Holding a newborn baby in your arms
always brings home how precious,
how fragile, and how utterly unique
each of us truly are…
looking into a newborn baby’s
big blue eyes reminds us all
that everybody who arrives into this world
has the right to be given the best life
and to be protected by their new family
from coming to any harm…
seeing how dependent every new
gift to the world is to who they are
born to reminds us all that
even though every child born is a miracle
no child can grow and develop independently
of the energy and the influences
that constantly surround them…
being in the presence of a couple
who are the parents of a newborn
and seeing how through trial and error
they learn how to work together
to be there for their child when
they need them really brings home
the message and the meaning of life
that reminds all of us to be in awe
at the arrival of every new someone.
me
My Poem “Naturally Reflective”
I am so reflective
that I might as well be a mirror…
my emotions flow so easily
I might as well be a river…
I am sometimes so transparent
I might as well be a window…
I am so easy to read
that I might as well be a book
because most of the time the expression
is one easy that accurately conveys
my feelings and my thoughts…
I am like a dark moonlit ocean…
I am like the spinning chrome rim
of a car wheel that is constantly in motion…
I am like a light-bulb whose face
brightens or dims depending upon
what I am talking about and who I am with…
I am like a stream of sunlight
after it passes through a prism of glass –
because when all of the individual
collective components that make me
who I am spill out of me
like water through a sive
all of the droplets of inspiration that
I have accumulated within me
share themselves so effortlessly,
because for better or for worse
I am and I have always been
someone who is naturally reflective.
Mark The Poet – Episode #69: “Life As We Know It”
My Poem “Frozen Tears”
The snow fell slowly…
the snow fell deep…
the snow fell quietly…
the snow fell so peacefully
that while I was watching it
I drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, as I looked out
at the blue sky above
and at the white snow below,
I felt like I was a child
and I wanted to go outside
and walk in the snow –
and that is exactly what I did:
I put on my walking boots,
my coat, my scarf, and I threw
my rucksack on to my back
and I set out, one step at a time,
to explore the frozen beauty of nature
and the wonderful sights
that most of the time remain hid
before it was too late –
because even in nature things
are not always meant to last.
The sound of the snow cracking beneath
the soles of my boots was invigorating –
most likely because the sound of my own
footsteps was all that I could hear…
the way that the crystallised snow
sparkled and glistened as the sun
shined upon the pure white path
before me was dreamlike –
untouched, vast, like being within
a moment of time in which
there was no beginning and no end:
like staring at an eternal representation
of life and nature and feeling so moved
by this overwhelming and profound landscape;
and yet, even though I wanted to cry,
I was unable to conjure any tears –
I instead choose to close my eyes,
to breathe in and to breathe out,
to smile from ear to ear,
and to feel more blessed
that I had felt for years.
My poem “It’s a Boy!”
On the 21st of January, 2021,
my sister Clare and my brother-in-law Ben
were blessed by the birth of their baby son –
and I just wanted to write something
to welcome this brand new gift of hope
to the world and reassure him that
for all the days of his life
he will always be blessed by love.
Last night there was storm of rain,
but at the moment that my sister Clare’s
baby boy was born the clouds literally parted
and the sun shone upon everyone
brighter than it had done so for months –
and as soon as I was told that my new nephew
had arrived safe and sound
and was in his mother’s arms
I immediately felt this overwhelming
feeling of pride for what my sister had done
and I quietly conveyed my belief
that no matter what happened
my new nephew could rest assured
that he would never knowingly
come to any harm.
The ability to create new life
is one of the greatest gifts in the universe…
the phenomenon that someone
who you have known all your life
can still find ways to surprise you
in rising to the occasion of becoming
something bigger than themselves
is truly an awe-inspiring and a breathtaking
superpower that to me has always
been beyond any words.
I have never been prouder
of my sister Clare than I am today…
I have never been happier for anyone
than I am for my sister Clare
and for my brother-in-law Ben right now
because of the arrival of their new
buddle of love and joy…
I have never wanted to meet anyone
like I am looking forward to meeting
my new nephew…
I have never been more overjoyed
to share any news with anybody
than I am to say that my family now has
a brand new beacon of hope in our lives
in the form of a beautiful baby boy: Milo!
🥳🎊🎉🧑🍼🤱👶😍
My Poem “Always”
My heart goes out to everybody
who is having to adapt to doing things
and to living their life as best as they can
in a vastly different way than they had
previously known how to
since all of the restrictions put upon
their interactions, the way that they shop,
how they work, and how they learn
were introduced in order
to combat against an unseen
and an easily transmissible enemy
that has seemingly brought
the modern world to a stand still.
My heart goes out to parents,
because most of them have had
to adapt to becoming not only
their child’s guardian and around
the clock source of entertainment,
but they have also had to become
their child’s tutor and home school teacher –
and in most cases parents are struggling
to be all the things that their child
needs them to be all of the time,
while perhaps also simultaneously
having to juggle the responsibility
of being a supportive partner.
My heart goes out to the children
of this generation who want to learn
and who dream of becoming something
and someone with a calling
and a purpose in life to be fulfilled…
my heart goes out to those families
who are having to share their one
and only means of accessing the Internet
and those who are having to take it in turns
to seek out some kind of escapism
from the stark reality of world events
in any way that they can.
One thing that is undeniable
is that life is hard for people right now,
and the world, unfortunately,
seems more fragmented than ever;
however, whenever I see new art being created,
whenever I hear of new music being shared,
whenever I find out about new
innovations that are being made,
whenever I look beyond the shores
of my island home,
I am reminded of how resilient the human spirit is –
which is why I do not stop myself
from believing that with a little time,
patience, and perseverance
the human race will one day
collectively come out from
the shadow of this dark era
more resolute than ever,
stronger than ever,
consistently riding the waves of change,
because we have always been a species
who no matter what has always found a way.
