My Poem ‘Back down to Earth’

I’m back now…
my second home is now
4000 miles away again…
I’m back below the clouds…
I feel like I am a man of two minds:
one, a proud Englishman;
and another, someone who feels at home
in Georgia, in the United States of America,
where there is more opportunity
to do anything, at any time of the day,
and at any given moment
as there are lanes on a highway.

I’m back where everybody drives on the left,
instead of on the right…
I’m back where I was born –
however, there isn’t a moment
when I do not miss the light of my day,
the light of my night,
the light of my life,
back there where you can see
fireflies flying and glowing
against the stars of a twilight sky.

I’m back wearing jeans –
however, only days before
and for two weeks-straight,
I had been wearing shorts
morning, noon, and night,
and getting touched on the skin
by the heat and the light of the sun…
I’m back walking down familiar paths
and sitting in the same chairs
in the same places that I know every inch of –
however, though I am awake and writing
here in England, I am also projecting myself
back to Georgia with Melissa
and dreaming along with her
and surrounded by the scent of a burning candle
that smells like coffee
when its wick burns and its wax melts.

I’m back where there are not as many drive-throughs
as there are in the US;
here in the UK, for example,
if we want to withdraw some money from our bank-account,
or if we want to pick up a prescription from a pharmacy,
we have to actually walk to somewhere –
however, in the US you can get money,
you can pick up your prescription,
as easily and as speedily
as you can order take-out food,
and you don’t even have to leave
the comfort of the driving-seat of your car.

Both the US and the UK share many things in common,
but there are many wonderful differences
that set them apart…
we have different names for the same things:
in the US, people seem to find more time
to celebrate and remember the liberty
and the freedoms that they are
constitutionally entitled to…
both the US and the UK even have
different forms of humour
and things that they find funny,
but both the US and the UK know
the true joy that comes with sharing experiences
together as friends and as a family,
and why it is important to smile and to laugh.

Both the US and the UK have for centuries now
shared a “special-relationship” with one-another,
and from my perspective and from my experience
our commonalities have no limit
to their importance and worth…
to me, both the US and the UK
are two sides of the same coin,
they are two halves of the same heart,
and I feel and I know with all my soul
that the US and the UK are bound to each-other
in more ways than could ever be described –
and when I am away from both the UK and the US
there are things and there are people
that I miss more than others,
but it is my knowledge
of what makes both the US and the UK
so special that always makes me smile
and always brings me back down to Earth.

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My Poem ‘A Good Day To Write’

Today is beautiful…
the weather could not be better…
today has an energy and a feeling
that feels magical and wonderful…
the sky is blue
and there isn’t even one cloud above,
and with every breath that I take
I can sense that there is something special
and inspirational in the air…
I don’t know what it is,
but I have a felt like this before –
to me, to the writer in me,
it is like catnip and all I want is more…
like an intoxicating perfume…
like a dog with a squeaky-toy…
like a wolf howling at the moon…
like that memory of racing down a hill
on my go-kart when I was a boy…
heart-racing, inspiring,
invigorating, breath-taking, exciting –
like the thrill that some people get
from adrenaline-filled activities
like driving-fast, or cliff-diving?
From start to finish, from beginning to end:
an artists dream, a writer’s wish…
like seeing a sun rising or setting…
like the abundance of life and nature
of a forest that gets inside you…
like a day spent in a countryside of green-fields…
like a day spent reading a book under a tree…
like a day spent with your girl-friend,
your wife, your soul-mate,
just enjoying every moment of love
and being together…
today… today is one of those days:
a good day to walk… a good day to smile…
a good day to love… a good day to read…
a good day to open your eyes,
to open your ears, to open your heart…
and if you are a writer like me,
today is definitely a good day to write.

My poem ‘A world of poetry’

People sitting in the sun;
people on the phone;
people having some time alone;
people, a family sitting down
and having a picnic for their lunch…
Birmingham, Victoria Square –
June 9th, 2016, 12.04pm…
I am sitting here
basking in sunlight
with my notebook and pen
capturing a moment of time
with words that are inspired
from this moment of inspiration…
I am looking out and seeing
every kind of person –
tourists, friends, business people,
artists, sun-worshippers, and many more –
and at every instant
I am almost blinded by fascination.

