People are leaving... there appears to be a mass exodus... people are choosing to uproot themselves and start a new chapter in a new setting; however there are still the shadows left of those whose presence we will never forget. Places change, people change... nothing and no one is ever meant to stay the same... photographs that start out as symbols of hope and optimism over time do begin to fade... after something monumental happens that shakes the foundations of somewhere people are always left in shock and always look around and want answers from those who they believe are ultimately to blame. There is always a first time for everything and there is always a last time... everything and everyone wants and needs trust... there is always a feeling of disappointment when people realise that they have been deceived into believing a lie. Everyone has to make the right decisions for them at the time that they are faced with a choice - and for some people, when they look around and at their surroundings, and they think about how, who, and what they have always known might have changed in ways that are unpalatable for them to remain, they sometimes choose to make the life-changing leap with others who have also chosen to become a part of the exodus.
Choice
My Poem “The Individual”
Some seasons are easier
to get through than others…
some periods in our lives
are easier to ride out than others…
some days are more eventful than others…
some people are more comfortable
being themselves when they feel
like they have nothing to prove,
no one to prove anything to,
and no one to be other than
a friend, or a brother,
or a sister, or a son, or a daughter,
or a lover, or just someone
who will listen to someone else
who needs nothing more than
to be heard, to be understood,
and to be given the opportunity
by another person to let
themselves breath and be seen
without any kind of a mask,
a façade, or a filter.
People love being free…
freedom means everything
to those who appreciate
and understand why being
free is such a gift,
because for some people
around the world freedom is not
an guaranteed…
being free to believe
what you want to believe,
being free to do what you want to do,
being free to say what you want to say
has been restricted in some parts
of the world because some people
have misused it, they have abused it,
and they have taken it for granted…
being given the opportunity
to be able to live, to breath,
to see, and to enjoy the natural gift
of infinite wonders that is our beautiful planet
is something that so many people
do not choose to recognise
until someone is awakened
to a particular vision that opens up
a door within them that leads
to a part of them that can grasp
what nature has been constantly
trying to tell them and show them.
Ignorance of something or someone
is one of the most important
components in spreading fear –
which is why ignorance and ignorant people
are usually the most uneducated of people
because they actively and deliberately
choose to switch off from what is happening
to other people and would rather
live in a bubble in which their version
of the world is all that matters.
We all live in one of the most
interconnected times in human history –
and yet there are still people
who choose to not see things
from another person’s just as valid
and perhaps opposing point of view
just in case they find out
that there is more common ground
than is believed possible,
which is why meeting people
who live completely different
lives from you is important in
gaining a more fuller world view
and to discover new and valid ideas
that they never knew…
there are always multiple sides
to an argument, to a story,
to a people, to a country –
and it is the responsibility
of all free thinking people
to be progressive enough,
to be evolved enough,
to be individualistic enough
to take everything as it comes to them and to strive to be uniquely themselves
instead of just being predictable
and never stopping to think, to do,
nor to be anything, or anybody,
other than one of a crowd.
My Poem “Baba Yaga”
There have been times
in everybody’s life
when they have been wide away
at an hour of twilight –
when the moon was shining
its white halo of reflected light
back at those looking
at it from below –
when people have felt,
even though they were alone,
as if an invisible presence was
sitting next to them, staring at them,
and communicating to them a choice
that they needed to make –
for some this spirit may have been
personified as being an angel,
a ghost, a reflection in the mirror,
a face in the flames of a fire,
a rebel devil, a man in black,
a bright light, a dark shadow,
a messenger of heaven, a hellion of hell,
a pale rider, an emissary of purgatory,
a crossroads guide, a Boogeyman,
or perhaps a scary witch who
goes by the name of “Baba Yaga”,
who tests everybody whom they find
or who finds them, in order
to discover who a person is
deep within their soul.