My Poem “The Blackout”
One second there was light
and the next there was darkness…
One second all was bright
and the next I couldn’t see
my hand in front of my face…
One second I was looking at
my phones illuminated screen
and the next I was using the torch
of my phone to guide my way…
One second the sun was shining
and the next it had completely
disappeared below the horizon
heralding the end of the day.
I still remember those days
and those nights when I was a child
when the power used to go out
every now and again –
but whenever it happens now
it is always a complete and utter surprise
to the degree that some people
still attempt to flick light-switches
on and off multiple times
perhaps believing that they can cause
somekind of electrical reset.
It’s strange looking out of the window
at night and seeing all the streetlights off…
it’s odd having no power, no light,
and no heat for a short amount of time –
but such an experience does make you truly appreciate how much we all
do sometimes take for granted
the gift of instant electricity,
and how much when we do not have it
at out disposal some of us feel immediately lost.
When the lights come on again,
when the TV screens flicker back to life,
and when we no longer have any further need
for the torches and the candles that we
had lit as temporary sources of light,
we all feel thankful to be able
to see clearly and to feel comfortable
once again in our world of modern enlightenment
that for a time had been taken away from us
by the inconvenience of a brief
but significant neigbourhood blackout.
Rest In Peace, David Bowie (a tribute)
On January 10, 2016, I wrote a poem called “Always the Starman” dedicated to the late great David Bowie who died on that very day in 2016 – and I can still remember where I was and what I was doing when I heard of his untimely passing, and I can still remember being immediately inspired to mark the memory of one of the most famous and celebrated music artists of the 20th Century – and two days later I published the poem that I wrote on my blog for all the world to read so that they may get a sense of just how inspirational David Bowie was and still is.
Not long after David Bowie’s death, I remember that I was writing a new short story called “The Man In Black” about this mysterious character – who I didn’t truly know the identity of, nor why they were so mysterious… all I knew at that point was that whoever they were they dressed all in black, they had mysterious and powerful gifts that enabled them to appear one minute and disappear the next, they could bring animals and perhaps people back to life, and they may or may not be some kind of angel or some other supernatural being. And something else that I knew immediately was that whoever this mysterious “man in black” was he also bore an uncanny resemblance to the late great David Bowie, as some sort of tribute to him. But that was it. I originally intended to include my short story “The Man in Black” in my 2016 short story collection “Too Close To The Sun”, however for some reason I held it back… and to this day I still do not know why, what, or who stopped me from doing so – but I am so glad that they did, because from that first story there followed others that featured the same “Man in Black” who at times was known to white also depending upon when you met him. And slowly but surely I wrote more and more, until I finally found myself with seven short stories that explored who the “Man in Black/Man in White” was and why he did what he did. And to this day the stories of my short story collection “Playing God” still remain close to my heart, because within them are characters who I know and who I recognise: characters in need of being saved by a hero, a friend, a rebel, an angel, a god dressed all in black, and sometimes dressed all in white – someone who we would all wish would pay us a visit and heal the world of the present from what we are currently being plagued by.
I wrote my original poem “Always the Starman” and “The Man in Black”, the first story of my book “Playing God”, as a personal tribute to David Bowie – but the more stories that I wrote about this mysterious man who looked and sounded just like David Bowie, I also found myself uncovering many different sources of inspiration – from ancient Greek mythology to the daily torments that some people have to deal with – and I also found myself learning more about why I love writing so much: that thrill of exploration and discovery that I find every time I embark upon a writing challenge that I know will take me to places that I never imagined I would ever venture to. And that is what it is so enthralling and exciting about being a writer and an author of fiction: you never know where it is going to take you.
I will always be eternally grateful to the late great David Bowie for his music, for his creativity, and for the gift of inspiration that he gave to me – which coalesced over time into becoming a book of stories written in tribute to him, but also a tribute to hope, optimism and the gift of life that we are all blessed with which we all sometimes take for granted.
Rest in peace, David Bowie
8 January 1947 – 10 January 2016
My Poem “Missing Time”
Since the start of this world-shattering pandemic I know deep in my soul that I have missed the sound of a particular source of music - a soundtrack, a beat, a rhythm of life that can be heard, felt, and seen within your minds eye, whether it be morning, noon, or night: the same pulse of inspiration that first surged within me at the very moment when I knew that I was born to be a poet. What I love about writing and what keeps me coming back to the blank page time and again is the same thing that I miss about sitting in a café surrounded by people, before the days of mandatory masks and before compulsory social distancing. The thrill of the unknown, the magic of the instantaneous, the order and the chaos that to me always made sense and which I could always easily pull into focus: all that being an artist is all about... you can't plan for it, you can only create it when you feel it within you boiling away with such ferocity that you know it is about to explode - which is why artists need to capture what occurs to them before whatever idea forms combusts into dust and becomes as spectral as a ghost. I yearn to go back in time... I wish that I could return to a place at a point in the past where and when I truly believed every moment would always last... I still cannot believe that we are all living in the world that greets my senses and compels my thoughts and my emotions so overwhelmingly... I wish that I could do something, I wish that I could write something, I wish that I could imagine something that might serve to transport everybody away from our current stark reality - perhaps to a moment of peace, joy, and love that the world once enjoyed, or to a time in the future when I know the memory of our current present will not be as potent. I have personal places and I have particular times where and when I return to within my thoughts and within my dreams that mean the world to me that feel so close to me that I could reach out and grasp them: perfect moments the like of which everybody has, which we all would do anything to get back to, which we never stop missing and which are among life's most precious of blessings.
markthepoet.me 