whenever I see a plane taking off now,
or whenever I am flying on a plane as a passenger,
I always flash-back to when I was a boy
when my Dad would pack up the car
and we as a family would all go
plane-spotting.

My Poem ‘Thirty-six’

So much has changed,
so much is different…
I still have the same name,
I still live in the same place,
and for the most part
I still have the same face –
but I am not the boy who I once was…
and, as I always do at this time of the year,
I am wondering to myself,
as I stare at my own reflection:
what about me has changed the most?

These days, I have brown hair –
where as when I was a child I was a natural-blond…
these days, I take journeys to many places on my own –
where as when I was a boy growing up in my village
the furthest away from home that I went
was down to the end of the road
and to the nearest duck-pond…
these days, I spend hours dreaming up new stories
and making up adventures for complex characters –
where as when I was a boy, I… I…
to be honest, I pretty-much did exactly the same thing –
but these days when I write something
usually I am writing from the experience
of having been through and having seen so much.

I have always asked questions…
I have always looked for the meaning of things…
I have always lived my life without feeling
burdened by other people’s expectations…
I have always looked up to the sky –
at the stars at night,
or to the blue-sky of a Summer’s day –
and I have always been awestruck by what I saw,
because every time I look up I am inspired,
and what follows is always breathtaking.

All life is about change,
about transformation, and about transition…
everyone’s life begins in the same way,
and from the day that we are born
we are all on our way
to the same destination…
all my life, my parents have been there for me
and they have given me more than a son
could ever ask for –
every day, my Mum and Dad are with me
and it is because of them that I am so blessed…
when I was a boy, I said a prayer and I made a wish:
I prayed to God that I would find my purpose,
and that while searching for the meaning of my life
I would find love and happiness…
now, I am an adult –
and, as I look around myself and at my life,
I can say with all my heart
that all my wishes and prayers have come true…
I can honestly say that my life has been one
that I would never have wanted to miss –
even knowing all that I have seen and been through,
I feel loved, and truly blessed to be who I am
and to have done all that I have done…
and I am still only 36.

My Poem ‘Waiting…’

Waiting… waiting…
I’m waiting for something…
I’m waiting for something,
and for this thing
I have been waiting all morning…
I used to think that I was good at waiting –
for my birthday, for Christmas, for the weekend…
when I was a kid I knew that within no time at all
my favourite days of the week and the year
would come around again
and within the blink of an eye
they always did…
but, I am all grown up now –
and as I wait now
for what I am waiting for to arrive and be delivered,
I now know the true meaning of the song lyric:
“the waiting is the hardest part”…
did I mention that I am waiting for something?

I have been keeping myself and my attention occupied
while I wait, I have been doing things
that I have not done for years –
but since I cannot leave the house,
and there is no one else
who can sign for my delivery for me,
I knew that I would have to keep
my eyes from constantly
looking at the time while I am waiting…
so I cleaned – I cleaned my bedroom window,
I cleaned the dirty-dishes from the night before –
I listened to music, I sat looking out the window…
thinking… wondering… waiting…
and now here I am, writing, still waiting,
and anticipating…
my morning and my day started early,
as it always does –
but now it is 2 o’clock in the afternoon,
and I am still waiting.

Waiting for what?
What is this something that is so special
that I would stay at home all day and wait for it?
Well, it is something special indeed that is coming –
something that you could say I am connected to,
and the reason that this something even exists…
what I am waiting for is something
that I have spent a long time invested in,
and as I wait for what I hope will soon arrive
I am even starting to have flash-backs
to my first encounter with the idea
of what is beimg delivered,
and I think about the journey that I and it
have already taken with each-other –
all those mornings… all those nights…
all those words… all those internal fights.

When you are doing things,
time literally flies away from you…
when you are watching something,
talking about something,
and when you take your mind off of something,
then the waiting for something
can be a little more bearable,
and less mind-numbing –
but waiting can sometimes be a good thing…
waiting can be exciting…
waiting can also be boring,
especially if you have been
counting how much time
you have actually been waiting…
time is a wasting –
but maybe it’s not?
At least I got to do something
to fill my time while I was waiting:
I wrote this poem that you are now reading –
so at least something worthwhile
came about and was born out of
all the time that I have been waiting…