My Poem ‘A Ghost’s Story’
Some people think
that ghosts are all in the mind…
some people think
that we see what we want to see…
some people think
that the stories of hauntings
are more often than not
just a bunch of lies…
some people are just unable
to entertain the possibility
of somebody continuing to live
though they may not technically be “alive”…
ghosts, spirits, people remain on Earth
and they talk to us all every day –
but sometimes not in ways
that are easy to believe.
When a human spirit leaves its corporeal life
and is set free of its physical body,
a natural change and transition occurs…
when a human heart stops beating,
another source of spirit grows stronger
and we are given a choice:
to follow our instincts
and to journey to a place
beyond human understanding and comprehension,
or stay on Earth and be shown,
and get to interact with,
the living of humanity
within an existence of limitless-time.
Everybody has a reason to be who and what they are –
some people when they die become songs,
and some people when they die becomes stars;
some people’s spirit live on
within the pages of a book
long after their audible-voice can no longer be heard,
forever inhabiting a story’s every letter of every word;
every form of life, when it fully becomes its own spirit,
lives on – and the more that we explore other planets
in the galaxy I am sure that we will encounter
alien ghosts, also –
and I personally would not be surprised
if one day someone from Earth
finds themselves haunted by the figure
of a dead Martian while living
upon the surface of Mars.
Everybody has a story that they are at the centre of…
some peoples’ stories do not end
when their physical body gives-out…
everybody had a moment during their life,
and after death, when they have to shake-off
who they used to be and become someone else completely new –
the draw of an enticing bright light
is hard not to race towards like a moth…
some peoples’ idea of life after death
to some might be thought of as “heaven”,
and to others that same idea
might be their exact version of “hell”…
life when you are alive is different
to the life that awaits us all
on the other side of the threshold of our twilight
that we have to cross when our time
as a living and breathing human comes to an end…
it is said that when we die
we write the most beautiful poetry…
it is important to say goodbye
to loved-ones and friends…
every person, every-thing lives on…
everybody and everything changes –
but nothing ever truly ends,
and when each of us pass on
our story changes also,
from one like that of a caterpillar
to one like that of a butterfly –
and that is the essence of a ghost’s story.
My Poem ‘The Chosen One’
You are The Chosen One…
you are here for a reason…
you are capable of more
than you could ever imagine…
you are where you are…
you are doing what you are doing…
you are shining like a distant
star in the dark…
you are silent,
yet your voice is echoing…
you are instrumental…
you are elemental…
you are indomitable…
you are integral…
you are saying something…
you are expressing the intangible…
you are hearing something:
music, rain-drops, a concert,
a down-pour, a stream of consciousness,
nature, beats, a distant rumble in the clouds,
poetry, to be embraced, to be held,
to be grasped, to be assimilated –
because it all matters,
because it all makes sense,
because it all entrances…
think about it all:
who you are, who you choose to surround yourself with,
what has led you here and what has carried you this far…
for me, it is my heart that has brought me here;
this time was chosen for me
to shine my ray of light as the rain falls;
for me, moments are precious and timeless,
unregrettable and unforgettable;
my parents would have moved heaven and Earth for me
if they could while I was growing up, and even now…
choices are so important…
time should not be wasted
by wrapped yourself up with a chain of what if’s?…
an idea is magical…
realizing a mental-picture is potent…
seeing something that nobody else can see
is blessed and celestial…
if a flood looks like it is on the way,
if you think that you can’t weather it,
save what you can anywhere and any way that you can,
and try to swim through whatever comes rushing towards you,
and if all else fails build yourself a life-raft
out of anything that you can find,
and never lose the one thing that will save your life
if you let it… never lose hope…
because The Chosen One’s do not often
get a say as to when and why
they are thrust into the lime-light;
heroes become heroes because they save lives
and they give themselves freely to another
at their time of need;
the divine conductor sets the stage,
writes the melody, keeps the orchestra in-time and on-pace,
and gives gravity to everything,
and they are present every second of life –
when we die our destiny has been fulfilled,
however our impression on the sandy beach of life
still remains long after we pass-over
to what lies beyond the horizon;
anybody who touches, anybody who teaches,
anybody who takes a hold of their life
and who wants to love and share life’s
infinite riches of experience,
inspiration, and light from their perspective
does so because they must –
because they were given a choice
and asked a question, the answer to which
was in their heart their entire life –
because right from day one,
they were, as you are,
the chosen one.
