Poems are reveries that call you by name. Like all true loves they arrive in spite of who you are, at your doorstep. Nothing needs to be done except to stay with your longing. They are miracles of compassion; they are gifts of the ether… Flowers that bloom unnoticed in the early dawn of your becoming. Stay present; let the light kiss the sadness of your soul away. This is just a beginning to all real beginnings. From here begins the place you call bliss, from here begins the time you call golden.
These poems began in your soul so they could take shape in my mind, They were gifts you left hidden, just for me to find. These words are all yours; you just let them become mine,
Always wide eyed with wonder, prone to reveries and restless with an inexplicable yearning to create ever since he was a little boy, Jay wrote his first poem when he was six. He discovered the ore of his creative endeavors in the writings of his sister from which everything else originated, in attics filled with vanilla smelling old books, in savoring the classics and in intricate poems of Wordsworth and William Blake inlaid with rhyme…. His poems have snuck under editorial radars and appeared in global anthologies, magazines, newspapers and online journals. He also runs an idea shop called the Centre of Gravity, draws cartoons, directs animated short films and conceptualizes communication campaigns. All of which originate from the same artery of poetic longing that destiny charmed into his soul.
My second chance is bristling in a fire but you were here you could have changed the conversation, you could have given me your touch, but it dissolved into yesterday, and a furnace I’m a dead man, heart locked away
Do not be a stranger come on and write. Your poems like flowers in the garden of life. When you are gone there is no sunshine around. So please be here because you are a wonderful scribe. Your words are