A sudden breeze decreases the temperature,
the sun becomes less intense
because of a momentary overhead cloud-cover…
a sudden realisation of time
motivates everyone to move again with a purpose…
and then another sudden burst of energy
gives everybody a gift of focus.

A falling white feather,
as if an angel had left behind a token of heaven…
I sit, I watch, I see, I feel
a wave of something indescribable engulf me…
I see, I watch, a world of poetry…
I feel connected to everything…
I feel the world moving…
I feel like I have just taken
a bite from the fruit of the first tree…
I have always known
that poetry is the world,
and the world is poetry.

My Poem ‘The Blender Analogy’

Reality is fiction…
fiction is reality,
after it has been ingested,
digested, and blended-together
with the thoughts, the feelings,
and the memories that a writer
has been storing away for a rainy day…
when the clouds come together,
and when thunder starts to rumble,
and when lightning starts flashing and striking,
and when there is the most
almighty down-pour of creativity
that rains down upon a once blank page…
that feeling, that moment,
that perforation that happens
when you rip out a page from the book of reality
and you change a word here and a name there,
and you make it your own
and something completely brand new…
it’s intoxicating, in all honesty…
it’s poetry… it’s a thing of beauty…
it’s life in a nutshell… it’s wonderful…
and as the artist, it is an amazing thing to look at
and to marvel at when all is said an done,
and when it is now yours
as well as someone else’s…
I would think that it must be a similar feeling
to that one might have after they have
sampled a part of a song that already exists
and they have repackaged it as a purported “new song” –
people have been doing it for years, right?
It can’t possibly be wrong?
Call it a stew… call it a pie…
call it a soup… and see all the similarities
to all the things that contributed into making
or influencing something –
but also remember that every-thing in life
that happens, and everything that everybody does,
is inspiring – even the seemingly accidental mistakes
that happen can, and mostly are,
just the fertile ground from which
new things may grow out of…
just recently, I heard an author
recount something that his rock-star wife
had said about the creative-process of making art,
and what they essentially said was:
that creating something, artistically or otherwise,
is like throwing seemingly different
and unconnected things into a sort-of “imagination-blender”
and turning it up to full-speed –
and I love this explanation and description so much,
because – speaking as someone who has written
one or two short-stories in my time,
and more than one verses of poetry –
I can honestly tell you
that there is no better way
to describe the creative-process
that I have ever heard
than that of “the blender analogy”.

My Poem ‘The Ten Thousand’

Every birth is a miracle…
every child is an angel…
every baby is beautiful…
every newborn is wonderful,
and it is every parents responsibility
to provide and to give without question
the love and the support that their children
need more than anything else in the entire world.

Every child is born to the parents
whom they are born to for a reason…
some parents don’t even plan to be parents –
however, I am sure that not even
Mary and Joseph knew how to be the best parents
to the young Jesus,
but they did the best that they could,
and it is not every day
that you are chosen to be
the adoptive parents of God’s son
through immaculate conception.

In my opinion, every parent of every child
is the beginning, but not the end…
in my opinion, the best parents
care so much for their children
and their well-being,
and they show their love for their children naturally –
while others try too-hard
and in the end they have to pretend.

We know from the Bible
where Jesus was born and to whom…
we know where Jesus died
and where he rose to heaven…
we know that Jesus died
for each and every one of us,
but no-one could ever know
what exactly Jesus thought about
why he was on Earth when he was a child –
however, when he saw the signs
of what was about to come
and what he had to do,
I am sure that he knew…
we know that Jesus was divine,
but he too was mortal
and could not have left this life
in any other way than like a human.

Some couples pray for the gift of a child…
some people become parents naturally
and biologically, and some are chosen
to be the guardians and the protectors
of a child by the hand of destiny and fate…
some couples’ journey to parenthood
can be long and hard,
but unbelievably worth-while…
some people become a parent early
and some become parents late…
some couples only choose their child’s name
after they have been born,
while some have had the same names picked out
for months before they even knew the sex of their baby…
some parents watch their children grow
and become amazing individuals
of whom they could not be more proud…
some couples know what it means
to have been born into a one-of-a-kind family…
some parents unfortunately out-live their children
and even have to watch as their child
breathes their last breath –
and it is to them that Angels come
to help them through the heart-break that they feel,
because to the ears of the divine
the sound of even a single falling tear of a parent
is as loud as that of ten thousand.