My Poem ‘The Writer Type’
I can always tell
another writer when I see them;
I can always tell poetry
whenever I read something
that someone has written;
I can always tell another poet
when I hear them speak
with so much passion,
energy, and depth of intuition
in their voice;
I can always tell
and I always know
when a writer has an idea
for something to write in some form,
because I have that feeling
multiple times a day –
and when you feel that need to write rise,
as a writer, you just know in yourself
that what is on your mind
needs to flow unabated
as a matter of necessity and destiny,
and not always as a matter of choice.
I have a sixth sense for creative people;
I have an instinct for the inspired;
I have been a member of the church of poetry
for years now, and I am its life-long disciple;
I have the greatest adoration for people
who can change the world with the power of words,
and to whom their love of language
is one of the greatest of all their desires.
I could sit with my notebook
at a table in Starbucks,
I could lay on my bed looking out the window,
I could sit on a bench in the park,
I could sit under the moonlight in the dark,
and be absolutely captivated and lost
in thought by the most incredible
and the most inspiring creation of my imagination –
as I try to interpret, convey, and convert
my thoughts into words
that perfectly capture
the constellations of my universe
into understandable verse.
When I write, it is a stream of consciousness;
when I daydream, there is never
any limit to what I can imagine;
when the rhythm of my soul takes me
and I give birth to a newborn of my own poetry,
I love the experience so much;
when the artistic animal
catches me its sights and its embrace,
there is nowhere to run…
which to me is my kind of fun!
I can always tell someone
who has seen the artistic light;
I can always understand
when someone says out-loud
that they do not know
why they are doing what they are doing –
however, in more ways than they can describe,
they just know that what they are doing
just feels right;
I can always follow the thoughts
and the emotions of someone,
and I love sharing my own
as I too spread my poetic wings and take flight;
I can always tell ‘the writer type’.
My Poem ‘The First Impression’
The first impression
is always the most important;
the way that you present yourself
speaks volumes about how important
something is to you;
the first word that you speak
echoes and forever stands out;
the old saying that you can tell a lot
about someone just by watching
and noticing how someone walks in their shoes,
and what someone’s choice of footwear
can tell you about someone,
is absolutely true;
the first of anything
sets the standard for everything to follow;
the first expression can have as much impact
as a burst of light from the sun;
the first message is often forgotten –
however, if and when reread,
that same first chain of words,
at the end of everything,
always resurfaces and means the most;
the first signs, the first icons,
can imprint more meaning, more feeling,
and they can be a source of constant hope,
like the always recognizable symbol of love.
Meeting someone you love,
meeting someone you care for and adore,
meeting someone you have never met before for the first time,
meeting and greeting someone at your front door,
is one of the best things that will ever happen to you –
especially, because the more instant
and unexpected that first meeting is
it can speed up your thoughts
and your heart-rate so fast that
that first view can change you.
Love at first sight is true,
it exists, and it is not simply a myth
invented by romantics;
the first exposure to anything,
especially at a young age,
will inform a great many
of your important life-decisions;
the first reaction that you have to something
can sometimes be deceptive –
but the look that someone gives you with their eyes
can be as rhythmic as a song-lyric;
and just as everybody follows one kind
and one type of a fashion,
so too does everything grow
from that very important first impression.
My Poem ‘Civus mondus’
Every country,
every city, every town,
everywhere where people look,
see, listen, hear, sit, stand,
and walk around,
every member of every society
is a part of the whole
as well as an individual;
no matter where on Earth a place is,
it is the people who populate it
and who make somewhere
the place it is known for –
and with those people
there are rituals and archetypes of behavior
that distinguish someone
as a piece of a mosaic of a regional picture.
The place someone chooses to live
is telling of who they are;
the speed at which time and life goes by
is different all over the world;
there is always someone
who stands out from the crowd
of a connected group of people
for a reason, because in some way
they shine like a star;
there is always someone
who at alternating times of the day
leaves you both vocal and lost for words.
Order always rises from chaos;
differences of opinion
always generate a wave of change;
language, fashion, normality,
evolves and shifts and can cause
ground-shaking disturbances
like the Earths moving
and colliding tectonic plates;
peace can follow a prolonged period of rage;
sometimes modern life can feel like a race.
Just as you can’t stop a flood completely,
you cannot ever stop the world from spinning;
just as you can’t stop the rain from falling,
you can’t silence a people and species
who were born and are meant
to use their gifted, miraculous talent
to never stop talking and communicating;
just as long as the sun continues to shine
there will always be blue skies,
the world will never be truly predictable
or ever boring – because
as long as there is a world, a galaxy,
a universe, there will always be for everyone
the gift of something.
Choice is both the problem
and the solution to everything,
as the world continues its conversation
and delegation with itself
to find a mutual and universal understanding;
there will always be cycles of parallels
and juxtapositions;
as long as each and every one of us has a voice
and that voice can have an and every accent,
and can be expressed in any way,
we will all always be worldly
and universal citizen.
My Poem ‘Dramarama’
At school I wasn’t a born actor,
however I didn’t mind a bit of drama;
in drama class, I was always shy to take part at first –
however when I did have to act and play
a quickly improvised part
it didn’t take me long
to make the part I was playing my own,
have fun, and revel in the exposure of the stage I was on –
and thinking back I think I actually liked
creating a character, talking in a different accent,
because it always gave the creative side of me
a much-needed burst.
I can still remember my drama classes now,
and my drama teacher Mr. Brooks;
I can still remember Mr. Brooks telling me
how “natural” I was as an actor,
and if I wanted he could potentially
get me an audition somewhere –
I remember him telling me that:
“you have something a lot of great actors have,
something that is natural,
which can’t be learned from reading a book.”
In another life, right now, who knows,
I could be an actor, a performer, a film-star,
a television personality, perhaps a soap opera regular?
If I had not picked art as the subject
in my final years at school that I wanted to focus on,
who knows which path my life might have taken,
and who I would be?
In another life, I could be on stage somewhere
performing Shakespeare, in a film,
acting opposite my favourite acting hero,
or even living in America,
on the verge of having my own Walk of Fame gold star?
If I had been bitten hard by the acting bug,
I wonder if my life would have been
radically different than it is now?
I wonder if I would have ever written
any sort of poem, or a single line of poetry?
Choices, especially life-changing choices,
don’t always appear as they are, as they seem,
when we are faced with them;
whether to go in one way or another
is a choice that you sometimes just have to make
in the moment and hope that everything turns out for the best.
Every performer, or actor,
at the beginning of their performance life
gets stage-fright – and some still do
before every time they walk out on a stage,
and meet their audience –
and that to me is always an indication, at least in part,
that whoever they are and whatever they are doing
means something to them;
and finding your way and your confidence
to be comfortable in moments of exposure,
in one way or another, for most people,
especially actors, is the big test.
Life, theatre, connection, caring, drama,
creativity, motivation, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach,
can seem scary at first, but after a while you love it,
you want it, you need it, you thrive on it;
and what comes after: the response, the applause,
the smiles, the joy, and if you are lucky the love and respect
that you are lavished with, for putting yourself out there
for other people to see and critique;
because, to me, no matter what kind of actor you are,
and in which form your acting takes place,
you are making art for somebody,
and it is the same if you are any kind of performer;
and, as William Shakespeare himself said:
“All the world’s a stage…”;
and as long as there is life,
there will always be drama.
Mark The Poet 