My Poem ‘The Foreseeable’

No matter how much the climate changes…
no matter the year, the decade, or the century…
no matter the faces of the famous
displayed online or printed
on the black and white newspaper pages…
no matter how we interact with one-another –
face to face, or by using the most
up-to-date technology…
some things will never change
and will always stay the same…
no matter what the names are
of the games that people love to play…
days and dates will always continue
to mean something –
especially on those occasions
when people can celebrate
and enjoy light that never stops sparkling.

Many of us are creatures of habit –
I, myself, have walked the same way,
done the same things,
listened to the same music so many times
that people could probably
set their clocks by me –
some may wonder what it is
about my almost daily-routine
that stimulates me and keeps me
from repeating my actions
to the degree that they become boring;
however, all I can say
is that no matter how many times
I go to the same place,
or I do the same thing,
every single day
I see something,
I hear something,
I learn something
that I never knew before –
and, to me, each new day
and every new person that I see
is a mystery to observe and explore.

Routine keeps the world turning;
repeating keeps an engine from stalling;
re-reading keeps a person’s thoughts running;
reevaluating everything you see
keeps the world exciting and inspiring;
reminding yourself of why it is important
to do some things regularly
remedies any and all short-comings
about you or your life
that you feel there may sometimes be.

For the vast-majority of our lives,
most of the things that happen to us
are predictable;
we all can have a so-called “ordinary day”,
during which there will be something
that will happen that will be remarkable;
our life’s cycles are some of the most
special and personal things
that we can always rely on and fall back on,
and they are what make our lives
feel full and wonderful;
the world will consistently remain
changeable, recyclable,
and indomitably-incapable
of not trying to reinvent itself
without breaking its own mould –
and in doing so
everything and everybody
will always have a part of them
that will be both random
and foreseeable.

My Poem ‘Christmas Time’

“So this is Christmas,
and what have you done…”
sang John Lennon on the radio
as I sat with my pen and open notebook,
as the sun shone through the windows
and reflected off the chrome panels
of a nearby building;
I was near an open door all the while –
but not for a second did I feel cold;
the Christmas songs kept playing,
the air was cozy,
and everybody around me
was locked in their own world;
the Christmas colours and lights
were bright and bold,
and just as I got to the end
of the first verse of my new poem
a familiar voice sang loud:
“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”

I sit. I stare. I blink. I smile.
I write. I think about how much
I have in common with the life of a sundial –
because I too would be nothing
without the light of the star from afar
that gives my life meaning
and endows me with all that I need
to be who I am supposed to be.

As Louis Armstrong sings
of the “trees of green”
and the “red roses too”
and the blue skies of our “wonderful world” –
I know, I see, I remember
all that he sang about
and what I too believe makes out planet
standout from any other
in the entire universe;
so often, I become both lost and overflowing
with words to describe
all that I see and all that I feel;
I do not know who I would be
if I could not write the language of my heart
on a page in connected verse of poetry.

“White Christmas” starts to play,
and instantly I am back in time
and I am imagining things that happened
so many years ago –
I remember the snow of my childhood,
I remember the happy times I spent with my family,
I remember imagining that if anybody
were to walk on the surface of the moon again
then of course I would;
I remember seeing true beauty
in fallen snowflakes
and knowing that there was more to me and to life,
and twenty years before I would ever have thought
to write anything that I would now
consider in any way poetic.

One last song plays
before I have to leave the place where I am now;
where I am going next I do not know for sure,
because I do not have a fixed plan –
however, as I think of a title
to sign-off my brand new chain of rhymes,
I decide to use the last words
of the song that I hear…
and as my poem is about the world of today,
about me, and is in itself a snap-shot of life –
this poem is about this moment,
and at this moment it is definitely
Christmas time.